Well, this is a weird post. 4 weeks ago we got 4 baby chicks. Two red and two black adorable baby chicks. Brad had been planning and preparing for weeks. He checked out nearly every book on chickens at our library and then designed and built both a brooder and a coop. He researched breeds and styles and then placed an order for the two types that were good egg layers and friendly with kids. The boys were ecstatic and Ben couldn't stop talking about when his chicks were to arrive and what he would name them. Some of the names on the short list included Stinky, Poopy, Papa, Gaga, Mama, Chick, and Karen.
Brad brought them home on a Friday afternoon after work and they were just one day old. They were SO tiny. So fluffy and sweet and I instantly loved the idea of having chickens SO much more than I had before. They stayed in their brooder (a modified tuperware) under the heat lamp in our dining room and we spent lots of time holding them, singing to them and just staring at them. Ben finally decided on 3 names. One red one was Lightening McQueen, one black one was Sally, and the other black one was Mack. How appropriate. All three characters from the Cars movie. He couldn't make his mind up for the other red one and well it was probably a good thing, because she didn't even make it through the first night.
Saturday morning, Ben ran into our bedroom and said, "Mama. One of the chicks died." Brad and I went from not believing him, to wondering how in the heck he knew what "died" meant, to freaking out about having to have the "death" talk with him. He's 3 years old! I have to explain the afterlife to him because of some 1 day old chicken!? Crap!
Sure enough, ol' red was foaming at the mouth and rigid in the food dish. Gross. I say down and asked Ben how it made him feel that the chick died. He smiled, hugged my neck and said, "It's ok Mama. We just bury it." Whew. Catastrophe averted.
Down to three (the ones that were named!) we watched in amazement as they grew, literally right before our eyes. We would check on them after an hour and they would have new tail feathers, or their wings would have DOUBLED in size. It was awesome. After about a week, we started taking them on field trips out to the backyard and loved watching them explore the yard and learn and do innate things that no mother hen had taught them to do. The boys were so gentle with them and knew that while they could pet them they were still to little to pick up. Ben would stop every 1-2 minutes and say, "Where are the chicks? Are the chicks ok?" or constantly give reports on what they were doing. Des would chase them around, carefully reach out to touch them and then shriek when he felt their feathers, or laugh when they walked behind him.
They grew so fast and quickly turned into the awkward teenage looking chicks. The weather turned warm and we started taking them outside even more frequently. Over Spring Break, Brad put the finishing touches on the bad-ass chicken coop he built from scratch. Because they seemed to be so big we started leaving them in their for longer stretches during the day to enjoy the sunshine, grass, bugs and space, and then returning them to their brooder (dining room tupperware) for sleeping.
Saturday night I got home from yoga training to a quiet house. Brad looked up at me from the couch with a very solemn face and said, "I've got some bad news." My heart dropped. As with anyone, those words summon my deepest darkest fears. "Lightening McQueen is gone."
I fell to the floor. Mainly from relief.
However, I was confused. How? He had no idea. The boys went out right before bedtime to bring the chicks in and she wasn't in the coop. Ben fell apart, crying, so upset. She had been his favorite. (She was the prettiest and spunkiest of the three and he had almost caught her the day before so they had a connection). Brad could not figure out if she'd gotten out or a predator had gotten in? We were baffled. And sad. (but again...relieved.)
So down to two little black hens, Sally and Mack (or pretty face as I called her) we were a little bummed. First, our egg production was going to be much less, and we would probably have to supplement fairly regularly with farmer's market purchases. And secondly, we really liked having a mix of breeds. But, oh well. Then Sunday night I get back from yoga training and, you guessed it. Another one was gone. Mack had bit the dust, but this time she left some feathers on the chicken wire as a clue. They were escaping from the coop!
Their skinny little prepubescent chicken bones were actually small enough to fit through the chicken wire! That fluffy mature plummage was disguising the fact that they were still way too small to be left in the coop without supervision. Who knew? Certainly not us. And to ensure his suspicion, Brad saw Sally do it too but was able to capture her before she got out of the yard and murdered by the lurking neighborhood feral cats. ugh.
So. We still have Sally girl. She has spent the last week all alone, squeaking endlessly for attention and love. We have held her and coddled her and loved on her to ease her loneliness. Whenever we are outside, we bring her with us and she follows us around just like we hoped. She sits on my lap and sometimes even my shoulder. She curls up against my leg to take a nap. She plays chase with the boys. She wants to be right next to one of us at all times. Would I have ever imagined my backyard playtime to include a chicken ON ME? No way, but it has been SO awesome. She is hilarious.
Ben handled the second chick going missing much better, though he did request that we go for a neighborhood walk to look for her, just in case "she couldn't find our house." So we did. And now he is even more protective of Sally keeping her in sight almost constantly. But Des is her favorite. Probably because she can make him laugh so easily.
We plan on getting miss sally some sisters soon and this time, we'll try to ignore the smell and keep them inside for a little bit longer.
