This Ameraucana chick (pictured above) has become my favorite. Maybe because she looks like an owl and I want to prop wee little spectacles on her beak. Maybe because I’m super excited about the blue eggs she will lay, hopefully by the end of summer. She is easygoing and perches on my hand without any fuss.
We haven’t really named anyone yet— we want to wait until their personalities become more clear. A friend told me when she was a kid, she was not allowed to name a chicken because that meant it couldn’t go away to “Freezer Camp.” Lol, none of ours are packing their mosquito nets for Freezer Camp. They’ll all eventually get names.
I think I’m going to call my Ameraucana Not Ethel, in honor of a friend who has a spunky rebellious alter ego she refers to as Not Ethel. (I think everyone needs an alter ego they can blame when the prospect of moving another kid out of another dorm room makes them curse.)
But we love all these little balls of fuzz. Here are a few pics to make you go awww.
You open the barn door and their chirping sounds exactly like Spring. It’s like we have a galvanized tub full of song birds. This surprised us — how birdlike they are. They look like birds and sound like birds, I guess until they become chickens. And then they’re just chickens. Strange, isn’t it, since I’ve never looked at a chicken and thought, “What a pretty bird.” Wonder when we will hear their first “bawk bawk bawk” calls. I’m guessing it’ll be like the startling voice change I witnessed in four sons: “Who are you and what have you done with my little boy?”
This silkie is so small. She has a little rectangular head that reminds us of a “Hey Arnold” character. Silkies are the only breed of chicken with black skin and black bones. They also have five toes as opposed to four. They’re known for soft fluffy feathers and gentle dispositions, which can sometimes cause them to be at the bottom of the pecking order. We might be seeing that trend already, but Heather makes sure this Silkie gets her own time at the feed dish.
This little Buff Brahma is a bantam, meaning it’s a smaller version of its breed. She’s a replacement of Coco Chanel, one of the original Laurentide dowagers named for her very chic plumage. Coco lived a good long chicken life but became deaf and was tragically hit by a car she didn’t hear honking. (And no, the driver was not one of us. Phew.)
We are holding the chicks every day, hoping to get them used to being handled. Heather wants to train one to ride on her shoulder as she strides about the field, like a heroine in a Bronte novel. But they’re getting harder and harder to catch!
We do have to watch their bottoms. One chick’s behind became caked with stool, which is a not uncommon way that baby chicks die. We’re talking about a bowel obstruction. So, with Heather holding the little guy, I used a warm towel to work the stool away. It caused a slight gag reflex, not unlike the first time parents experience a volcanic diaper blowout. You breathe through your mouth and concentrate on the task at hand and then it’s over. Remember?
None of the chicks are sexed. In other words, we don’t know if the babies are male or female. We have to wait a month or so and see if we get eggs or anger. The feathers will be the indicator. We do want one rooster, because a good one is helpful to the flock. But we don’t want a jerk! Our fingers are crossed that one of the Cochins will turn out to sprout the telltale tail feathers.
I never would have guessed that chickens can give such pleasure. We are constantly entertained. They’re smart, they’re funny, and when they run towards me, their feathery butts waddling back and forth like church ladies taking charge of a kitchen, I want to toast little muffins just for them. Maybe we will get a goat or two someday. Maybe an alpaca. But no animal will ever delight me as much as a happy hen.
Photos by Walter Ballesteros