Sunday, Aug. 27th was the big day! Five of our new little flock of life would be going off to their new home. Only they didn’t know it.
With the babies now feathered and getting underfoot in our shrinking enclosure, I had made the preparations a full week ago. Having casually asked a few local chicken owners who might be interested in adopting five young birds, one of whom was almost certain to grow up to be a rooster, we had settled on Bruce who was able and eager to take all five. After contacting him, we agreed on the following Sunday, sometime after eleven, for me to drop off the new additions to his family.
As protective as momma hen had been and as tiny as the babies were, I knew I would feel like a MONSTER when trying to round up the frightened babies with a frantic mother losing her mind over the whole situation.
It was only ONE DAY after last week’s decision that the miracle of growing up washed over the flock. The babies were not only fully feathered, not only gaining wee bumps on their foreheads that would one day soon be combs, but they were suddenly not little babies anymore. That Monday evening drifted in gently in the late August of 2017 and brought with it the best weather experienced this entire year thus far. Just the kind of day that really make you glad to be alive. Being alive and experiencing the magic all around you means seeing wee ones grow, and for chickens, that comes much faster than a person realizes.
At just under six weeks, they were not all that interested in following momma around anymore and momma was not all that interested in having them underfoot at every instant. They huddled together like a small flock of hoodlums while momma was now free to forage on her own and start putting on weight again before the season turns.
As the days passed, they fended for themselves and were glad of it. Momma has started laying again and takes nearly no notice of her brood other than a passing annoyance. I knew in my heart of hearts that it was time for the babies to move on.
Still, how do I round up five out of seven babies, choose the right ones, and get it done quickly with an angry rooster and nine full grown hens adding to the chaos? That Saturday I gathered a large storage tub, big enough for the babies yet small enough to fit in my car for the twelve mile trip to Bruce’s, and went over the ‘game plan’ with my wife. This is how it all went down …
Early morning hour just after sunrise: I explained to herself the timeline and details of the task before us. She nodded.
Five minutes later: My wife said “I’m sorry, were you saying something?”
A half an hour farther along: “Now that we’ve had our coffee, let me go over with you the timeline and details of the plan.” This time it took.
10:00 A.M.: I went out to the run with the intention of somehow letting the flock slip through the door while keeping the babies in. I didn’t expect 100% success, but if that rooster slipped past and a bulk of the adults, that would have to be good enough. I hit a solid 90%! Coq Au and the adult girls walked right out while the babies, still being a little skittish (I’m still a monster, after all), did not approach! After a quick beak count, seven babies in the run, one rooster and eight hens out in the yard, and one hen in the nesting box … oh well, she could stay there and it won’t add too much to the confusion.
10:30 A.M. My wife and I go back out to the run armed with the storage tub, the can of treats, and a plastic leaf rake. My thought was that if we lay the tub on its side, toss in some of the babies’ favorite treats, some would go in and we could pop the lid on and possibly get three or four in one shot before having to chase down the rest. I also closed the peep door on the coop so that as we identified lil Molly and lil Beulah (the two we were keeping) they could be isolated inside until all of their nest mates could be rounded up.
The plan didn’t quite go like that … but you, my dear readers … probably already guessed that it wouldn’t.
First spot of trouble came when Ematrude, who had been in the nesting box, heard a commotion building outside. “Those people are here and there is a commotion … could be trouble, and I just can’t concentrate on laying. And those brats are peeping their fool heads off! Maybe they’re here to clean up this dump a bit. Maybe they’re giving treats … hey, wait a minute … I MIGHT BE MISSING TREATS!”
Ermatrude emerged with a start, quickly saw the chaos as it was just beginning to unfold and said “Nope!” My wife was near the run door and was able to allow Ermatrude to make a swift escape while I was on my knees trying to ‘encourage’ a group of the chicks to try the treats in the storage tub.
It quickly dawned on herself and I that true to their upbringing, these chicks were just too smart to fall for the old “tasty treats suspiciously in the storage tub” trick.
Plan B.
