The big day finally arrived and we picked up our four chickens yesterday. Woo!
The morning started off with a flurry of activity. I hastily threw one last coat of paint on the coop because I figured it didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being done after the chickens arrived. The humidity was freakishly 98% on Saturday (can you say global warming/overall climate apocalypse?). The paint was refusing to dry when my poor husband was given the impossible challenging task of putting back on all of the coop pulleys and latches that had been removed for painting. Thanks honey, I think now is a great time to tell you how much I love you and can please take out the trash? But I digress…
We left my husband in the driveway cursing at the bag of coop hardware and took off for the farm. Twenty minutes and a few wrong turns later (it was all Siri’s fault) we arrived at chicken mecca, a.k.a., Georgetown, MA. Chris, super farming guy, greeted us and took us to his see his hens. They were in the Blair Witch-like basement of his barn (I mean this in a nice way). We were amazed at the sight of his one zillion chickens. He then asked me if I would like to go into the coop and pick up my new hens.
Uh…
At this point, I realized something. I’m just going to come right out and say it, okay? I am freaked out by birds. Cute cardinals at my bird feeder and sparrows flying around in the sky are fine, but actually picking up a bird is different story. Is it going to peck at me? I mean, that just sounds unpleasant. My mind kept flashing back to a piece I heard on WBUR that morning about an Alfred Hitchcock biography.
http://www.wbur.org/npr/163182381/a-look-at-the-girl-who-caught-hitchcocks-eye
Apparently, while making his super scary flick, “The Birds,” Mr. Hitchcock used REAL BIRDS to attack the actress in the penultimate scene. Ok, that’s not very nice. Mr. Hitchcock, no offense, but you sound like a real ass. Thanks to you, I have one super cool auntie who literally cannot be within one mile of a seagull. This makes a trip to the beach with her a challenge, but we love her anyway.
I suggested that my kids to go into the coop and help get the chickens. They recoiled and screeched, “no way!”
Chris took pity on us and effortlessly grabbed four hens and put them into our dog crate (sorry, Lucy). He gave us some advice and even offered to replace a bird if it croakeddidn’t work out. How nice was that?! We thanked him and bombed home, anxious to get the girls settled.
We arrived home and the coop was ready: paint mostly dry and hardware re-attached. We brought the hens to their run and opened the crate door. They were frozen. I needed to move them. My mind flashed back to “The Birds”. Curse you, Alfred!
Husband: “Come on. Pick ‘em up! What, are you scared or something?”
YES!
Me: “No, of course not! “
I reached into their crate and grabbed, wincing in advance of the pain I was sure their little beaks would inflict upon me. But, they just flapped their wings and squawked a bit – no pecking involved. I put each one down in the run and they seemed happy as clams (does anyone really know if clams are happy, really?).
They looked around, scratched at the grass, drank some water and then one did the most amazing thing. Drumroll please…
It plucked a mosquito from the air and ate it.
Cue angels singing. One less bug in our bug-filled yard. Boom, in yo’ face Triple E! Take that West Nile!
Good job girls, you’ll fit in just fine around here.
Can you tell them apart? Do they each get names?
Congratulations! Do the girls have names yet? Mr. Lee has been saving egg cartons for you in anticipation of The Great Hen Arrival Day.
One of my early childhood memories is of show and tell day in kindergarten.
We all formed a circle around the show and tell candidate who had brought in a chicken as her offering. I wasn’t afraid. Miss Styles our teacher said we should not be frightened of the chicken and to be careful not to frighten it. A nasty little boy stepped into the circle and pulled the chickens tail feather. Miss Styles pulled him back but it was too late. A few seconds later all I could see were white feathers engulfing my face.
As if trying to suffocate me was not enough she ( the chicken not Miss Styles) grabbed my little face with her claw inflicting a huge scratch.
As I sat in the doctor’s office getting a painful tetanus shot I cried not because of the pain but because I knew that nice chicken thought I was the one who pulled her tail.
Still today I have nothing but kind thoughts for chickens.
Beth, we are still working on the names and they are impossible to tell apart!! I’ll keep you posted
Vinette,
Thanks to Mr. Lee for saving the cartons. We will fill them for you soon
That is such a story about the chicken’s visit to your classroom – amazing that you don’t scream every time you pass a farm or the chicken isle at Market Basket!!
Wow! I love the photo of them in the sparking, new coop. Well done and I am glad they are settling in.
Thanks so much! I must say, it’s so much fun so far!
Thanks so much! Not sure how long it will look this clean – best enjoy it while we can!
Love your coop all freshly painted! And are those wheels I see/?? How cool! Good luck Michelle…I hope they lay lots of eggs for you.
Thanks, Emily! You have blazed the trail as a chicken owner
They can’t be impossible to tell apart. Some slight colouration on neck or tail was the easiest way for us initially. Now I can identify them from pretty much any angle. Just look clooooosely until you get the hang of it.
How old are your girls? They have reasonable combs and even wattles. Are they laying already?
For the record, I still don’t pick up my girls very often and when I do, they don’t much like it. I have learned to sort of hold their legs/feet like a bouquet of flowers and one arm over their wings. With wings pinned and legs supported (they tend to bicycle if legs are left free and flap if wings are left free) I can sometimes hold them and stroke their neck for a few seconds before the wiggle and flap effort makes it all too much for both of us and I let them “fly” away. Which is really a controlled drop. This irritates me to no end as they are happy to stand on my foot or peck my jeans or eat from my hand or… but they do NOT like to be touched.
Welcome to the world of chicken wrangling – it’s a great hobby.
Thanks for the encouraging words, Laura. I so appreciate it! The hens are starting to look different to us which just seems amazing.
Our hens are about a year old and they are already laying like crazy.
Good to know about hens generally not liking to be picked up. We will keep trying