Lucy and the Ghastly Nuggets

I had read about hens accepting young chicks and caring for them, and I was eager to see if Lucy, having already raised a chick of her own, might take a shining to these wee nuggets.

So on a nice warm day, when they were exactly two weeks old and their Marek’s vaccine was well-integrated into their immune systems, I scooped up the chicks and whisked them outside to greet the sun ---

  

and to meet an honest-to-goodness chicken. 

Once the chicks were situated on the lawn, I carried Lucy over to take a look. 

I placed her beside the cage.

For a moment, she ignored them  -  but only for a moment.

 

Then Lucy lifted her head, raised her hackles, and shrieked like a banshee.

  

The nuggets just stared at her. 

Lucy was terrified. I wonder if she even recognized them as chicks.

She turned and lumbered away from their cage, and scrambled to the safety of my lap. 

Only when she discovered the tag on my pants

did her hackles settle 

 

and her panic subside. 

 

After a while she glanced up to find that those freaky little nightmares were still there. 

Poor Lucy. The prospect of enduring motherhood again nearly sent her over the edge.

I carried her back to the safety of the coop and the reassuring company of her geriatric companions.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

  

Once the chicks had grown and it was time to integrate them with the old ladies, I worried for Lucy.....as I always do.  Her disability is evident, and the youngsters might very well choose to pick on her.   

But Lucy held her own. 

  

She and Lil'White share the position of Top Chicken in the coop, and the nuggets have not contested their status.  

 

They stick pretty closely together, these little gals -  they're a sub-flock within the big flock. 

  

They don't aim to bother Lucy. 

But Lucy's peaceful afternoons beneath the forsythia

 

are no longer so peaceful.

And in the coop, I've noticed young Dorrie choosing to stand right beside Lucy --- 

---just because.

Dorrie reminds me of Pigeon.  

I told Danny this, and he replied, "Maybe she IS Pigeon."

Pigeon or not, I think Lucy's in for another big adventure.

Coopaholic

Five years, six coops. 
How did this happen?

The first coop I built, as I recall, was pretty darn perfect.  It kept the young ladies safe and comfortable, and it looked rather adorable in the backyard.  

When Lucy's feet were damaged by disease, of course I had to build the Special Needs coop for her.  It, too, looked good and served its purpose.  

With no reason to build another coop, I started sketching and building chicken-tractors and play-structures and cage-things... 

....because you can never have too many tractors and play structures and cage things.

But when my little barred rock, Pigeon, came along, she and I needed a project. Pigeon inspired me to build just one more coop.

Pigeon was a good little helper.  

Here's Coop #3.

Pigeon never lived in this one. Nobody ever lived in this one. Though my heavenly blue morning glories lived ON it.... and it did serve as a handy jailhouse for Lil'White on the many occasions that she deserved incarceration.  

The flock grew, as flocks do, and I decided that my precious ladies needed a more glamorous, palatial space. I found myself sketching again....

and I found myself sawing and drilling and wrestling hardware cloth again.

Coop #4 was bright and spacious, 

with a 12' x 5' covered run and a big picture window.   A few months later, I added an 8'X8' back room.  This was it. This was perfect. I was done. Ta-da! 

But still, coops kept on happening. 

I don't even know why I built this little thing.  

Lucy does love to get herself wedged into the front porch, though, and Daisy once laid an egg inside.
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

Two years ago, when that freak October snowstorm hit New England, an oak tree crushed the little red coop I had built with Pigeon. 

No chickens were harmed, as it was still vacant.  But my confidence was absolutely crushed. From that night on, I lay awake wondering if my ladies were safe, or if they'd be the next victims of a plummeting tree limb. 

I wished I'd built my coops out of two by fours instead of toothpicks.

This spring I took the plunge and sprang for a solid prefab structure.   

It was a rather ugly 6X8 shed made of two by fours and pine planks -- but it was a structure that could stand up to the perils of an oak forest.

As soon as it was plunked down into the yard, I revved up the ol' saber saw and extracted that tiny front window.  No tiny windows for my gals.  They like lots of light and air and a good view.  I cut three more huge windows on the south and west sides, too. 

I added a nest box, then built the ladies a 16' X 6' covered run, filled with roosts and logs and feeding stations.  

