a home for wayward girls

Well, tonight is the first night the girls are away from home. It seems strange to not have them squawking in the back porch. BCF jr. is very concerned for them. He prayed that God would protect them from "predators" and that they would "survive". He is six. After conferring with Mr.BCF over the nighttime temperatures and some missing security components of the coop (did I mention that we have a coop?) we decided it was time and we were ready. Said missing components are being replaced by a skimming net and a couple of straps. I think I married MacGiver. Mr.BCF/MacGiver built the coop on the Victoria Day Weekend with the help of his farmer-in-law. They worked steadily and made a beautiful home for our foul. It is called an "ark" and looks like an alpine cottage to me. There are two floors;the top for nesting boxes, roosting and snoozing and the bottom is a run. A ramp connects the floors and retracts at nighttime. It has nifty doors with latches for accessing chickens and eggs. The roof comes off in two sections for easy clean up. Best of all, the whole shooting match can be lifted and carried to a new location for fresh bug foraging. The girls have spent all week in the run during the day. They scratch and peck and make happy little chicken noises. They even dig little ditches and sleep in them (it's cooler?) I'm sure that I can see their beaks turn up slightly. But the sure sign of coop contentment was that at the end of the day, when it was time to come in the house, they went scratching and squawking and flying the whole way. I'm ready for them to stay out there. Let's hope the neighbourhood predators aren't.

Lost and Found

The girls have really been enjoying their new found freedom - perhaps a little too much. Allow me to explain; As mentioned before, we've been enjoying the Spring and daily chicken playtime. I was feeling more lax with each play session, wandering further from the flock and then eventually going inside for a few minutes at a time. A few minutes turned into longer and longer blocks of time. Each time I came outside, the girls were faithfully at the back stoop, in their little cluster, pecking for bugs. So imagine my shock when last week I came out and did the cursory head count and only found 3! Unfortunately, BCF jr. was with me. I said not to panic, but I think he heard the panic in my voice. In a nanosecond I had visions of the neighbourhood bald eagles having a feast. I looked frantically for signs of a struggle, like feathers or other less savory things found at a crime scene. The remaining three watched me from the safety of beneath the stoop. We sent out our two man search party around the perimeter of the yard. After making it three quarters of the way around, BCF jr. lost composure and sobbed right in the middle of the hostas. I assured him that we would find the lost chicks. I was amazed and slightly shocked at how easily I lied. I was equally amazed with what I did next. I said to BCF jr. "Let's pray." Now, I don't take prayer lightly and I don't want to teach my son that God is the big dispensing machine in the sky, but I felt that it would be ok with God ,if at this moment, I made a bold prayer. If it was answered differently than expected, I would take that as another teaching opportunity (i.e. sometimes God says no....) I said "Dear God, you know we've lost our chickens and we really miss them. Would you return them to us really soon. Thanks in advance, amen" In another nanosecond I quickly calculated when the next "chick day" was at the feed store and wondered at how easy it would be to introduce them to the surviving members of the original flock. We circled around again, and then broadened our search to outside the confines of the yard. I searched the boulevard and even across the street. I went out front and stopped my sister-in-law in her car. "I've lost some chickens!" It sounded so ridiculous coming out of my mouth. She shared my concern - I thought it kind that she didn't laugh. I continued to alternately search and console the now fully grieving BCF jr. As I stood on the front sidewalk and recounted my tale of loss to my other sister-in-law (who kindly offered to join the search party) I was suddenly aware that I was being watched. There, in front of my house, strutting in the front garden, were the missing chicks! They looked as surprised to see me as I was to see them. I fixed that gap in the fence.

