I have written previously about my crazy love for chickens, so it should be no surprise that tiny hatchlings make me a bit weird. But ever since Mom’s little hens decided that the month of October was a good month to start sitting on eggs, I think my insanity has spread.
We have had hens sitting in buckets, hens sitting under tractors, hens that we have covered with Styrofoam coolers to try to protect them, hens sitting in fishing nets, and only ONE silly hen who decided to sit in a hen box. And now that they are hatching, we have the problem of tiny fragile chickens just as the first nightly frosts are starting.
So, we’re all running around dismantling all the heat lamps out of the pump-houses, building chicken corrals, and hauling starter feed all over the place. Like we needed more craziness around here. I mean, how seriously can you take us when we talk like this to each other?
“Help me put together this chicken coop; I’ve got to get it finished before I take your mom to the ballet.” Actually, I bet the words ‘chicken coop’ and ‘ballet’ have NEVER been uttered together on the ranch.
“Yes, we built a corral for the white hen. Don’t worry, it is a safe distance from the mammoth.”
”You can’t use the drain in the barn right now, I had to put a floormat over it because baby chicks kept jumping in there and I kept having to dig them back out.”
And, my favorite:
“Yes, I put the 2 new chicks under the hen in the henhouse. Can I call you back? I’m stalking an armadillo.”