Meet Coop #5!

Now there was room for the three older gals as well as my four new nuggets. 

....and of course I can always add on.

The new coop was complete. The ladies were thrilled. I was done.  
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

But the nuggets, having moved from my living room into a cage on the back porch, were homeless. They needed a bigger space, but they also needed another month or two to grow - in size and in smarts - before I tossed them into the big coop with those scary old ladies. 

I fought the urge to drag out the tools, but then I met a neighbor who had some nice windows to sell for $5 each. 
They were really nice windows.
I bought one. 

I designed a little coop around it, 
made with scraps from coops gone by.

Introducing Coop #6!

Daisy approved.

I put the little ladies inside, showed them where to roost, and locked them up for the night.  

The four little pullets slept in a piggie-pile in the corner. 

The next night: 

They still didn't figure it out. 

Night three: 

they discovered the roost.

Night four: 

Well done, little ladies!

Was I done?  
Almost.

I turned their little coop into a chicken-tractor with a sidecar.  

Am I done now? 
Yes.

...til my power tools recharge.

The Four Nuggets

Introducing:  

!  

Born May 5 --- 

I raised them in the living room for the first two weeks. Not because I especially wanted to raise them indoors, but because they'd been vaccinated for Marek's Disease, and they needed a little time for their immune systems to kick in.  

Marek's Disease is a virus that thrives in my yard. I lost both Pigeon and Fern to the disease. Lucy has suffered from it, but she is a strong survivor so far.  I'm hopeful that the vaccine will protect the new little flock members. 

There was no shortage of fun activities for the chicks indoors.

They met THE HAND... 

---pretty darn exciting.

Then they met THE PAPER PLATE, with watermelon slices. 

 --- a little too scary.

They played a variety of sports.
  

Phoebe showed natural athletic potential... Jenny, not so much. 

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

Dorrie, the Barred Plymouth Rock, warmed right up to The Hand. 

I was alarmed that Dorrie sported a tiny comb on her little noggin from day one.  And from day one I was sick with worry. Was she a "he"?  I read that the boys are the most personable chicks.  Dorrie was by far the most personable. She was uniquely endearing.
I struggled to keep my heart in check while I searched the chicken sites for information on the sexing of Barred Rock chicks.

I posted the above photo on Facebook, asking knowledgeable chicken-friends whether Dorrie was a pullet or a roo. 

Many opinions and educated speculations were offered, but the response was pretty much 50-50.   So I continued to wring my hands over Dorrie and I tried not to fall in love with her.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

Meanwhile, Jenny the Australorp, who we named after our first Jenny, 

 

 sported no comb at all, thank goodness. 

Instead, Jenny had a curiously enormous head. I wondered about the size and complexity of the brain inside her huge chickie skull.  

Jenny grew twice as quickly as the others-- perhaps her body was trying to catch up to her hat size.

It occurred to me that she might actually be an ostrich.

Or an albatross?

. .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

Now, Scarlett - she's my little Buckeye.  She's named after a flowering tree: the Scarlet Buckeye, and her adult feathering will be a deep red.

Her breed is supposed to be good at catching mice.

What they do with the mice once they catch them, I'm not sure.

Scarlett is a bit shy, so I don't know much about her personality yet.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

Phoebe, a Speckled Sussex,  

 is elegant and vivacious.    

And very photogenic.

Here's Phoebe at nine weeks:

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

And here's great big Jenny at nine weeks, with her friends Phoebe and Scarlett:

Jenny's still the largest.  She's a respectable and level-headed lady, and has accepted the leadership role of her young flock.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

After nine weeks of worry, I can now officially declare Dorrie a GIRL.

I can tell by her stance, and by the shape and color of her feathers.  Thank goodness. Now I can sleep at night. 

Except now Dorrie is showing herself to be a spitfire and a daredevil.

She rushes to greet Marky, fearlessly.  

She taunts Daisy.... 

very foolishly.  

If we can keep her alive to adulthood despite her reckless tendencies, she may turn out okay. 

After all,  

she is quite handy with power tools, 

and she's an avid reader. 

So with a bit of luck, some smarts and wisdom may eventually displace the lunacy in that little head of hers.

....we'll see.