And One More, Makes EIGHT!

The girls love being outside.  And we love them being outside, too! Our garage smells way better and one of my favorite things to do in the morning is make a coffee and then walk out to the coop to let the eager hens out of their coop.  They pile up by the door, waiting to eat bugs, worms and run through the yard. 

We have not seen our Rock Chucks for a few days, so I’m wondering if Keith’s “Operation Rock Chuck” was successful and they either are “taking a long nap” or moved away.  Either way, no rock chucks under the shed or in the hen house.  I do not miss them.

While the chickens are outside, there are a few things they enjoy doing. They LOVE to eat from the bird feeder, stretching their necks really far like giraffes to eat the bird seed. They also love to hide under bushes and under the play toy.  And because we do not have a roost in their coop yet, they love to roost on anything they can get their talons on: the ladder of the play toy, the patio furniture, their food container, or the top of their coop door!  I am surprised at how well they can run and fly. 

Pretty tricky little birds, they are. 

A few nights ago we were all outside playing a little late and needed to put the birds in before the sun set all the way down and it got too dark.  I searched their usual places: under the bush, by the shed, under the wagon and couldn’t find any of them! Usually I can see the group of 2 or the group of 5 that hang together, but nothing. I couldn’t even hear them chirping! That’s when I started to panic, searching the grounds for feathers or anything leftover from a predator’s chicken dinner. Nope, all clear. I walked back to the coop and just for fun I lifted the back door to the coop nesting boxes and there they were! 14 eyes looking back at me, glaring at me, urging me to close the door and turn on the heat lamp!  They were all crammed into ONE nesting box!  Phew. Good birds.

And now our latest adventure. Just when I thought I had a handle on this whole chicken raising deal, we got a new addition.  My friend text me this morning asking me if I could take in a chick.  I guess her friend’s son was asked to prom by a girl with a chick.  Yes, you read that right. A sweet high school girl wanted to surprise her date by doing a cute little play on words by asking her crush with a REAL CHICKEN! Something along the lines of “going to prom with this chick…”?  Um, what? While I appreciate her creativity and still feel good that kids ask their dates to prom in creative ways instead of a Facebook post (and a girl asking the boy, yes!), it’s a real live animal. A live animal you need to take care of every single day.  I’m also surprised the feed store even sold one baby chick to a high school girl without questioning it.  Either way, I’m happy to help. So we have a new baby chick that needs to stay separated from the rest of the flock for a while.  While I prepped her little container and got my own chick fed and in bed for a much needed nap, Tater stayed outside and guarded her.  She did not leave her side, sitting outside the big coop. Good Tater. The new chick is too small to go in the coop with the big girls, so she’s in the shed.  I need to get a heat lamp for her today, but she did come with food, so that’s nice.  I hope the flock accepts her when she gets older, especially since she’s a different breed entirely. And note I am using the pronoun “she” in hopes that “she” is NOT a rooster.  Say a chicken prayer for me right now. 

So now we have 8 chickens in a coop made for 5.  Keith and I joke that we need to build an addition on the coop.  I’m thinking this is no longer a joking matter, as these chickens are bound to double in size in the next few weeks. Guess we’ll figure it out later.  They only sleep in there…it will be fine.  Oh, and I’m taking order for eggs now, because I’m guessing with 8 chickens, we’ll have a surplus. 

And Grandma Bunny, stop giggling up there. I know you are.  But it’s your fault I have this soft spot for chickens…

Hens Moved OUT!

Well, the girls have moved out!  I knew it was time when one of the hens kept trying to get out, and she even succeeded few times.  One night I went to the kitchen to get a drink of water around 10pm and heard a poor chick cry of distress (like the mother of a newborn, you begin to understand the different chicken noises. Weird, but true.)  So I poked my head out and one of the hens is OUTSIDE the pool chirping either to get back in with her friends or bragging that she had “flown the coop.”  I scooped her back up and set forth on getting the coop ready for their arrival. 

