We’ve had our chicks for almost a week and they are all still alive! The morning we went to Basin Feed to pick them up I was so nervous and excited. The place was full of baby chicks and ducks. I asked the guy working there for 6 chicks, after overhearing him say that the hatchery they got their chicks from was having a problem with dehydrated chicks (I then heard him say about 20 percent had already died. I flashed him a disgusted look of “do not do this to me!” and then regained my composure.). My thought was to ask for 6, in case one died. Well his though was the same and he threw in an extra for me. I was so distracted by trying to make sure Taylor didn’t fall into one of the chick barrels while reaching for a fluffy bundle of fun, that I didn’t realize I had 7 until we got home! And as things just work out this way, I was stuck behind the slowest driver in the Tri Cities with 7 chirping cold, hungry, dehydrated and scared baby chicks skidding around in a cardboard box in the car.
The first few days were really fun getting to know the chicks. They got settled in nicely in their plastic bin lined with cedar shavings. My husband even enjoyed watching them just walk around and peck at their food and water. They are very relaxing. But dang, those things poop a lot, eat a ton and sleep most of the day. It’s like I have 7 newborns (but I never kept my newborn in a plastic tub under a heat lamp).
About 3 days into the experience I noticed that one of the bigger chicks had what I would call in my best medical terms, a “poopy butt.” I was convinced it was prolapsing and I was going to have a dead chick on my hands. I was already mentally preparing a mini-chick funeral for it, had the shoe box picked out and thought about picking up some flowers at the grocery store. I was pretty upset, especially after I had someone tell me that one was probably going to die anyway. So I asked a lady at Basin Feed what to do and she said just clear its little bootie of any poopy and hopefully it will be okay. So there I was, holding a warm wet paper towel on a baby chick’s fuzzy, yellow butt, picking off chicken sh*t. Again, not what I signed up for, but I had to. Being a mother and dealing with a constipated infant had prepared me for such endeavors, but it was not how I was intending on spending the evening. Needless to say, Poopy Butt is healthy and just needs to keep herself cleaner, just like a typical teenager. I even saw one of her chick friends pecking at her butt, so I see they are helping each other out like true friends. I’ll have to put some Greek letters on their chicken coop and make them a chick sorority soon as they are obviously very loyal to one another already.
Now, Taylor and the chicks have a growing and changing relationship. When they were hungry, tired and slightly dehydrated, they were not fast enough to really run from his pudgy little hands reaching in to grab at them. He’d pick one up, turn it upside down, check it out from all angles and set it back in the bin. It took some coaching to get him not to squeeze them too hard. I had to be very patient in letting him learn how to do this (sorry chicks who had their insides rearranged a few times.) My thought was that if I’m okay with cooking 12 chicken wings on the BBQ at least once a week, then I have to be patient and not too worried that my two-year-old is squeezing a baby chick until its eyes bulge. More chicks have a worse fate. Now Taylor is a pro as scooping them up with two hands, setting them down gently and just watching them peck at the ground. They are getting pretty fast though, so we have to watch them at all times when out of their bin. Their little wings are getting real feathers and they are going through awkward teenage chicken stage.
Tater is being a very good girl around them as well. The first few days they were in the garage she paced the door to the garage wanting to be near them. She just peeks her head in and doesn’t even snap or lick them. I do believe she is jealous because she has been coming out at night to sit on the couch with us and snuggle. Poor girl, always feeling displaced.And that’s life as a mother hen. I have to change their bedding, water and food each day. Their poops are getting pretty large and they cannot keep their water clean. I’m looking forward to when they can go outside in about 5 more weeks, when they have all their real feathers. I’m praying they can learn to return to their roost and not become chicken dinner for any predators out there. A mother is never done worrying, right?
.JPG)
