November 9, 2009 "Bedtime Song"

  After using my head, literally, to hold up the hatch door on top of the cage, so that I could bend in to grab two chicks at a time, I used my brain and substituted a bucket to prop it open. The chicks wouldn't be trying to fly out anyway as they'd be whirling into the dim unknown. And to a chick, the unknown is a scary concept. Especially at bedtime! Each chick I picked up peeped rather frantically, but joined with a sister and cradled to my stomach, they settled down to the new reality and found it fairly cozy. Until we made it to the perches in the Hen House. 

  At first I set each pair of chicks on the perch, but by the ninth trip, most of them had jumped or fallen off onto the straw-covered, double-wire "floor" beneath the perches. Of course during the melee, a few flew or were ejected to the ground, but they were easily retrieved as chickens don't see well in the dark --  they just stood in one place, peeping plaintively over this dismal situation.

  I tried to count trips and was mostly successful to the point that I settled on either 74 or 76 surviving chicks (out of 80). During the process, I'd think, gee, I'm only half-way there, then two-thirds. But, there was no turning back. The last trip was a distinct relief. Ever mindful of my potential failings, I congratulated myself on not falling down and squashing any babes.

  Under the perches, in the corner, they were piled on top of each other, in confusion and anxiety, but after I turned off the barn light, the peeping ebbed to a soft silence. Tootie J. Tootums, who usually sleeps in that corner, quickly retreated to the far end of the sleeping area, clearly pained over this take over of her preferred spot. However, she was no match for 75 or so peeping, squirming, squealing chicks. So she ceded her formerly privileged position to the mob rule.

  The next morning, the babes were exploring the Hen House in the pre-dawn light, zipping here and there, flying for five feet or so, and hungrily eating from three feed stations. As were Onesy and Tootie. Onesy especially loved pecking the head of each chick who dared to draw near. Finally, Onesy is not at the bottom of the pecking order anymore, and actually, she is amazed at all the disciplinary pecks she will be entitled to peck out. A prestigious thrill. And, she gets to eat chick food too!

  Tootie meanwhile is eager to get out of the Hen House and work the farm, and for that reason she is one of the matrons who must live with the chicks, so that she can access the gate. Also residing on the chick side is the Starlet, who is suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome, after Rusty Roo the Rooster (in Taliban mode) laid the top of her head over to the side, creating a screaming flow of blood, for no reason at all. The attack was not about lust, as you are probably thinking, but rather the fact that she is one of those uppity career-girl hens, like Aunt Penny was, and so smart that she would climb a sloping tree trunk, hop onto the Hen House roof, cross it daintily, and fly down to the outside world, daily. Rusty noticed this and waited for his sneaky revenge. After kicking Rusty off of her, I grabbed her and treated her head to a glob of antibiotic ointment and glued her scalp back down.  After that horrendous crime, the Starlet avoided Rusty to the point of spending most of her days on the perch, coming down for food only when he was not around.  (In other words, staying at home like a good second-class citizen.)

  Even though her comb is a fertile red, she has not laid an egg since the attack. The day before I moved the chicks, Larry helped me persuade the other hens and Rusty to relocate to the east side of the Hen House, which by adding a new door, is now a duplex. During the move Rusty once again attacked the Starlet, and Larry had to rescue her. Now the Starlet is safe, although she still has not fully recovered, emotionally.

  Yesterday, however, she made an attempt at a normal life and indeed sat in a hen box in the little nursery cage, with chicks sunbathing beneath her. She carefully arranged the straw and I hoped that she would lay an egg, but later when I checked, the egg was Onesy's and not hers. But it's a hint of normalcy and I'll take it.

  The other "lucky" hen on the babes' side of the HH duplex is Hoppy J. Tootums, Tootie's twin sister. Hoppy, the little black hen with an "oar" for a leg, has hopped everywhere her entire life, and at seven years old, she is too weak to fly up to the nocturnal perches, so she sleeps in a corner on the ground, as close to the perches as possible.

  Imagine, on subsequent nights, the commotion at bed time. Most of the chicks sleep upstairs, on and under the perches in Tootie's former spot. The rest want to sleep -- guess what! -- where Hoppy normally sleeps! It takes Hoppy quite a while to hop from the feed bowl area all the way across the Hen House, frustratingly shaking straw off her oar at times, to HER corner. And what is now in the corner? A bunch of peeping chicks! They seem to have no consideration at all for Hoppy and some nights she has had to relocate a few feet away and be upset all night long. Unless I go out in the dark and pick up the peepers and shelve them upstairs. Then she gratefully hops back over to her corner.

  Alas, the rain came Sunday, and wouldn't you know, the shade cloth covering overhead doesn't reach all the way to protect Hoppy's corner. So I brought in a piece of tin and angled it like a slanting roof. Well, Hoppy was a bit perturbed, as this was a different looking corner for one thing, and still these chicks want to be there. I had removed almost all of them, but now with the rain roof over the corner, I could not reach a few babes.

  As I watched from outside the Hen House in the growing darkness, Hoppy hopped over and stopped one "foot" (of course) from the roofed corner. Two chicks came out to her, peeping, hoping that possibly she would be the mom they never had. And, Hoppy, who has never said a word in all the years I've known her, emitted  melodic tones, a bedtime song, and the chicks immediately became silent. When I left, Hoppy had settled down, and the chicks, while not next to her, were only a foot away and calmly dozing off.

  Each bedtime will be different over the coming weeks. I'm hoping the chicks give Hoppy a break and let her have her corner back. Meanwhile I'm practicing some old lullabies....but not the one about the cradle crashing down. I've had enough of chicks falling out of bed! And so has Hoppy.

  Carol Ann