A Bird in the Hand is Worth Bryan in the Bush

It was a big week for chickenhood  this week. The chickens were set free into the wild and  officially became free range chickens.  We opened up the door in the coop to the outside world and sat in the grass watching that opening like it was Sunday night programming on HBO.  We sat waiting for chickens to come pouring out of that coop and down the ramp.  They did not.  We sat and waited and watched.  And the chickens just sat at the opening of the coop and stared right back at us. I suggested that we go in the coop and flush them out, but Dr. Dolittle said that the chickens had to come out on their own free will so they could find their way back in.  And while I question most of Bryan's animal husbandry theories, I don't have enough knowledge on the subject matter to argue. So we just sat in the grass with Annabelle waiting for the chickens to decide to come outside.

We tried to coax then out with bread, but those chickens were not coming outside for anything.  Bryan was the first of us to cave and got up and retrieved one of our little Buff Orpington ladies and brought her outside.  She immediately ran underneath the coop and sat there.  Eventually she came out the other side of the coop where Bryan was waiting to pick her up and place her on his shoulder, where she remained for the next hour making Bryan look like some kind of landlocked pale pirate.   I was disappointed they didn't all come outside, but they quickly learned what treasures were hiding in the grass and over the weekend they all came outside on their own.  What was amazing to me about this was that they just know what to do.

Bryan and I had many discussions about whether or not to fence in an area for the chickens.  We want our chickens to have the run of the property for a number of reasons: It's better for the chickens health (their beaks, natural instincts, scratching, etc), they eat insects, and they also will be lot cheaper to feed if they are allowed to forage all day.  And while we never really made an official decision not to fence in an area for them, lack of time sort of won that battle and we just left the coop door open one day.   One of the first problems we noticed is that one of the cats just sat perched near the ramp waiting for a chicken to fall into his mouth. Now when it comes to the dangers our chickens face  Bryan and I disagree on how to handle such situations; Bryan subscribes to the Wyle E. Coyote school of thought and believes the chickens will learn to fend for themselves and outsmart the cats, whereas I am more of a Foghorn Leghorn believer "I say-I say now hold on heah just a minute.."  But as usual Bryan was right. The cats do a lot of watching and occasionally pouncing but the chickens are a lot faster than one would think, and it seems like harmless play as opposed to ruthless hunting.

That is not to say that our arrangement has been without incident. On the chickens' first full day outside, it just so happens Milton and Bernie were left outside too.  On that particular afternoon Bryan received a call from our nanny who comes once a week to inform him that she heard chickens screaming and saw that Milton not only had one in his mouth, but had scattered the chickens out to the fields.  Bryan and I were devastated that our chicken ownership was going to be so short-lived and that we screwed up so badly.  But sure enough, when we came home all those chickens had returned back to surrounding area of the coop.

A note here on the quantified statement of "all those chickens."  It is very difficult, in my estimation, to count 38 chickens.  So when a statement such as "all those chickens came home" is made,  it is more of a general statement that should be interpreted as "most of" or "a lot" of or "I think all those."  We will revisit more on this topic as we proceed.

So when we got home we sat in the grass with Annabelle and fed the chickens bread and just watched them run around near the chicken coop.  I never thought I would find the chickens to be so entertaining.  It's become a nightly ritual to come home and sit in the grass and play with the chickens.   There are too many to name, and it is probably better that we don't since we know some are being raised for meat, but it is amazing how quickly they become like pets.  

On the night the chickens were out for the first time all day, and Milton scattered them to all corners of the planet, Bryan and I went out together at dark expecting to have to chase the chickens back into the coop, but amazingly enough when we go to the coop they chickens were all inside and tucked in for the night already.  We looked underneath the coop, and the areas nearby and sure enough all those chickens were perched happily inside.  I continue to be astounded at this behavior.  So we closed up the door and came inside.  Of course once we got inside Milton sat at the back door whining and carrying on like a jackass, which is not at all uncommon.  I ignored him as long as I could but he was really bothered by whatever was going on outside so we let him out because it's easier than listening to him carry on.

On this particular occasion though letting him out proved to be both a smart decision and a stupid decision at the same time.  Milton took off like a rocket into the yard and then we heard a squawk and saw feathers fly.  Bryan ran out side barefoot screaming at Milton, and I was not far behind him. As it turns out, one of our poor little Black Star roosters didn't every make it back to the coop after the first Milton incident, and didn't get locked up for the night. We had to round up the rooster and put him away with his brothers and sisters.  And for those of you who are thinking "How hard can that be?" I assure you, it is not easy. 

I stood by and watched as Bryan chased the rooster around the bush he was hiding in, and each time he got anywhere near an arms reach from this bird, Milton would freak out and chase him away again.  Milton is once again lucky to have seen another day.  Bryan continued to sneak around the bush and I finally offered to come around the other side of the bush to flush the rooster out into his direction (this, my friends, is called strategy) but once again, Milton beat me to it, causing the rooster to fly up into the air, back down and then forcing him to run full chickenspeed to the house and underneath the deck. So Bryan, barefoot and on gravel and with his 6'4" frame folded essentially in half,  ran under the deck to catch the rooster.  I was highly amused at this point and noticing that the more amused I become the more crabby bryan became. He of course caught the rooster, after bumping his head, and returned him safely to his home. I knew he'd catch him, maybe that's why I was able to find the humor in a grown man running barefoot in the yard in the dark to catch a rooster.  And to be quite fair to Milton, he had the right idea. He let us know the rooster was outside and also let us know he wasn't where he belonged, he even ran over to the rooster to let his know where he was....it's just that last part he struggles with, the not eating the rooster part.  And who can blame him? 

