let's talk about chicks, man...

The phone rang loudly about 3:35 Monday morning, I was not aware of this but April says it happened. It was Carl from the Lenoir post office calling to say the baby chicks had arrived from Murray McMurray Hatchery and were ready to be picked up. I had spent Sunday night getting the mudroom setup for our girls; filling the horse trough with pine shavings, the feeder with chick starter and rigging up the infrared heat lamp. Clyde wanted to know what all the commotion was about.

We had no idea when the ladies would actually get here, the hatchery said anytime between Monday and Thursday. So at 8:00am Monday, while I enjoyed a breakfast of eggs in a frame and chorizo, I noticed I had missed a call really damn early that morning. When I realized it was the post office, I decided to forgo a shower, threw on some kicks and my toboggan, told los boys to hold the fort down and tore down the driveway in our trusty Camry. I wanted the chicks to enjoy a comfy ride home without feeling every bump and turn like they would have in the truck. While I waited for the clerk to get the package of future egg layers, people behind me in line made comments like, "Chickens in the mail!?! What's next sending letters over the computer?" & "Yew coulda gots a better deal if yew'd got em from my cousin Billy at the flea market." I practiced my trusty southern chuckle, smile and nod and happily took the smallish brown prison from which the caged birds sung. The heat was blasting in the Camry as I wanted to warm the ladies up after their tough trip via US Mail, the chicken guide said they needed a 95 degree environment since they can't regulate their own temperatures until they feather up. When I got home and anxiously pried the top off their box, I was heartened to see 25 happy, healthy chicks peeping away. One by one I gently captured and placed them into their new digs.

When I got to the last chick in the box, my heart sank as I realized she wasn't going to make it. Laying nearly motionless and gasping for breath, she had been trampled and smothered underneath all the other chicks. I read the chicken guide and googled around for the most humane way to put down a baby chick, finding nothing I called the hatchery. Lurlene answered my call and told me I should just let her expire naturally, I had already retrieved and loaded the .22 by that point so I was torn between letting nature take its course and not letting the little one suffer needlessly. All I could think of was to pray, so I held the sickly chick to keep her warm and said the lord's prayer. When I got to, "forgive our trespasses" she gave out and I finished praying holding her limp little body. I thanked God for showing mercy on us both and set her aside so we could have a funeral when April got home. I know I will not be the most efficient farmer but no one will be able to say that I didn't treat every living creature with love and respect. So as not to end on a sad note, here are some gratuitous chick pics:

I call these brown girls with cream stripes, "Chipmunks"...we have 4 of them. The traditional light yellow girls in back are mellow and the easiest to care for, we have 6 of those.

My favorites so far are the grey chicks with white faces, I call them "penguins." They are fearless and were the first ones to eat out of my hand, we have 5 of them. On the downside, they are prone to "pasty butt" that requires washing their poop shoots with warm water and a washcloth fairly frequently. I still like them best and figure it's good practice for diaper changing.