Amazingly, we still have all 10 chicks, now beautiful full- feathered miniature adults in a wide variety of
colors and patterns, from soft golden brown to dark red to black and white checkerboard. I heard one
trying out his rooster crow the other day; hilarious. In the beginning, we had seven look-alike blonde
and three black chicks.
Soon after the chicks started feathering out, one day their Mama Hen flew out of the pen. I had fastened
plastic fence in strips over the top to discourage the entrance of hawks and guineas. I guess Mama could
get out but was hesitant to brave the obstacles to return. Propping the gate open a little, small Sara and
I tried to gently herd the mama back in. However, she didn’t trust us enough and ended up bolting the
scene. For days she would hang around outside the pen, but we still couldn’t get her in.
Some weeks later the Mama did manage to fly back in, but the smaller space, combined with bigger
chicks apparently got on her nerves. She is an independent hen, and soon was spending her days once
again stalking around the yard and trying out one nesting spot after another.
As my husband is still in recovery mode, some of the heavier chores that he normally handles have
fallen to me. The last two weeks, friends helped me roll the big bale of hay into the horse feeder box
that allows us to winch the hay closer to the manger as the horses eat it down. Friday, when I was
cranking the almost-full bale into position, I felt the strain in my arm. Apparently, I pulled something.
Saturday, my arm throbbing in a sling, I looked at the waterers in the chick pen that needed cleaning and
refilling. I looked at the containers of feed, once again empty and needing refills. I looked at the three
“chicks” that had flown out that morning and were sticking their heads back into the pen, trying to
gobble scraps of chick feed from the outside.
I swung open their gate just enough to allow the little chickens entry into the wider world and stood
back. Some came out eagerly, others hung back, hesitant. However, within a few hours all were pecking
around the driveway and goat and bunny pens.
Family reunion. This morning, I noticed Mama Hen back in the midst of her huddle of ‘tween offspring,
contentedly pecking around together for breakfast. As has become second nature, I counted...eight
babies. Then, a little further off, I spotted first one then the last one. Still 10!
Several days ago, we noticed a beautiful big rooster along with sundry hens wandering our horse
pasture nearest the neighbor who gifted us with Mama Hen. His looks a lot like our Charlie, and could be
one of his sons that we had given Mr. W when he first built his chicken coop. DJ called, but neither he
nor Mr. W (who is legally blind) was up to chasing chickens nor repairing their coop. Then yesterday I
saw their rooster (with a distinctive pattern of tail feathers) was in our poultry pen, while Charlie is
nowhere to be found. After roosting time, I managed to catch and cage him, mostly one-handed, and
not without fear and hesitation before the grab. DJ is returning to light duty work today, and on the way
was going to call Mr. W and probably drop off his rooster at the farm store for re-homing. I am hoping
maybe Charlie is at their place, a case of mistaken identity.
For a decade, our Angel Grey Fluff Spare Cat (her name varies depending upon which family member is
referring to her) has been holding down the position of barn cat and running off any interlopers. I have
often wished she would allow for an assistant. When our neighbor called last week asking for help
placing her rescued bottle-raised kittens, I visited with little Sara. With amazing patience, all of them
allowed Sara to pick up and play with them. Hand raised, they are the sweetest little things, and yep,
you guessed it, we ended up bringing one home to try and see if we can’t persuade Angel to relent. Sara
adores little “Rio” (no one knows how or where she came up with the name) and carries him around for
hours. Nights he spends in a big cage at the barn. In the day, we often bring him to the house where we
have set up a small cage for when Sara isn’t playing with him. The last few days, I have started letting
him loose to play around outside while I am working nearby. Angel watches balefully, hissing, and we
don’t dare leave him unattended.
This morning as I took care of Alexander Bunny, and Rio pounced and climbed, our Golden
Lab/Shepherd Lacey came over to check things out. “Be nice to the kitty,” I reminded her. She settled
down and watched as he explored. I went on and shifted Jasper and Jeremy’s grazing pen about 20 feet
away and got them set up for the day. Hurrying back to check on Rio, I found him playing a few feet
from Lacey, who had apparently taken on guard duty.