I am almost embarrassed to admit that I get excited to come home and see the chickens now. One day this week when we pulled in the driveway I didn't see the chickens out pecking in the grass or hanging out under the coop as they had been and I was not only disappointed but a little worried. But then when Annabelle and I got in front of the coop all of the chickens came out to greet us one by one! I couldn't believe it.  Annabelle and I sat in the grass and all those chickens came down their little ramp and crowded around us. Obviously they had grown quite accustomed to us feeding them bread, it's pretty evident that's what they were after.  But there was something very enjoyable about all these pretty birds parading around us and saying hello.  Eventually though they were starting to get a little demandng. They would peck at my fingers, shoes, and even Annabelle's toes. And while it's a little pinchy, they're not too viscous. 

So as summer approaches and Annabelle is almost eight months old, I recognize how my life continues to evolve out here.  Each day this week when Annabelle and I got home we didn't even go inside, we just went to the coop and sat in the grass and watched the chickens peck and scratch and do chickeney things.  And every night after we put Annabelle to bed Bryan and grab a beer and walk hand-in-hand outside to lock up the coop.  As we were walking down to the coop the other night I commented to Bryan how much I enjoyed doing that each night...he was quick to point out that it will not be nearly as fun come January.  Bryan is a very smart man. 

Tonight I noticed the chickens were up on the concrete slab near the shed which will be very unpopular should that continue, so be prepared for the chicken honeymoon to be over if they start to forage where chickens are not welcome.

A Croc of...

I am trying to figure out why so much time is passing between posts.  Perhaps it is because my evenings are simply filled to capacity with super fun activities. For example tonight as I was typing I had to stop and watch Annabelle watch an ant.  She was on the floor playing with her toys and we spotted an ant scurrying across the floor.  Bryan and I had to stop everything to see how this would turn out.  Would she it? Would she be afraid of it?  Would she care?  She did in fact see it and she got her little pinching fingers going ready to grab and squeeze...and potentially eat it.  Basically this activity boiled down to us staring at Annabelle and Annabelle staring at an ant.  And please reserve your comments about why there is an ant crawling on my living room floor. We just got rid of the Box Elder bugs, I have no energy left for ants.

And the other night we attempted to give Annabelle Cheerios which mainly consisted of lining up 4 Cheerios on the tray of her high chair and staring at her.  She'll eat them if we feed them to her, and she is able to pick them up one at a time, she just doesn't seem to understand that the Cheerios are food. But yet this same baby will pick up small pieces of gravel or dog hair and eat them.  And if you are going to give me grief about having gravel and dog hair on my floor, please see my comment above regarding ants.

And just last night I had to pause the tv and end a phone conversation so I could watch Bryan feed cole slaw to Annabelle, which she loved and happily ate.  So as you can see, I am very very busy. 

So lets get down to business. The chickens. The chickens are getting a little nuts and we are patiently waiting for Bryan's busy season to wind down so he can complete the outside run.  They are going to eat us out of house and home if we do not let them out to forage soon.  We have access to to a fair amount of free bread so the chickens get bread along with their chicken feed each day and night as a special treat.

As you can see, they really like it. 

I'm finding these chickens are doing very little or my self-esteem.  I try to participate in chicken ownership and give the chickens bread as often as I can, but they don't come pluck the bread right from my hand as they do for Bryan.  Living with Bryan is like living with Dr. Doolittle, minus the PHD, clean hands, veterinarian's salary, and madcap misadventures.  Actually...I take that back, Bryan is FULL of madcap misadventures.  But Bryan is a friend of all animals and they seem to be drawn to him. I keep telling myself not to take it personally, but no matter what logic tries to tell me I'm still pissed the chickens won't eat the bread from my hands. 

When I told Bryan about my hurt feelings and disappointment, he questioned my approach and technique.  I explained to Bryan that I walk into the coop and say "here chick, chick, chick" and toss pieces of bread.  Bryan said that's my problem, the chickens don't like talking.  So in addition to taking it as a personal attack that the chickens won't eat bread out of my hands, I also am paranoid that once the chickens are outside they will not come back in at night when I call them because they will not respond to my patented "chick chick chick" call, and because apparently I am really lame in the chicken world.  Apparently I lack the finesse required for feeding bread to a hungry chicken.

I also have become a bit skittish with regard to holding the chickens.  On more than one occasion Bryan has threatened to place 2 chickens in a burlap sack and place it over my head and tie it shut as some sort of aversion therapy.  But lets be honest, catching a chicken to pick up and hold is nearly impossible at this point and it is also a humiliating task.  It's humiliating even if no one is watching.  It is a humbling game of running around in small circles and flailing your arms and making large sweeping grasps at air.  It rarely results in actually catching a chicken. 

So when Bryan catches a chicken and gives it to me to hold, I make a lot of squealing noises.  The 12 big chickens are big, and like real full size chickens now, and not as enjoyable to hold as I envisioned.  There is a great deal of wing flapping and their feet are now at the point where they feel gross in my hands.  Chicken feet are cold and rubbery feeling and quite frankly... freak me out.  And there is the very serious safety risk they pose. Storey's Guide to Raising Chickens provides roughly 3 pages on the proper way to catch and handle a chicken. I will not bore you with all the details, especially considering I have yet to master any of the techniques covered in the book.  But Storey's Guide cautions:  "A frightened chicken will try to get free by flapping its wings and paddling its feet and may slice you with a claw."  SLICE.  This is their word, not mine and is therefore serious business.  I asked Bryan if we could get shoes for our chickens to wear and he said no. I feel it necessary to point out that people put shoes on those creepy mini-ponies and Shetland Ponies. When I conveyed these very serious issues (both humiliation and safety related issues) to my mother on the phone she asked why I need to hold and pet the chickens and I didn't have an answer for her.  She also went on to tell me how many Italians cook and eat chicken feet, or at the very least put them in the sauce.  So fellow Italians, talk to me in a few weeks and see where we're at with butchering chickens, I may have some feet for you.