think outside the bawks...part 2

When you live in Canada, even in the southernmost parts (the city will still remain nameless until town council stops laughing and makes chicken husbandry ok) ya just get tired of Winter. And since this was a long and cold one, Spring has sprung that much sweeter. Last week, finally, it got warm enough that I felt the girls could go out into the real world. We took a couple out for a short stroll (I didn't want them to get a chill). At first they didn't know what to do - they just stood there in the grass. When they took their first tentative steps it was like a baby taking her first step on foreign material - those sensory receptors in the feet just don't know what to do with that information. Then one shyly walked over to me, stood on my shoe under the shelter of my pant leg. The second chick followed suit, on the same foot, facing the opposite way. I got a little misty...Several days and several more degrees warmer, we took the whole posse out. Again, they all stood, not sure what to do with this alien landscape. Instinct took over shortly thereafter and soon they were scratching and pecking for bugs like old hens in the barnyard. They wandered in a little clump like 5 year olds around the soccer ball. And then after half an hour of "chicken play-time" they simultaneously stopped moving. I relocated the exhausted and slightly stunned fowl back to the safety of their plastic box. Said box is getting mighty small. I take the girls out for CPT each day now partly as entertainment for BCF jr., partly out of chicken-mommy guilt. See subsequent posts for the coop building extravaganza!

think outside the bawks...part 1

Wow, it's been way too long since last I "blogged on" - so much has happened... I have that vague sense of guilt one gets when they haven't filled in their child's baby book and the child is now 6. (Now, who would ever do a terrible thing like that?...) So to make up for lost chick time (the 6 year old's book is a lost cause at this point) I will give you a mini-voyage of the chicks' lives beyond the brooder. Three weeks ago the girls were "relocated" to the back porch. It is a little nippy out there still, but there was that whole issue of the house-barn-smell, so it had to be done. We compensated by placing a thermal blanket part way over the opening over the brooder. We keep a thermometer in there (remember? their "real" mom or god) to ensure that they are kept comfy. Since it was too cold outside to frolic, we decided to let them loose in the porch. They seemed to like it. It was room to roam and find spider snacks. Brave Chicken Farmer Jr. took to singing to them and playing the wind chimes softly. He looked like a young Bing Crosby crooning to the babes.. Now, it's all fun and games until everyone poops. I've grown to love and appreciate wood chips. Needless to say, porch-time has been limited. BCF jr. has also taken to bringing out one lucky contestant and sitting her on his lap in the house. Because the first time he was seated on a speaker with his leg extended and a chick fell asleep, he is convinced that this is the way he must do it each time. He also thought it was cool to play video games on the computer with a chick sleeping on his lap. The aftermath is slightly less labour intensive for me, but more unpleasant for BCF jr. There is a lot of laundry these days.

chicken dinner

Chicks eat, well, chick food. Actually it's called chick starter or crumbles. It looks like kitty litter and doesn't smell much better. It's full of some stuff, supposed to be good for ya... I'm very excited about the prospect of feeding the girls some "real food", so we started to feed them spiders. I'm sure my arachnophobic family will appreciate that and have new found respect for me. The thing is that in this part of Southwestern Ontario (my city is not revealed to protect the not-so-innocent) we have a lot of spiders, especially near the water (said body of water is not named for the same reason). As soon as it is a little warm, those beggars come out in full force. It's funny, because in years gone by, I didn't mind the spiders. I let them live in my house as long as they didn't get in the way. My porch is a veritable spider gallery. A fat juicy spider hangs every foot or so, happily spinning it's webs or capturing prey. They are quite compelling. However, my chicken-mother instinct has tainted my spider love. So in a moment of motherly spite, I picked up one of these spiders and swung it by it's own web over the girls' heads. (I had no concern for retribution because I don't believe in Karma). The girls must have a built-in "spider radar" since they went bonkers for this poor thing. OK, I did feel slightly badly for the spider pinata -really I did. But I got over the guilt (not big on guilt either) and it is now almost a daily habit. I thought I would try some human food as well. Seeing as fruit has no feelings (as far as I know) I tried a chunk of apple. They fought over that as well, but not with quite as much enthusiasm. When I die, I sure hope I'm not wrong and come back as a spider, or an apple - what a shame that would be!

n.b. shout out to my girl "Zippy" for being my model - she's one hot chick!