With the storage tub now righted and the lid loosely in top, I instructed her to ‘corral’ them into a corner of the run gently with the rake while I scooped them up and put them in the tub. This worked a little better, but only one bird at a time. No sooner would I grab one then the rest of the terrified babies would slip past and break for the other side of the run. Back and forth from one corner to the next she and I went catching one baby at a time.
In the midst of all of this, I held each screaming baby up to my wife for the ultimate decision … is THIS one ‘Molly’? Somehow, she knew with 100% certainty exactly which chick was Molly and which one was Beulah and as I encountered them, into the sealed coop they went! Finally, after an exhilarating chase, we had the babies boxed up in their appropriate environs. I carried the tub out to the car and herself opened the wee peep door. She kept the run door closed since now that the babies left to us were only two, and momma not looking to intercede, she didn’t want them roaming the yard by themselves while I was gone. So the babies stayed in the run and the flock foraged the yard.
She went into the house to being preparing a roast duck dinner for our Sunday feast and I pulled out slowly and gently to take the drive to Bruce’s. Never has a NJ driver driven so slowly. Being still early of a Sunday, traffic was pretty sparse, and only a few people caught behind a nervous driver with a tub full of live animals lost their minds over my slow procession.
I arrived at Bruce’s at 11:05. When I stepped out of the car, a dozen or so chickens emerged from comfortable shady spots convinced that I had some treats. There were several roosters and chickens of various breeds, but the bulk of the flock (about half, I’d guess) were jersey giants. His roosters were fairly calm and his hens mostly curious, but no Bruce! I knocked on his door, checked a couple of outbuildings, called out, suspiciously spied the lack of truck and motorcycle and had the sinking feeling he had forgotten our dealings today!
Here is a picture of some of the new friends the growing chicks would be able to meet!
Hoping he was merely late from an errand, I removed the tub from my car and put it in the shade. Checked on them, provided some cool water, and settled in on Bruce’s porch for a spell.
I noticed the inner workings of his flock. I could spy about a dozen hens or more and six (count them!) SIX roosters! Mostly coexisting. He had one isolated in a covered pen … not coexisting. One polish roo that was off by himself and glared at by the other roosters, one white rooster (Leghorn, perhaps?) That couldn’t give a rat’s ass about the rest of them all, and three roosters who gloried in managing the flock.
I also managed a quick photo … ONE view of just a small portion of the property that his flock gets to roam, and there is much more.
About 20 minutes on, Bruce arrived and was very apologetic about the delay. I let him know straight away that on such a fine day this was not an issue for me, as I had been spending the time meeting his birds.
Not wanting to leave the babies ‘tubbed’ up any longer, he and I carried it over to a very small coop he has that is apart from his main coop. Integrating birds can be a challenge, and this small isolation coop was his ‘immigration processing center’ for incoming birds. He told me that they would be spending two or three days in there getting used to the sights and smells of the land and seeing the other members of the flock … and just as important, they would be seeing and getting used to them. The poor things were glad to be out of the tub, but scared from the trip, the new giant man, and a whole new world of strangers. They huddled together, but at least they have each other to lean on.
Bruce and I spent some time chit chatting about this or that and I refused his offer of payment. I told him that I was satisfied that the birds had a good home. He offered me some venison that he had in his deep freeze and I did NOT refuse that!
As he stepped into the house to retrieve the frozen game meat, I glanced over at the small coop and was delighted to see one of the roosters and a couple of the hens over there peeking inside to greet the new strangers. I’ve seen what chickens look like when they do not like an outsider. I’ve heard their curious little growls when they feel threatened. These birds displayed NONE of that. They displayed a quiet patience and curiosity.
After the visit, I thanked Bruce again and headed home. When I got home, Momma was sitting outside of the run next to the babies inside the run. I let the babies out, and they joined the flock. My wife and I had an excellent feast of duck and the flock delighted in the remnants. Our little family is complete and content. With the distractions of the nursery now past, it would be time to ‘chicken’ once again.
Turns out, maybe I am not such a monster after all.