Our 12 big chickens are getting really big, and their personalities are not quite as endearing as the "babies."  And in recent reading I discovered that a fryer chicken is about a 7 week old chicken, so some tough decisions are going to have to be made soon.  Though we cannot for the life of us tell the gender of the 12 big chickens apart.  It is very easy to pick out the roosters from our batch of Black Sex Links, the problem is...the Black Sex Links (which bryan now exclusively refers to as Black Stars because he's sick of my sexter talk) are so pretty and sweet, I don't want to eat any of those roosters. And for those of my friends who are animal lovers and do not approve of eating our lovely roosters please consider all the chickens butchered and sold in the world for just a moment. I fed our chickens cantaloupe and lettuce this week. They each have a nesting box, and perches.  They get fresh air daily.  These chickens have a very good life under our care.

Regardless of personal beliefs on eating birds you raise yourself, I did consent to raising a few of these chickens for meat, but now I don't want to eat the nice ones.  I have no problems butchering the 12 big chickens because they are much less friendly, but we don't know which are the hens and which are the roosters, and we want to keep our hens.  Internally this raises a lot of questions for me about what kind of person I am deep down as it seems I take issue with eating the sweet, docile, adorable Black Stars but will happily eat the chickens that are flighty and a little bit mean.  These chickens are teaching me quite a bit about myself.

So as we all learn and grow with the chickens I will leave you with some parting wisdom.

Important lessons on appropriate behavior in the chicken coop:

1. Absolutely NO flip flops in the chicken coop.  You will be very sorry.
2. Conversely, it is ill-advised to wear a quality shoe costing more than $14 into the chicken coop. Crocs (purchased on sale) are an ideal coop shoe as they are made of rubber and can be hosed off frequently.  The only downside of Crocs in the coop is they have holes in them, which carries many risks. At the very least you will be picking straw out from between your toes. Please refer to exhibit A.
3. No matter how much you think they might, chickens do not like to wear your hat.
4. It is best to keep your mouth closed in the coop.
5.  Chickens spook very easy. So if a chicken decides to "fly" i.e. jump from a perch to the coop floor and looks as though she might fly directly into your face which causes you scream "Oh my gosh! Holy Shit!" It will frighten all the chickens causing them to make chicken noises and move very fast as a group to the other side of the coop.  See lesson #4.

   

   Exhibit A
   (elapsed time in coop: 5 minutes)
   
   

    

**As of press time the chickens are eating bread directly from my hands. It seems if they get hungry enough they will give me the time of day.  I will starve the chickens into loving me!


He's standing on poor Flat Stanley, but it's such a  great picture of how beautiful our little Black Star roosters are, I had to share it.



It's a bird, it's a plane, it's...nope. It's just mangoes.

So it's been a while since I last posted,I'm not really sure where the time goes.  Actually I do.  I think sometimes I procrastinate with blogging because my Internet speed is so horrible that I get really crabby when I have so much to write and upload, and it never goes well.

Last night was one of the of the rare moments where I felt like superwoman.  Now before you roll your eyes, please remember who you are dealing with here.  Me.  These were the events of the evening when I transformed from mild mannered Clark Kent into Supermanwoman.

After picking up Annabelle I came home, let the dogs out and decided to take Annabelle for a walk.  As you may or may not recall, I have a very sketchy history with the cows up the road.  So we headed to the South for our walk.  I was faced with the dilemma of what to do with the dogs.  Milton had been locked up in the house all day, and Bernie will lay on the furniture if I leave him in the house unsupervised.  Both dogs would follow me if I just started walking, so I decided to be proactive and leash up Milton (who is too crazy to walk unleashed at a time when the few people who live on this road get home from work), and let Bernie come with us.

I felt like a woman who could handle it all... for about 3 and a half minutes.  I was a woman who could be a good mom, a career woman (whose commute was 120 miles a day), and a woman who could also manage to squeeze in some manner of physical fitness, and be good to her faithful four-legged companions. Until we got about halfway down the road. 

 When the first car came by  and I stood in the ditch screaming at Bernie who sat in the road and trying to prevent Milton from pulling Annabelle and I unto the field, I thought we just needed a little practice.  But by the time the second car came I realized this all was a mistake.   These dogs were just going to ruin my walk, just like they ruin everything else.

We managed to make it about a mile when another car came toward us and I attempted to get completely off the road it was over. I was officially a disaster.  Bernie sat in the road as I tried to grab his collar and drag him over to me, while Milton pulled and pulled at the leash so he could presumably run wild and roll in something dead or fecal in nature.  As I yelled at Bernie I felt my balance shifting and I realized that the stroller containing my baby was slowly tipping over sideways.  I quickly stomped on the stroller to upright it, and fueled by nothing but profanity and rage I managed to drag Bernie over toward me.  The car that had been approaching us had by this time stopped and was now pulling in the driveway adjacent to us.  Fantastic.  It was my neighbor.  He had just been introduced to the mother of the year, who shouted the F word at her dogs while threatening to kill them as her baby slowly fell out of the stroller into a ditch. Yet I STILL felt like superwoman last night.

I visited with the neighbor and tried to act like the dogs had seen an animal so I could cling to some shred of hope that perhaps he wouldn't call Animal Control and Child Protective Services.  I smiled and politely told he and his wife they should stop over for a visit one evening.  I'm sure they'll be here any day now.

At that point I decided 2 miles was enough and went home.  Annabelle seemed content so I decided as long as it was warm outside I would do chicken chores for the night so Bryan wouldn't have to.  Here is what Chicken Chores consist of:

• make sure there is chicken feed in the big chicken feeder in the coop
• make sure the big chickens have water
• toss the big chickens some torn up pieces of stale bread
• sit and watch chickens and try to decide who's a rooster and who's a hen (optional)
• start to throw torn pieces of bread at chickens when you get angry that they won't come when you call them and offer them pieces of bread (optional)
• clean out the feeders for the babies in the brooder
• refill the feeders for the babies in the brooder
• empty, clean, and refill the waterer for the babies in the brooder
• try, like a jackass, for five minutes to catch a baby chick and snuggle it (optional)

The 12 big chickens are acting like real chickens now. I have never in my life seen anything grow faster than a chicken.  Even Annabelle, who is almost 7 months old doesn't grow quite as fast.  They do very chickeney things.  So I wanted to make sure to capture it to share:

I really enjoyed that I was simply trying to capture their chicken sounds and chicken behavior and instead I ended up hosting a cock fight.

