A Good, Bad Day in the Chicken House

 by Linda Patton June 29, 2015

Welcome to our barn yard!

For those of you who have not previously been here, let me give you a bit of insight into our world. We have a small flock. Well, I should say, “We want a small flock.” On January 1^, 2015 we had 4 laying hens. Two of those laying hens chose to set and have babies. Of those born, we kept 6 more, which included a rooster who we named Waffles because he grew giant wattles and we thought it fit him very well.

Things were going along nicely, the 6 babies were growing into fine young adults and were almost  integrated into the “Big Chicken Society,.” when two hens decided it was again time to hatch more babies.  A week later a third hen proclaimed, “Humph! Well, I guess if everyone is going to set, that means I have to!” She was not happy about it, and she made it known. However, that is not the story I want to tell today.

The first two hens hatched a total of 18 babies. Sadly, we lost one when it ate a rock that was too big and choked. The third hen can apparently only count to 3. Out of 12 eggs, she hatched 3 babies. It was simply from lack of commitment. I can’t really blame her, it was cool when she started setting, and then it got hot. Nevertheless, she half way hung in there and managed to bring 3 little yellow chicks into the world, making our total 20 baby chicks, who mostly look exactly alike.

At a point, when they are old enough, even the babies are allowed to free range in our fenced back yard. At a certain age, they are all allowed to venture out onto the rest of our property for an afternoon walk, but not until they look like small adult chickens. 

There comes a time when, just as human children, chicks want to push the limits with their mother. If they are small enough, they can squeeze themselves through the spaces in our 2 inch welded wire fence. They always come right back to their mother, so it’s not a problem, UNLESS predators show up.

My brother lives across the street from us and has a giant half German Shepherd/half Mastiff dog we call Chief. He is a sweet thing and has never bothered our chickens. However, he has been known to sneak into the chicken house and have himself an egg or two. He keeps the predators away and gets along with our dog, so he is allowed to visit.

This particular day, I was outside visiting with my brother and heard a hen get mad in my back yard. I didn’t go check because I was sure it was Waffles pestering a hen. He is trying to turn into a flock leader and they aren’t going for it. They have never had to put up with a rooster and they are making sure he stays convinced that they are still the Bosses.  

As we continued our visit, I looked up to see Chief walking past with something in his mouth. My vision isn’t the greatest, and I couldn’t make out what it was. It looked like the bone you pull out of a pork roast after it is cooked. My brother immediately sent his 13 year old daughter to see what it was. Our hearts broke to find it was one of my baby chicks. “OH NO!” we yelled in unison. I ran to him, trying not to burst into tears, trying to distract the younger kids from seeing. We pulled it out of his mouth to find that that little thing was still alive. It was slobbery and gross-but alive!

I held it tightly in my hands, closely to my neck. I knew from experience that this was quickest way to warm one up. After a quick inspection, we found it had no puncture marks and was alert, although it was not moving.  

As I hurried in the house, snuggling this baby chick, I kicked myself. I felt so bad, “If I had only checked when they had tried to tell me.” I told myself. I felt as though I had failed them. I took him to the kitchen table and quickly spread out some newspapers. At the time, my heart was aching so bad that I didn’t care that there would be a baby chicken on my kitchen table.

It appeared as though he was paralyzed. I gently took him from my neck, opened my hands up and he wiggled his head. I slowly parted my hands, and let him gently slide onto the table. He immediately stood up and began running. Looking back, I can’t help but laugh. There we stood, two adults and 3 kids gathered around the table, squealing with delight, tears running down our faces, and my brother yelling. “Thank you Lord!”  

The chick showed no sign of injury, but the hard part was not over. We still had to try to give it back to his mother. Would she take it? Could we tell whose it was?  Now, let me tell ya, there is nothing quite like a “mad momma hen.” We walked out my back door and we could tell immediately that it was Falina’s. This poor girl has 11 babies, but she was one “mad momma hen.” She knew it was it was hers.  I lowered the chick to the ground and it ran straight to her. She mumbled and grumbled at me for the rest of the day. We would never again be able to tell which chick it was.

It has been three days with no sign of any ill chicks. Whew! Praise the Lord. Chief, on the other hand, is not allowed no longer allowed to visit, and we are going to take a vacation day and put chicken wire around the bottom of our entire back yard so that we will never again have this type of Good, Bad Day.