Farming 102- chickens

14 May 2010

Earlier in this blog I mentioned our three chickens. You may think we got them so that each of the three dogs could have one as a pet. I assure you that any one of our dogs would love to give the chicks what my S.O. calls “pointy kisses.” If I had started the blog just a week or so earlier, however, we would have reported six chickens. There is a rule in Virginia, apparently, that you cannot buy fewer than six baby chicks. So on April first, April fools ever, we bought six, day-old pullets at a local farm store. We were given pause by the instructions not to fondle or kiss the chicks. What could possibly happen to them? (Actually, my first thought was. “Who would want to?” but I realized almost any child would.) Turns out this is to prevent the humans from contracting salmonella poisoning. Ion chose three red and three yellow chicks. Although they were together from hatching, the six would naturally segregate into little groups by color. Hmmm.

We raised the chicks in the living room (not recommended- they are stinky little buggers) until the weather warmed enough for them to go outside. Outside, the chicks lived in a sturdy dog crate, the reasoning being that if a dog could not get out, then a fox, our local predator, could not get in. Wrong! One night, in full view of the German Shepherd Dog, something got to the chickens. The wire openings in the bottom of the pen were slightly larger, and some small predator- a weasel or cat, perhaps, had dug a hole and squeezed under.

In the morning I noticed that the chickens were very quiet. Then I saw that two white pullets and one red were missing. Closer examination of the crime scene showed the tunnel into the pen, feathers, blood, and further carnage. Of the three remaining pullets, only one was unscathed, and she was covered in her sisters’ blood so that it was not immediately apparent if she was red or white. The two surviving red chickens had terrible wounds, one a dislocated wing, the other’s wing was torn completely off. Fortunately there were no bodies to discover and bury, just a few scattered feathers. I think that I was in shock as long as the chickens, who recovered by the next day. Their little dinosaur brains are quick to forget. The two injured ones are still understandably unhappy about being touched. All three survivors are back to thriving, but we bring them into the living room at night now.

Nighty-night.

-Radioactive Girl