After completing chicken chores I removed Annabelle from her stroller and brought her inside for her dinner.  I was checking things off the list in my head:  physical fitness-check. quality time with child and dogs-check. chicken chores-check.  Dinner-almost check.  I was feeding Annabelle her mangoes and oatmeal watching her gobble down the little bites of food. I was watching her eat and I realized I actually had a shot tonight of getting everything done.  I might be able to shower AND make a hot meal for Bryan, and if I'm lucky I can make some more chicken crack.  As I was mentally high-fiving myself I heard Annabelle engaging in her favorite past time: Blowing Raspberries. I smiled and admired her cuteness, and then made a rookie mistake.  I shoveled a giant bite of mangoes in her mouth.  This was followed by Annabelle blowing a raspberry and sending bits of pureed slobbery mango flying through the air faster than a speeding bullet. 

I know people have said I have a flair for the dramatic, but I was completely sprayed with mango.  It was in my hair, stuck to my glasses, my shirt....it was everywhere. And I had no choice but to sigh, wipe my glasses and move forward with the evening. 

After dinner I placed Annabelle down on the floor by her toys and tried to tiptoe away hoping she might not notice I was no longer holding her. Annabelle has reached a super fun stage where every evening from 5:30pm to 7:00pm she wants me to exclusively hold her and engage in no other activities.  I was not successful, I made it 3 steps before she began to howl.  I usually can let it go for about 7-10 minutes before I question the impact on her emotional development and her future abandonment issues and I will go pick her up and inevitably apologize.

In a negotiated compromise I strapped her to me in the Ergo baby carrier and carried on with my plans.  It takes twice as long to empty the dishwasher with an 18 pound baby strapped to my chest, but it gets done.  We made the coffee for the next day, cleaned the kitchen and got our mise en place for dinner.  I knew it wouldn't work with her strapped to me while I attempted to make pork chops and green beans so when she calmed down I was able to put her down and make dinner, and eventually shower.  Because she was still being so agreeable I had a chance to make chicken crack.  If I haven't mentioned chicken crack (i think I did) before it is 1 part oats and 1 part corn meal pulverized into a meal or powder.  The chicks and chickens go NUTS for it. 

So at the end of the day when Annabelle was fed and tucked safely in bed and sound asleep within minutes I was very proud of myself.  Bryan had a hot meal for the first time in weeks when he got home late from work, and I was able to get a little fresh air, and take care of the chickens, it was a good night. 

I know I've said it before but I will say it again, sometimes parenting is just trying not to screw it up so bad that you do permanent harm.  I could have summed last night up in one quick paragraph. Last night I felt like superwoman because I went for a walk, fed the chickens, fed my little chicken, made dinner, and took a shower.  But to me, that was a big deal. Bryan works long hours....every day.  He hates it when he doesn't get home in time to put her to bed and he helps me out whenever his schedule permits it.  The expectations in our house have to be set a little lower.  As much as I may want to be superwoman, I'm not.  I'm sure there are hundreds of mamas out there who are doing a far better job than I am. And for all those mamas who feel like superwoman when they get more than 3 hours of sleep at night. God bless you.  We're all doing ok.

So when I nearly dump Annabelle out of the stroller on our walk because my dogs sit in the road, I have to shake it off.  And when Bryan shows me pictures like this capturing the time he spent with Annabelle:

I don't get too worked up about it.  While part of me wonders if the chicken is actually trying to eat her thumb like it's a worm, I know her daddy would never let anything happen to her.  And we have soap.  And chances are while this was going on in the chicken coop, it was probably the first time I've gotten to take a nap in months. 

Now if only I could leap tall buildings in a single bound, that woudl really enhance my physical fitness routine.

Here's our chickens doing more chickeney things:

PS- And as an update, my Avocado plant has done nothing but be a seed in a cup of water.

Original or Extra Crispy- Two Batches of Chicken

It seems that as soon as one family member recovers, we lose two more.  That has been the drill for the last 3-4 weeks in our house. The perpetual illness (and painfully slow Internet connection) prevents me from writing as often as I would like.  But so much has been happening, it would be criminal for me to not share it with the world at large.

I feel like everyone is growing up so fast. Annabelle is now able to sit in the stroller like a big girl without her carseat.  As a side note- as soon as Annabelle outgrows the carseat, I am going to hurl it off a cliff into a burning inferno of napalm...that is, of course, if my shoulder ever heals from carting it around for the last 6 months.  I was so excited to select a careseat that would allow Annabelle to use it until she reached 30 pounds.  No one bothered to tell me that I would not be able to carry her in it when she weighs 30 pounds.  Even at half that weight I am ready to hot glue some wheels onto it and carry it like luggage at the airport when I'm trying to catch my connecting flight. What was my point?

Growing up.  So Annabelle has become this little person who is thinking. I can just tell the wheels are always turning. She loves those dogs (the only reason they are still alive) and cannot take her eyes off of them. And just a couple of weeks ago, it was the dogs who elicited her first real giggle fit.

But she is not the only one who is growing up before my eyes, our 12 "practice" chicks have gotten so big as well.  They've gotten so big that last weekend we took them out of the brooder and turned them loose into their coop.  And much like Annabelle is acting like a little person, our chicks are acting like little chickens.

If anyone is curious what a dozen baby chicks sound like, I took the liberty of recording this little clip for you shortly after we turned them loose in the chicken coop (if you are unable to open it or play it I'm sorry).  And that's just 12 of them.  Imagine what they will all sound like.

We found ourselves in the quandry of having two batches of chickens on our hands.  So we had decided to release the first batch into the coop because we knew the babies were coming and I am so terrified of chicken cannibalism that I felt we had to separate them, and bryan agreed.  Despite what some people may say, I do want to help with the chickens whenever possible so while Annabelle was napping I went outside last Sunday to help Bryan get the coop ready, and get the brooder ready for the new baby chickens. 

check out that bedding!

