The Four Nuggets

Introducing:  

!  

Born May 5 --- 

I raised them in the living room for the first two weeks. Not because I especially wanted to raise them indoors, but because they'd been vaccinated for Marek's Disease, and they needed a little time for their immune systems to kick in.  

Marek's Disease is a virus that thrives in my yard. I lost both Pigeon and Fern to the disease. Lucy has suffered from it, but she is a strong survivor so far.  I'm hopeful that the vaccine will protect the new little flock members. 

There was no shortage of fun activities for the chicks indoors.

They met THE HAND... 

---pretty darn exciting.

Then they met THE PAPER PLATE, with watermelon slices. 

 --- a little too scary.

They played a variety of sports.
  

Phoebe showed natural athletic potential... Jenny, not so much. 

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Dorrie, the Barred Plymouth Rock, warmed right up to The Hand. 

I was alarmed that Dorrie sported a tiny comb on her little noggin from day one.  And from day one I was sick with worry. Was she a "he"?  I read that the boys are the most personable chicks.  Dorrie was by far the most personable. She was uniquely endearing.
I struggled to keep my heart in check while I searched the chicken sites for information on the sexing of Barred Rock chicks.

I posted the above photo on Facebook, asking knowledgeable chicken-friends whether Dorrie was a pullet or a roo. 

Many opinions and educated speculations were offered, but the response was pretty much 50-50.   So I continued to wring my hands over Dorrie and I tried not to fall in love with her.

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Meanwhile, Jenny the Australorp, who we named after our first Jenny, 

 

 sported no comb at all, thank goodness. 

Instead, Jenny had a curiously enormous head. I wondered about the size and complexity of the brain inside her huge chickie skull.  

Jenny grew twice as quickly as the others-- perhaps her body was trying to catch up to her hat size.

It occurred to me that she might actually be an ostrich.

Or an albatross?

. .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

Now, Scarlett - she's my little Buckeye.  She's named after a flowering tree: the Scarlet Buckeye, and her adult feathering will be a deep red.

Her breed is supposed to be good at catching mice.

What they do with the mice once they catch them, I'm not sure.

Scarlett is a bit shy, so I don't know much about her personality yet.

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Phoebe, a Speckled Sussex,  

 is elegant and vivacious.    

And very photogenic.

Here's Phoebe at nine weeks:

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And here's great big Jenny at nine weeks, with her friends Phoebe and Scarlett:

Jenny's still the largest.  She's a respectable and level-headed lady, and has accepted the leadership role of her young flock.

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After nine weeks of worry, I can now officially declare Dorrie a GIRL.

I can tell by her stance, and by the shape and color of her feathers.  Thank goodness. Now I can sleep at night. 

Except now Dorrie is showing herself to be a spitfire and a daredevil.

She rushes to greet Marky, fearlessly.  

She taunts Daisy.... 

very foolishly.  

If we can keep her alive to adulthood despite her reckless tendencies, she may turn out okay. 

After all,  

she is quite handy with power tools, 

and she's an avid reader. 

So with a bit of luck, some smarts and wisdom may eventually displace the lunacy in that little head of hers.

....we'll see.

Critters

Continued from:  Becoming a Chicken

This post is dedicated to the memory of our little Cobbie,

 

who lived his entire life with this expression on his face.

He was six years old when he died  -- a little old man.

We'll miss your little pink lips, Cobbie, your loving personality, and your chubby little obesity.

So again I wipe away a tear and move on... to the circus in my backyard.

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News alert!

Fern and Daisy are definitely girls. I just know they are. Look at these little figures --- how they hold their little tails high.  No doubt.  They're girls. Girls.

Fern and Daisy are inseparable.  They're like one four-legged chicken. 

 They come when I call, because I often have treats.  So now they consider me the most amazing human of all time, which is of course my plan.

Lil'White continues to terrorize the young'uns, 

but in the brutal heat of recent weeks, she has been just too hot to viciously pursue Fern and Daisy. 

She pants. She swoons. She drags her wings and carries on.

So Fern and Daisy get a break.

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Here's the current setup:  

With a 14 foot play-yard between the hens' coop and the babies' coop, there's a good amount of free space for them to be together during the day. Hawks circle overhead and foxes lurk in the woods, but as long as Marky's around, the girls are safe behind the flimsy fencing and bird netting.

Marky's been spending a lot of time milling about the coop lately, 

as he's discovered a dense city of mice and voles just beneath the surface.   Spilled chicken-feed has lured the little vermin... I can only imagine the size of their stash.   Their sounds and smells are driving Marky Mad.

To prevent spillage, you're supposed to raise the feed bin up to the level of the chickens' backs, 

which I did.

But shoveling food onto the ground is Pigeon's favorite thing to do, and raising the feeder was no deterrent.

So Mouse City continues to grow, well-nourished. 

And Marky continues to spend his summer days standing in the coop, staring at the ground.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

Okay. 
  

After three years and 1,800 eggs, here's a first:

Somebody laid an egg the size of a grape.

And I think I know who did it.

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Next post:   

THE MYSTERY OF THE TEENY EGGS