"Get me OUT OF HERE! I'm crowded, it stinks,
and I know what outside is like. Last warning
or I destroy your garage tonight with chicken
poop while you sleep. You've been warned."

Their first night in the coop was very nerve-racking for me.  First, they didn’t go into their coop by themselves, I had to run around and put them in there.  Then once they all got in there, they didn’t understand that if they went up the handy ramp ladder that they’d be in a nice little nesting box with pine shavings, water, food and a heat lamp.  They just curled up by the door and stayed there. I went out around 10pm to check on them and I swear it was like a scene from the final hours of the Titanic, where they were whispering their cold goodbyes and singing songs to stay awake and from dying.  So I kneeled in the 3 foot doorway, scooped them all up and blocked them in their warm nesting area.  Much better. Much warmer. Much more alive.

The next day I went to work researching how to get “the girls,” as I call them, acquainted with their coop.  The internet said to lock them in their coop for 3-4 days and then when you let them out during the day, they will always return at night.  I did this.  And let me tell you something. Keeping chicks locked up from a dog and an eager 2-year-old is something of a challenge. I had to lie to Taylor and tell them the chicks were in timeout.  They were kinda, but he took my word as gospel, maybe laughed at little at them, knowing that they received the timeout lecture too, and went on his way to chase rock chucks.  Which leads me to the next part of my “chicken ranchin’” journey…

God Damned Rock Chucks! You may know them as whistle pigs or marmots.  We call them f**k chucks, dirty rock chucks, mock chucks, rodents.  Taylor and I yell at them all day long after they chirp at us, “I SEE YOU, DIRTY ROCK CHUCK!”  He’s pretty good at yelling it too.  Unfortunately he also thinks anything small and brown that runs is a rock chuck, which is why he yelled at some old lady’s dog at the park, “I SEE YOU DIRTY ROCK CHUCK.”  Oh, kids…who teaches them that weird and rude stuff?  Hmmm…come along, son.  Rock Chucks are herbivores, which mean they only eat grass and burrow huge annoying tunnels. They have also claimed under our shed as their home.  Taylor and I spend our meal times now watching rock chucks stick their heads out, gather grass, and sun themselves and chirp.  And as soon as Taylor has his mouth full of food, out comes our mantra: “I SEE YOU DIRTY ROCK CHUCK!”  And to make it worse, they had babies. So the thought of killing momma rock chuck and leaving their fuzzy rodent babies motherless kinda breaks my heart. I blame Disney for this.  The good thing is they don’t care for chicken as a meal, but they do love a good mouthful of chick feed.  So now after I let the chicks out every morning, a ritual I love now, I have to take their food out and hang it on a nail under the shed.  (One is chirping right now at me.  He knows I’m talking about him.)

Rock Chuck coming out to see what the day brings.

Our "rock chuck hunting dog" a bit slow.  She's on constant
search for a 'chuck.

Now the chickens are out all day, running through the yard chasing each other, a bug or running from rock chucks and Tater. Taylor has been doing a better job of not picking them up by their wing, after a full day of timeouts.  He LOVES to hear them chirp and he figured out that if he holds them up by one wing, not only do they chirp really loud and crazy, they also flap their wings and wiggle their legs.  Oh, man.  I try not to think about what type of warning sign this might be and just chalk it up to my sweet son has figured out how to make the chicken chirp.  Now with much praise for being gentle to the chickens, and two minute   timeouts INSIDE (torture!) he is doing much, much better.  Phew. 

