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My introduction to raising chickens began with a trip to the post office to pick up a little box packed with 27 two day old chicks. I’d never owned a chicken before and as I opened that box and saw 27 iddy biddy little faces staring back at me, I was overwhelmed with a sense of responsibility knowing that each and every one of them would be dependent on me for their survival. I took that responsibility very seriously. Some of you would say I took it TOO seriously, but that’s not the point of this post.

I fretted, worried, and fussed over those babies obsessively - and well beyond babyhood. And, ok, I STILL do that today, but that’s not the point of this post either.

I’m getting to the point. I promise.

OK here’s the point. I think. After watching my broodies with these six hatches this year, it occurs to me that mama hens don’t offer just a whole lot of babying to their biddies. Those babies are expected to hit the ground running - literally. They get quick, sharp pecks when they get out of line and they get left behind if they don’t keep up. I am sometimes appalled by all this.

Two days ago one of the broody moms took her chicks into the woods and one of her babies was busy scratching and pecking in the run and missed joining the procession as mama marched the others out of the run. When the baby realized she had missed out, she began screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs. Mama began her dust bath and looked back at her chick as if to say “Well, figure out how to get your little fuzzy butt out here”. I just couldn’t hold my tongue.

“YOU were NOT raised that way! I would have NEVER left you behind like that and I would have NEVER let you cry like that. Where did you learn that type of behavior? Honestly! I raised you better than that!” But even before I finished my scolding, mama hen was rolling her eyes and settling down deeper in the dirt.

Yesterday the hatch before last was exactly 2.5 weeks old. They are still babies, for heavens sake! But as I went into the coop to tuck everyone in last night, I saw this:

No more piling into the nest to sleep at night. No more cuddling with mama and basking in her warmth. I almost grabbed every one of those babies and let them sleep with me in the bed. But after waking up with a baby goat next to him, Bernie has kinda laid down the law about who sleeps in our bed at night and, although I find him unreasonable on this subject, I figured I better not push it.

By the way, that’s Pico on the roost below the babies. Isn’t he turning into such a handsome boy? He’s a little horn dog, but he’s still darn good looking. The hen’s aren’t impressed with him though. They deny his advances as much as possible and beat the holy living tar out of him on a regular basis. Although I think a couple of them are coming around to his charm.

While I don’t always agree with their methods, these mama hens appear to be doing a great job raising these babies. I’ve offered advice and tips to them, but it falls on deaf ears. Hard headed little snots. I just don’t know where they get that from.

I hate to end this on a sad note, but earlier this week a Golden Penciled Hamburg came up missing. Bernie and I searched every inch of the yard, surrounding woods, and building on this place and could not find her. I find myself looking to see her rejoin the flock each day, but so far there has been absolutely no sign of her. It’s possible she wandered out of the fenced in yard and became a snack for a hungry animal, although these Hamburgs are extremely loud and we heard no sounds of distress the day she disappeared. I suspect she likely suffered the fate of the other three Hamburgs I’ve lost, but laid down to die somewhere we couldn’t find her.

The Golden Penciled Hamburg is a beautiful breed and they’ve added a fun dynamic to this flock, but I have no desire to add anymore. Losing four has been heartbreaking and I am fairly certain their deaths have been from genetic causes. I have three left. I hope they are around for a while.

Bee Free,
Penny