As it turns out I am not very good at lifting heavy things, removing a door from it's hinges, constructing perches, carrying perches, etc.  So I volunteered to spread the bedding out on the floor of the coop. Bryan brought some straw home, so I opened the large garbage bag full of straw and began to dump it out on the coop floor.  And I as watched the large swirls of oat dust pool up around me in the enclosed space, it occurred to me that perhaps this was not the best job for a person with seasonal and environmental allergies.  Sneezing commenced almost immediately.  But I made the best chicken coop bedding mixture that I have ever seen. The chips and straw were evenly dispersed and those chickens LOVED it. I could tell.



Once we had turned the chicks loose in the coop I actually was slightly worried that it was too soon, that they weren't ready.  They didn't do much but huddle together. And as I stood in a chicken coop I realized that having baby chickens was not unlike worrying about Annabelle.  And then I worried that perhaps my life had taken a strange turn since I was standing in a chicken coop mentally adding bullet points to all the ways the baby chicks were like Annabelle.  I was at a work dinner last night and a friend commented on how long she had known me and never would have guessed my dinner conversation was going to be about chickens...that I owned.  How right she is. 



But last week I spoke to an old friend I hadn't spoken to in a few years and mentioned where I was at in my life, and what my goals were for me and for my family and he said "well that's what you always wanted."  And I started to think back to conversations I had in the past, and what my life was like before I moved to the city and I do think deep down, chickens and babies were in the plan somewhere.  Thankfully Bryan took a few hours off of working during his busy season a few years ago to track me down to get my plan moving. 

But once again, I digress.

So I was worried it was too soon to turn them loose but Bryan said it was fine.  We watched them huddle together, strategically placed their feed and water and then left the coop.  But Bryan is always thinking and once we were outside he pulled me around to the side of the coop where the window is and we peered inside to watch the chickens. And sure enough all of them were eating and drinking just fine.  Yet another moment where I stepped back and saw myself standing on railroad ties peeking into a chicken coop window...and being relieved 12 chickens were eating. Who am I?  Who did I become?



releasing the chickens into the coop

 I wish that I had pictures of how big the first batch 12 chickens are, but they grow so fast!  The picture of the chicks on the left was taken Sunday and I feel like they are much bigger than this now.   Which also means they are faster.  It was quite easy to coral one or two before when we had them out of the brooder, but now...well it's a little embarrassing.  You have to be quick. They are still too little to respond to any sort of "chick chick chick" call (though I am skeptical this will actually ever work) so basically to try and catch one of these chicks involves a lot of running in small circles and saying things like "Come on" or  "gotcha. dammit" or "little bastards." 



Although I suppose it's noteworthy to mention that there really isn't any real reason to catch and handle the chicks at this point, other than to pet them and squeeze them..and torment them. It is also a little fun to feed them the chicken crack out of your hand or place them on their perches etc.  But remember, with great power comes great responsibility. Perhaps we should stop monkeying with the chickens. Another minor setback with our chicks having freedom is that it is harder to protect them from Milton



Milton whining outside the coop door listening to the chicks run wild

Unfortunately Milton still has little bit of growing up to do when it comes to the chicks.  When we held one out for Bernie to sniff, Bernie did try to eat it. But he opened his jaws slowly and gingerly, while keeping one eye on us as if to say "Am I allowed to eat this?"  The other night when we took one of the new babies and let Milton "sniff" it, his jaws rapidly snapped over the chick's head.  Luckily after some shouting he released the baby who still had his head and beak attached to his body. I asked Bryan if he thought the chick was ok and he said "sure, he's fine."  I thought to myself  Once your head has been in another animal's mouth, are you ever really ok?

We got the bigger chicks situated in their coop just in time because Wednesday Bryan got "the call"and all 27 of our babies were chirping away in a box at the post office. I know that I explained this process a few posts ago so we do not need to rehash it.  But in case there is any confusion, the evidence below will show that they do just mail you a shoebox full of live chicks. 

I was relieved when Bryan told me they were all very much alive.  Interestingly enough, they did not send us any extra "just in case" chickens as their website indicated they would.  So we now have a total of 39 chickens. All still very much alive.  So much for bryan's 30 percent mortality rate theory. We are going to have 39 chickens...which is TOO MANY chickens.

I sit here listening to the tractor outside and I think about how my evening routine has evolved over the last several months. I thought the biggest change was when I was pregnant and could no longer drink (or function like a normal human), but it seems now it's even more different.  Usually the wind down begins with Annabelle's bath which, lately, is like giving a badger a bath.  And then we sing my powerful and moving rendition of Guns N Roses "Sweet Child O'Mine" a few times to aide in further winding down, and then after bottle, story, and tucking her in (if Bryan isn't here)I wash the dishes (or lie motionless on the couch recovering) until Bryan gets home from work and he and I crack open a couple of beers after Annabelle has fallen asleep and go out and check on all our chickens (I enjoyed this ritual more when it was 65 degrees).  Our two batches are divided up into "the big boys" and "the babies." And yes, at night time check in we torment all of them. Tonight we tormented the babies by picking a few of them up (after I insisted one of them was dying).  The big boys were tormented by Milton, who cannot seem to control himself.  

So they are all here and alive. Both batches, all 39 chickens.  Now Bryan and I have the responsibility of keeping them all alive.  I'm sure my bed-spreading will play an integral part in that project. I cannot wait until they are grown and pecking at the bugs in the yard and giving us numerous, tasty eggs!  And pretty soon they will not only have to fear the wrath of Milton...but Annabelle as well. By fall I would imagine she will be just as frightening to them as Milton is.

the new babies

Just the FAQs ma'am, baby chicks have arrived....