Our Girls

I’m not sure what the next step in my chicken ranchin’ journey will be.  We are enjoying them outside so much.  We watched one grab a worm this morning and run through the yard like a kid who just hit his first homerun.  I love to watch them scratch, peck and nestle into the rocks to get some sun.  It is a lot of work to clean out their poopy coop, change their water and food, make sure they are all in at night and worry about their wellbeing while I’m gone, but in some way I feel connected to my grandmother in all those things I do.  I understand a little more about why she never wanted to leave her animals or farm.  I understand that these birds, while dumb as nails sometimes, gave her a sense of purpose because they depend on their caretaker for survival.  I think she would be proud of me and I want to call her sometimes to tell her what I’m doing with my birds, but I know she’s there watching it all happen.  I cannot wait for them to lay their first eggs, which won’t happen for a few more months.  I’ll be sure to hold it up to heaven and shout “SEE!!! I AM A CHICKEN RANCHER, GRANDMA!” 

Stay tuned for more adventures on our chicken ranch!

Rock Chuck sunnig his belly.  The chicke feed up
on a nail, out of their reach. So far...

Chicken Ranchin'

Tater getting up close and personal

Here we are, just chicken ranchin’ on our mini-ranch.  These chickens are pretty funny and high maintenance. The, what you might call, “honeymoon period,” is wearing off.  I want them out of my garage.  Yesterday.

The 7 little birds are no longer little and I keep calling them “baby chicks” when they really are adolescent chickens.  They outgrew their little tub and had to be moved into Taylor’s little blue swimming pool with chicken wire around it.  I made this executive decision when one night I was sitting in the living room and could hear a distressed chirp of a chicken.  I poke my head out into the garage to find one had “flown the coop” and was sitting outside the small tub, calling to its friends, “save me.” (I’m not sure if those were its exact words, but it sure sounded like it.)  I scooped it up, calmed it down and decided they were moving to a type of chicken half-way out the next day.  Hence the kiddie pool, which they actually love. I put a rock in there and every once in a while you’ll catch one up there looking around, then looking down giving its chicken roommates the look of “yeah, look at me!”

Chicken Halfway House-Halfway between the storage tub and the chicken coop!

Some things I have observed about the chickens are that they are not very bright.  I saw one actually back its chicken bootie up to its food trough and take a shite.  IN its food.  Then they fly around scattering sawdust all over the place, including their water dish, which is a nasty mess to clean up.  They also love to sneak up on Tater and peck her tail. I’m pretty sure this is not the best idea they have had, but Tater has done a very good job of keeping her mouth shut, except for a few licks.  I’m really proud of her, but wouldn’t leave them alone for a minute.  I think in reality she feels the need to protect Taylor from them, but what really needs to be happening is she needs to protect the chicks from Taylor. He is their only predator at this moment.  We’re working on it.

"Instincts tell me this is a very large worm..."

On sunny days we have been taking them outside to stretch their wings and just give them some room to explore.  Taylor likes to show them how to use the slide.  He also finds is so frustrating that they move so dang fast now.  A few weeks ago he could scoop them up and hold them while they peeped in his little hands. Now they are running/flying away from him.  If he does get his hands on one, they are shrieking chicken S.O.S. while he holds them by the wings and then tries to pull their toes off. Honestly, chicken feet are the sickest feet of all feet in the animal kingdom.  I love my chickens, but ick.  Even worse when they are flailing in your face as your son tries to kiss them on the head and/or throw them down the slide. Ick.

"You WILL go down the slide!"

They still have some more feathers to grow and then they are outside in their lovely coop.  I know I will be like a new mother bringing home her baby, peaking outside and listening to cries.  I’m so worried something is going to hurt them, but I have to trust Keith’s chicken coop design and recite the wise words of my Grandma Bunny: “it’s just the way it is on a farm, Babe.  Animals die.”  Great. 

Adolescent Chicken

Top 5 Phrases of Chicken Ranching (so far) include:

*Taylor, do not squeeze the chicks

*Taylor, do not kick the chicks.  Go sit on the steps in timeout.

*Taylor, they are fast. You have to be quicker. Stop crying because you cannot catch them anymore.

*TATER, NO!

*!@#$ As I try and catch them!

Finding protection in the mini-castle

Taylor's favorite job: scooping chicken feed