Yesterday, we had caught a glimpse of the broody hen's first chick to hatch. I had been a little worried when mama jumped off the nest to grab a bite to eat, leaving her baby and the large pile of eggs unprotected, but soon enough, she was back on the nest. After seeing other hens barge in with her to lay eggs, I wasn't sure how many of the eggs were due to hatch as well, but at least with her back on the nest, they had a chance.
This morning, however, I discovered the baby chick had ended up out of the nesting box and was outside the coop, running around desperately chirping for mama, who was still sitting on the nest. I tried to catch it, but it found a hole and disappeared under the coop. Needing to get the kids to the camp, I opened up the coop's big door, hoping that while I was gone, mama would hear her baby chirping and come to its rescue.
On the drive back home, I tried not to think about how this seemed to be the Everything-Goes-Wrong year.
The batch of chicks I bought early in the year all got sick and had to be put down. Finley's has started losing some of her 4H chicks, most likely due to the unsanitary conditions she had been keeping them in. I was trying to let her be responsible for everything, but my suggestions to clean their pen and put down fresh shaving had gone unheeded. I probably should have made her clean the pen, but at some point, kids need to learn by real consequences, and a mom gets really tired of nagging, you know?
And then there was the failed incubation of eggs. Since my last post, the second chick that managed to hatch died, and now I have one poor chick in the brooder. I thought about trying to put it in with the sitting hen, but that would have introduce another set of dilemmas, and now the chick was probably to old for it to work, anyway.
Getting out of the van, I shoved aside my pessimistic thoughts and headed back to the coop. If mama still hadn't come to the chicks rescue, hopefully I could catch it and put it in with Lonely.
To my relief, she had.
Now to deal with the clutch of eggs she was no longer sitting on. I went to the house and grabbed a paper sack with the thought that I would leave the unhatched eggs out in the woods someplace where they wouldn't stink up the yard and the chickens wouldn't get into them. The thought of them pecking at half-developed eggs was repulsive. Maybe some possum (they eat ticks!) would find them and have a good meal or two.
I started picking up the eggs one by one and checking for pip marks. As much as I wanted to be done with all the chicken drama of this year, I couldn't bear the thought of a little chick hatching out into a cold paper sack in the woods. A lot of the eggs were filthy, covered in dried, broken-egg yolk, feathers, and other unmentionable crust. As I was gently placing eggs in the bag, I heard a peep from the stinky nest, as if to say, "I'm not dead yet!"And, sure enough, I finally found an egg with a pip.
I carried the sack of eggs back to the house and set them it out in the sun in an attempt to keep them warm while I set the incubator back up. A few minutes later, the incubator was warming with one egg inside while I candled the rest of the eggs. The first one I picked up had a clear distinction between the air pocket and a shadowy mass inside. I think I even saw the shadow move. Egg after dirty egg I candled, most of them looking like something promising was inside. The nastier eggs, I washed off, then put them into the incubator.
So here I am again, bleeding heart and glutton for punishment, peering anxiously through the window of the incubator, waiting to see what life might break out of these 17 shells.
1 comment:
Fingers crossed for you!
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