Well the day we have been waiting for finally arrived. Actually it arrived a week ago but once again illness overtook our household making it impossible for me to get excited about anything...even the baby chickens. Annabelle was still recovering from her ear infections when I came down with a fever last Thursday that lasted for almost 5 days.  There's really nothing wittyI can say about fevers or fever-related illness.  It was very unpleasant and I'm glad I'm feeling better.

But on Day 2 of my fever Bryan came home with what looked 3 Happy Meal boxes.  Contained in each of those boxes were 4 baby chickens.  He brought them in the house to show me (because I was too weak to go outside and walk all the way to the chicken coop) and set the boxes on the counter. I was amazed at how loud those baby chickens were, and how unsettling the sound of them pecking the inside of the boxes was.  Bryan took one out to show me but at that point I didn't want to hold one because I was worried they would get too cold, and quite frankly...I was sick and it just seemed like a lot of effort.

Our Chicken coop

Luckily Bryan works well under pressure and while Annabelle and I went to visit Nana (remember? when we were trapped in snowstorm like they were in the book Alive) and poppy a couple weeks ago, Bryan got the coop almost entirely completed and our brooder finished and ready to go.  So our baby chicks had a safe and warm environment to go to since their Happy Meal boxes weren't suitable.

I would like to point out that these were not the baby chicks that we ordered from the hatchery.  These were supplemental chickens because Bryan got very excited and impatient and didn't want to wait for our 3/26 chick delivery.  So if anyone is keeping track, by the end of March we will have at least 37 chickens (remember? the hatchery sends extra chicks just in case a few die in transit, so more chicks are possible).  I think almost 40 chickens is a bit excessive.

Because we were buying off the rack, we did not get a
choice in chicken breed from the retailer. So we have a mix of boys and girls and we most likely have Rhode Island Reds, Red Sex Links (or New Hampshire Reds we are unsure of what we got), and Anconas. I was surprised that as babies, they all pretty much look the same.  About half are yellow and half are a light brown with some patterns are their wings.  Right now it is difficult to tell who the boys are and who the girls are....though it is possible to figure out who is who, I have requested we just wait until they are bigger and can tell with a visual check.

So far the baby chickens are doing very well.  It is more than  a week later and we still have all 12.  I think we have been lucky though because we are having frighteningly unseasonably warm weather in Wisconsin this week and next.  It has been in the high 70's all week. I think baby chickens prefer that to the normal March temperatures we have.  They are getting used to us, more so Bryan than me and are not quite as frightened when we enter the coop now.  I am sure everyone is wondering what my role is in caring for the baby chickens has been. I will answer that question.  It has been minimal.  HOWEVER I am not taking responsibility for my lack of involvement.  Bryan designed the brooder just like he hangs pictures and wall hangings...he did it for a tall person.  I cannot reach the bottom of the brooder, and therefore cannot reach the feeder, the waterer, or the chicks themselves.  We have discussed getting some sort of step stool for me, but we might as well just wait until they're bigger. 

Me, delerious with fever, crushing a baby
chick

Chicken care has been relatively easy (for Bryan)  we check on them in the morning, after work, and before bed to make sure they are warm enough.  Incidentally, the heat lamp is red because it helps prevent cannibalization..something I didn't realize would be a concern.  It has led me to wonder if while they are pecking the bejesus out of one another if they are saying to their friends "Hey, tastes like chicken." 

They are getting big very quickly and are starting to fling all their bedding everywhere.  Thankfully they are in the coop and not in the house.  We feed them chicken starter and ground up oats and cornmeal, which they LOVE.  One of them was eating it out of my hand.  We're trying to get me more accustomed to the chickens, it seems I spook easy (I refer you to my post about the cow that charged Annabelle and I).  I can't help but fear they are going to [eck out my eyes. Truthfully I am also slightly afraid I am going to squish them while I am holding them.  So each day I try to hold them and get them more used to me...and me more used to them.

So now I'm going to take this opportunity to answer some of the chicken questions I have gotten.  Once again I need to provide the disclaimer that I am not attempting to be a chicken expert.  I am answering these chicken questions in the way that I understand them, and in case you haven't figured this out, I am not a scientist.

FAQs I get when I mention we are attempting to raise chickens:

1.  Will you get eggs if you only have girl chickens?

       a:  yes.  we do have boy chickens (aka roosters aka cockerels), but you don't need boys for eggs.

           hens will lay eggs whether there are boys are not.

2.  Will you get baby chickens if you have boys?

      a: WE will not.  The only way you will  get baby chickens is if you allow the hen to sit on the egg

          for 28 (I think) days.  If you collect the eggs every day it doesn't matter if it's fertilized or not. 

          Because we are potentially going to have 37 chickens, we are not interested in breeding any

          more just yet.

3.  What color eggs will you have?

      a: brown.  and that's because we selected breeds that lay brown eggs...except for maybe Anconas. I

          think those might be white. 

4.  Is there a difference between brown and white eggs?

     a:  no.  Fresh eggs have slightly more yellow and more dense yolk, and their flavor may be slightly

          different (in theory better than) than store bought/commercially farmed eggs because we won't 

          be using a hormones or chemicals and our eggs will essentially be organic.

5.  Will you eat the chickens?

     a:  Yes. some of them.  37 chickens make a lot of eggs.  And we will most likely end up with a few

           too many roosters.

6.  Will you (meaning me) help butcher the chickens you eat?

     a:  what do YOU think?  no. probably not.  I would like to be the type of farm wife who is able to

          pluck and slaughter a chicken, but realistically I don't think I have the stomach (or knife skills)

         to do it.  Although I am getting to be quite handy with the .45, and as you may or may not recall

        shooting a chicken with a handgun is an acceptable method of butcher.

7.  Where do they live, eat, sleep, etc?

     a:  right now the chickens are in a brooder that Bryan built. It has their heat source, water, food,

          room to scratch and Bryan also built a little jungle gym for them to roost on and we placed some

          large bricks for them to roost (and poop) on too. It has a lid with wire mesh to keep them

          inside when they get bigger, and there's a thermometer inside so we can monitor the temperature

          inside.

