What a morning!
One of our favorite girls, Penelope, a Partridge Rock from our original flock, was not in the coop last night. We looked everywhere we could in the dark. It got dark and cold pretty quickly last night. What happened? We had not heard anything out of the ordinary. Though life with chickens is seldom ordinary, one does become accustomed to their day to day racket.
We do free-range our chickens. Our back yard has a massive amount of tall grasses and weeds. So much so that I guess we really can't call it a yard - truly more like the back forty. Ok, so the back six! Anything could come through the tall brush or along the creek, snatch a chicken and be gone. But, that just didn't seem likely. We have been lucky. Luckier than I would have thought. We haven't lost any flock members to predators since our first month of novice chicken-keeping last year. (knocking wood!)
I was in a fowl mood last night. I was mad and sad that one of our good girls was gone. As grumpy as I was I still had hope. I asked the chicken deities for mercy on my sweet girl. When I did sleep, my dreams were pretty wacky. I don't like loss. Not that anyone does actually like loss, but I take even the smallest loss sometimes too much to heart. Well, maybe except that time I sent a poor songbird to her death... of course I feel bad about it, but mostly I laugh about the incident. For now I'll just say that it involved my "saving" this poor little bird. And my cat. Yeah, the cat was there too.
Anyways, ever-hopeful, I checked each window at first light. I kept checking windows. While the coffee was brewing I decided to take a quick check outside. Still in my bathrobe, with no socks and leaky hiking shoes, I did a inner perimeter search. Nothing. I was chilled and shivering and cranky. I came back in and continued with my morning routine.. for about 12 minutes. I got dressed and took a last swig of coffee. Hubby could feel my urgency and followed suite. We got bundled up and fitted ourselves with our re-con gear. Me, a long stick. Him, his 410. We were ready for whatever we found. We searched and searched. We searched for well over an hour. So, after searching high and low, up and down the stream bed, in and out of the briars, under the cars and buildings, we decided to come back to home base.
We let the chickens out of the chicken coop. We were hoping against hope that somehow, maybe, we had missed her during head-count last night. No such luck.
We stayed out with our feather-babies for quite some time - admiring their antics and lamenting the loss of our beautiful hen, all the while planning our course for revenge. Yeah, yeah... critters gotta eat, too. But, we're not getting into that discussion now.
Soaked and chilled we decided to come back inside to finish our now cold coffee. Thankfully, before I had gotten too far into the warming up process I remembered that the chickens needed more water. So, I filled the gallon water jug and back out I went.
Like nothing had happened, like no sleep had been lost and like no hour long search had been mounted, like we hadn't been calling Penelope's name all morning long - there, happily scratching away in front of the porch steps, was Penelope. What the hell?!
I guess if a chicken doesn't want to be found, a chicken won't be found!
This has been a day filled with death - some intentional, some not.
First thing this morning we dispatched two male Cayuga ducks. They were originally intended for meat anyways, but we finally got up the nerve to do the deed. I helped hubby. Thankfully he doesn't need my help when he butchers the chickens, but he needed me for this task. These boys were the roughest on the girls, so we made the decision that they would go first. Now we watch the flock and decide on the next two. It's amazing how quickly the new pecking order is arranged. But, I can say that the duck yard is much quieter today - much more relaxed.
So that was the intentional death.
Because we are very caring and empathetic people we did not want the other critters outside when the task was being rendered. And so, we left the chickens in the coop a little longer than usual. I wanted to go out in the middle of the night to check on the pipped egg, but I didn't. This morning I knew that I couldn't get into the coop without letting everyone, or at least a majority, out - so I didn't check on the pipped egg. I figured that a mama that was so committed to sitting on her nest for nearly a month was going to be a good mom. I found out I was wrong. There should have been 4 eggs under her - there were only three. One of those remaining three eggs was actively hatching. When the broody hen saw me looking at it she pecked it very hard - several times. She pecked it hard enough to startle me. I grabbed it and ran to the house. Luckily we still had the heat lamp up from a couple of other chicks that hatched just over a week ago. I put the hatchling safe in the old refrigerator crisper on the wine rack. Yeah, that's how we roll around here...
Throughout the day, even interrupting our garlic harvest, I went to the coop to check the status of the other eggs. Another one had pipped. I should have grabbed it right then and there - but I didn't. Oh that hindsight - twenty twenty I'll tell ya!
After relaxing a bit on the porch, actively resisting the urge to go out to the coop every 5 minutes, I did finally do another chick check. Too late. Ten minutes too late? Five minutes too late? There it was - a tiny and wet little black chick. Dead. The poor thing was pecked to death by the broody hen.
I have so many emotions whirling throughout me right now, but I may be able to sum it up by admitting that I did call that beautiful yellow hen Broody Mama. Now, I'm angry, I'm hurt, I'm sad. Mostly, I'm disappointed. Now I just call her broody hen. I feel betrayed.
Believe me, I keep my rose-colored glasses safely locked away. I'm sorrowfully realistic. But this hurts me.
I guess all I can do now is rejoice in the little wonder that is drying off and fluffing up in my living room.
Here I am on our porch drinking my coffee. I got a late start this morning, but I figure that's okay every now and then. I love our porch. We get such a nice breeze, and it's usually at least a few degrees cooler than in the yard. This is my little sanctuary. The rest of the house is a mess, but my porch table is tidy and flower-filled.
The duck babies (now 8 weeks old) are enjoying some front yard time to themselves before the big ducks are let out. The chickens are still in the coop for another hour or so. I'm hoping my girls will give me a few more eggs today. I spoil them, but they have been stingy with their eggies. Maybe they're irritated at having all the new babies around. I don't know if they've been producing wild hen-fruit, or if production has just been low. Keeping them in the coop may reinforce the proper laying habits.
Lately, I much prefer the company of my feather-babies. The kid has been quite difficult this summer. So far, honestly and sadly, it has not been a great summer vacation. Don't get me wrong, it's not all miserable... I think Emma-Kid, now 8 years old, is learning how to navigate her own emotions. She needs more "play-dates," but they're hard to come by where we're at. We chose to not put her in the Summer Enrichment program through school because it makes for such a long day. She needs to be able to chill out and not be so scheduled. We're not full schedule people. I miss my baby. She seems so angst-ridden, but she's only eight?! I want my happy little turd back! One of the most frustrating sides to this is that she doesn't even realized how snotty she's being. I may go on a few day strike of whatevers and sures, distance myself a bit. Maybe. I'm really not sure what direction to go in, but I know that I need to do something to help us get over this funk!
