Don't Count Your Chickens

When I placed eggs in the incubator about a month ago, I only put fifteen eggs in, thinking that I didn't want more than a dozen chickens on my hands after they hatched. If half of those turned out to be roosters, we would have about six hens, three of which I planned to keep, and three I planned to give to a friend of mine who had recently lost most of her flock.

Three days before I expected they would start hatching, I candled the eggs and determined that one of the Lizzy-Chick/Fluffy head eggs had not survived incubation. Six more appeared to have not been fertilized. That left eight eggs I thought would hatch.

Then, on Monday morning, the day some out-of-town friends were coming to visit, I discovered an egg had pipped. The timing couldn't have been more perfect! I remembered vaguely from several years ago, the long, agonizing wait for that first egg to hatch. It would take several hours, I thought. I will try not to get impatient.

Our friends arrived, and we peeked in on the egg repeatedly throughout the day. Progress was slow. By nightfall, I was worried. Sometimes, if it takes too long for a chick to hatch out, the goo dries and the chick gets stuck inside the egg. I slept fitfully, praying that we wouldn't wake up to a dead chick.

Tuesday morning, a full 24 hours after pipping, the kids ran through the house screaming, "It hatched, it hatched!!!"

Just hatched.

My worries didn't quite subside, however. I had heard stories about chicks hatching too early, or hatching with intestines outside the egg, and there was a weird fleshy lump on its belly. 

A second egg pipped that day and only took 12 hours to hatch.

I thought we would start seeing more eggs pipping, but most of the eggs were eerily still. Finally, on Wednesday evening, the egg I really hoped would hatch pipped.

Thursday morning, not long after our friends left to head back home, the Lizzy-Chick/Fluffy-Head chick pushed out of its shell.

It had a second hind-toe just like Fluffy-Head, and its wet down promised a mix of colors. I was thrilled.

By now, the incubator reeked, so I decided to move the chick into a little box under the heat lamp where the two other chicks couldn't bother it. I tried to place it on the edge of the circle of light so it wouldn't get too hot, but I didn't realize how hot it really was under the light. When I went back to check on it a little while later, it was dead. It was all my fault.

The rest of the eggs never hatched. Apparently, conditions weren't quite right in the incubator.

I'm struggling today to find a perspective that feels right. Knowing someone I love that has experienced a more significant pain and loss recently, I don't want to be over dramatic in my own small sense of loss, or to reason myself away into flippancy. Sometimes life deals out a crappy hand we can't ignore, and when darkness threatens to overwhelm, we have to force into our minds all those beautiful things that make life worth living. It's not always easy.

Thankfully, that first little chick I worried over seems to be doing well. It still is sporting a shriveled little outie, but is active and loud.

All fluffed out.

The second chick is sweet and sleepy and can't seem to help falling asleep in my hand.

The 2nd hatchling.

And out in the coop, a hen has been sitting on 20 eggs. I'm not even going to try to guess how many will hatch.