Our brooder...with Annabelle inside testing it out. Because that's
what you do when you have a baby...put her in the brooder.

8.  When will you have eggs?

     a: Late July/Early August.  It depends on the breed but it should be in about 16 weeksish.

9.  Where do the chickens go after they outgrow the brooder?

     a:  the coop.  We had a freestanding building that Bryan turned into a coop.  The building itself

          was in okay condition, Bryan just put in windows (for ventilation and light), added an 

          inside wall to make it easier to keep warm, insulated it and then added some nest boxes and

          perches.  Our chickens will also be outdoors during the day.  Bryan still has to complete 

          their little doggy door, ramp, and fenced in area.  Chickens are creatures of habit and once

          they are used to their little fenced in area (and we are certain Milton will not eat them) 

          hopefully they can just roam free on our property.  They help keep the bug population 

          down.      

Coop in early construction

Nest boxes and perches

 I believe this concludes the question and answer portion of our discussion today.  Feel free to leave comments if you have additional questions. I can try to answer them in my non-scientific, non-official capacity.

Delivery of our next batch of chicks is around March 26.  I'm terrified these 12 chicks are going to attack and terrorize our new baby chicks when they arrive.  Bryan is brainstorming a way to separate the chicks. Originally we didn't think it would be an issue but the chickens are now wild with their flinging and flapping...a bit too rowdy a crowd for new babies.  Speaking of which, it seems Annabelle is too rowdy for our baby chicks as well.  When we pick one up and hold it near her she gets very excited and turns into Baby Huey and tries to snap a wing or neck off.  Now that she has part of a tooth poking out we need to be cautious that she doesn't think it's a McNugget.  Surprisingly Bernie also thought the baby chicks were a midday snack.  Bryan held one out for Bernie to sniff and right away he opened his mouth and tried to eat it.  Perhaps we should stop pulling these chicks out and trying to "introduce" them to our dogs and baby. 

Thanks to Nana, Annabelle has a chicken she cannot murder

Commutisms: Weekend Edition-Family Fails

A short-lived snowstorm that cut through portions of La Salle, Bureau, Putnam and Lee counties on Friday afternoon caused multiple traffic accidents, including a major one on Interstate 39 near Compton.
“It was rain that turned to slush and then turned to ice,” said Dean Ege, Mendota’s assistant fire chief.
While Mendota and Troy Grove firefighters assisted with a two-vehicle accident south of the city on Route 251 with no serious injuries, towing businesses from Mendota and surrounding areas were kept busy at multiple-vehicle accidents that occurred around 3:30 p.m. to the north on I-39.
For roughly four hours, traffic was at a near standstill as emergency personnel and tow truck drivers attempted to clear more than one accident scene between mile markers 79 and 82.
Although police were too busy Friday night to issue reports, Carol Ramer of Ramer Automotive and Towing said the backup apparently began when a semi hit a car and jackknifed, which then led to further cars and trucks stopping to avoid the crash, sliding into roadside ditches or crashing into other vehicles.
“Nobody can go anywhere, emergency personnel can’t go anywhere because people are parked all over the place,” Carol Ramer said at about 5:30 p.m.
Since temperatures weren’t cold enough to freeze the ground, conditions in the median and ditches along the interstate were a “soggy mess,” she said.
Ramer said state police had even called her looking for four-wheel drive vehicles to use to access the scene. The driver of Ramer’s semi-wrecker had to carefully back onto I-39 from the ramp at U.S. 34 because the road was so blocked.
“It was a junkyard,” said Paul Ramer of Ramer Automotive and Towing.
  (Courtesy of The News Tribune-LaSalle/Peru, IL)

On Friday Annabelle and I happened to find ourselves at mile marker 81 just in time to sit on interstate 39 for at least 2 hours. This was fail number three of this week. This came after believing Annabelle had been teething all week, only to learn she in fact was not teething but had a double ear infection.  Let's call that fail number one.  So I mentioned to the pediatrician that we had a trip to Nana's house planned this weekend and asked if it was okay to take her.  The pediatrician said "absolutely" and said a long nap in the car would do her some good (though I don't think she meant a 6 hour nap which was how long the trip actually ended up taking).  Whew! We hate to cancel Nana trips.  Then suddenly it seemed we were under a winter storm advisory for Friday, the day I was going to travel. 

To travel or not travel? That was the big question.  Bryan ultiatenmly gets to be the one who decides if we travel or not.  I have never exhibited any sort good judgement or decision-making skills in ANY scenario so we let bryan make any major decisions in our house.  He determined it would be safe to travel because his scar did not itch.  Fail number two.  I altered his decision and took the afternoon off of work believing IF any weather did occur, I would certainly beat it to Illinois.

I was wrong.

I missed the bad weather in Wisconsin for the most part but hit some horrible situation in Illinois, approximately 40 miles north of my destination.  I ended up stuck on the interstate behind what turned out to be a few multiple vehicle accidents.  The crappy part about accidents on the interstate in the snow?  There is never just one.  Once I was sitting on the southbound side, stuck...I noticed that the traffic had stopped on the northbound side as well.   It seems the distraction of the accident on our side caused a few more semis to jackknife on the northbound side, shutting the northbound side as well.  And then when I looked in my rear view mirror to see how far traffic was backed up, I saw that just behind me there were at least two semis that had also lost control of their trailers and now I was sandwiched between 3 accidents completely blocking any chance of getting out of it. On top of it, it was still snowing heavily therefore covering the interstate with snow. And I had Annabelle in the back, sick.  Fail number...four? Or does that count as two?

I wasn't really panicking because in the car I had enough supplies to keep us alive for a few days.  Clothes, blankets, baby food, diapers, formula (and natures formula), water, toys, books, phone, phone charger, and a full tank of gas.  This really wasn't that big of deal.  But when you sit in a car on the interstate watching both the interstate and all the vehicles parked on it get covered with snow, it starts to feel like a big deal...who doesn't remember the Donner Party? Thankfully Annabelle doesn't have any teeth yet.  But being stuck in bad weather with a sick baby, it kind of  and it makes you start to feel like a shitty mom.

With Annabelle sound asleep, my guilt was temporarily eased.  But the other thing I did not consider was a bathroom. After being in the car for about 5 hours (so far one of which had been spent sitting in park on I-39, I wondered what to do in that situation. Do I go in the ditch?  Do I open both car doors and pee between them? I think people would have suspected something was up when they saw a pair of pants on the ground between two car doors, wouldn't they?  I decided the best thing to was ignore it and wait until it was an emergency. And if worse came to worse...I did have Annabelle's diapers.

I decided a good thing  to do in that situation is to get out and make friends with truck drivers. They seem to have their shit together. I spoke to the driver next to me and he was able to tell me what had happened, approximately how far we were from an exit, and what mile marker we were located at.  When I stopped a fireman on foot walking he told me we would be sitting there for at least two hours. I said "But i have a baby in the car." and he said "The best thing to do is watch your gas gauge. If you think you're running low, turn the car off."  Do firemen receive formal training? I think I could have figured that out on my own. I wanted to call after him "Do you want me to feed her gasoline?" but I didn't because the small part of my brain that uses logic reminded me that I had 3 days worth of supplies in the car.  But like I said, when all you can see is snow, and you can't move...you start to go a little buggy. Even after an hour.

So my next conversation occurred with the driver of the truck behind me. He too thought we would be there a while. I also told him I had a baby in the car, as if one of these people would say "A baby? Well here, take this secret underground tunnel out of here."  This driver seemed to sense that I was starting to lose my grip and kindly offered me several Slim Jims.  He also said that plenty of milk in his truck for my baby (I didn't want to hurt his feelings and explain babies cannot have cows milk) which I thought was very nice. I felt I could identify and trust this man so I blurted out "I have to pee really bad."  and he said I could pee in front of his truck, between his truck and my car and no one would see, and then he handed me a wad of paper towels.  How kind!  As I reluctantly made my way to the front of his rig and contemplated peeing in the middle of the interstate amongst dozens of other vehicles I saw a fireman approaching vehicles and directing them to move.  I think that would have probably been near the top of embarrassing moments, peeing on an interstate in front of a semi having a  fireman approach me and tell me to move my vehicle.  Bullet-dodged.

I got back in my vehicle, moved per the fireman's instruction, only to sit and wait again.  When all was said and done I spent 2 hours sitting on the interstate wondering if I was going to have to eat a fellow traveler to survive.  When we were finally moving again I couldn't help but notice how many semis and vehicles were in the median just before and after this accident. It was as if no one was able to stop suddenly.  I have never seen anything like it. There were cars and trucks all over the place.

And while I got my vehicle back up to speed and reassured Annabelle she wasn't going to perish in the blizzard, I wondered what the acceptable amount of time to be stranded is before one can freely urinate on the interstate. I normally do not turn into Gloria Steinem, but I do think public urination is an area where men have it made. I think if a man would have peed along the interstate while we are all parked there, no one would have had an issue with it. But had I done it? Well, people would have been disgusted on thought I was a savage.  Oh well, I simply had to make it 40 more miles without peeing my pants and I would consider that a success.

I also pondered my mom fails of  this week.  100.3 fever and fussy? Must be teething.  Or perhaps a raging ear infection I ignored.  Storm advisory and potential blizzard? Perfect time to tkae a road trip! But after doing a little investigating I learned I wasn't the only one to make these types of bad mom decisions.

My mom told me that when she was four and a half she told her mom (my Grammie) that she had a tummy ache. Grammie told her that she probably had her underpants on backwards.  When it turned out my mom had her underpants on  correctly, Grammie insisted that she just didn't want to eat Chop Suey. That evening my mom's appendix ruptured.

My Grandma DeSalvo used to put my dad in the baby buggy on the porch in the winter and put some blankets over him so the snow wouldn't pile up on him.

And because I am equal opportunity whistle-blower,  I will also mention that Bryan's mom said that when Bryan's brother was five he kept complaining that his tooth hurt and she just assumed it was because he didn't want to go to preschool. Weeks later when he finally went to the dentist, he needed a root canal.

My mom told me about the time Uncle Wally (my great uncle) and her dad were attempting to shoot the air-rifle and didn't think it was working, So my Uncle Wally put his finger over the barrel of the gun, and as it turns out, it was in fact working. At the hospital the nurse asked Wally how old he was and he said "Old enough to know better."  As a result of that injury Uncle Wally's fingernail fell off which he put glitter on and made into a necklace and gave it to my mother for Christmas.

And when my sister was little they used to yell at her for sitting too close to the tv all the time. Turns our she was legally blind.

And when I was little I used to get in trouble for not listening.  Turns out after a hearing test, I really couldn't hear and needed tubes in my ears.

And of course when I was home one evening under my father's care I came up from my bedroom to complain that I was hot, so my dad cut the feet off of my footie pajamas (I'm told this type of garment alteration occurred in Bryan's house as well).

Bryan's dad told me a story that Matt and Bryan were outside and Bryan came in the house and got a knife. It turns out Matt was outside playing in the tree with a rope and ended up getting the rope caught around his leg and hanging upside down from the tree and Bryan had to cut him down.  Bryan corroborated the story but said that Matt had climbed the tree and tied the rope to himself as a safety precaution, and Bryan had come in to get the knife to cut him down.  So Bryan alleges this was not in fact a parental fail as Matt clearly had a safety plan in place. 

So I suppose I can rest well knowing that for Annabelle, being in a car for 6 hours wasn't much different than being asleep in her swing or laying on the blanket eating dog hair for the afternoon.  I suppose worse things will happen to Annabelle on my watch.

The good news is that Annabelle finally got to eat her Avocado. And I believe Nana has started her own Annabelle's Avocado plant as well.


Mmmm....