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.

Character

Lucy's toes remind me of this photo by Alfred Stieglitz,

of Georgia O'Keefe's hands.

So much character. 

And since "adversity builds character", 

I guess that's why Lucy is full of it.

Out in the coop, I was photographing Lucy's twisted toes

when Pigeon scampered over to see what all the fuss was about.

She took a good myopic look, 

and then she noticed that Lucy's head was above her own.

This, according to the Official Chicken Rule Book, 

is an extreme gesture of insubordination.

In defense of her position as Queen of the Coop, Pigeon raised her hackles and placed her beak beside Lucy's. 

Lucy remained calm and still, to assure Pigeon that she had no intention of overthrowing her regime.

Pigeon thought about that for a bit, while Lucy waited politely.

Then Pigeon turned toward me to see if treats might be in order.

Pigeon herself is not without her own adversity... you can see character in her toes, too.  She's not in pain, but these bent toes do tell a story of hardship that she endured before she came to live with us.  
Those days are forgotten -- but they certainly contributed to her character. 

Maybe that's why these two gals share a special bond.


...They're sharing a special dog house, too -- 
I've made some changes in the chicken yard. 
But that's another story!

Chicken Milking

Some well-meaning friends talked me into trying a Yoga class. They said it was just what I needed.
  
Gentle music played and incense wafted as the instructor guided our twists, our stretches, our breathing...while I wrote my grocery list in my head and tried to remember if Sarah's orthodontist appointment was tomorrow or next Tuesday.


After about a half-hour I actually began to get into the groove when, balanced on left knee and right hand, I twisted my head to look up at the clock---

Only nine minutes had passed. 

Nine Minutes?   


Aside from maybe having a molar pulled, this was the longest nine minutes I'd ever endured. 


Panicking silently, I tried to come up with an urgent excuse or a graceful exit, but could think of none.  I would have to endure the eternal yoga class.


Believe it or not, it eventually ended.  With the delightful Corpse pose which I mastered like a master.  I rolled up my yoga mat and skittered out the door never to return.


Wikipedia tells me:
"The goal of yoga, or the person practicing yoga, is the attainment of a state of perfect spiritual insight and tranquility."





Heck, I don't need no yoga mat for that.


Because I've got a Chicken-milking stool.

No, I don't milk the chickens on this stool.  But if chickens could be milked, this would be the perfect stool for the job.

I got it at Ikea for $7.99.  


It lives out in the yard, and it beckons me.


This stool brings me closer to all things awesome. 

Like Lucy's face.

Late in the day when the girls free-range, Lucy shuffles over to sit by the stool, knowing I'll eventually be planting myself there.   I join the ladies every evening for free-ranging time on account of this:

which has taken up roosting here:

A Red Shouldered hawk.  Actually, we've got a whole family of them, and they'd like nothing better than a chicken dinner.

Since Lucy can't get around too well, (click here for Lucy's story), she sits down and joins me on Hawk-Patrol.  
Marky also keeps an eye out for hawks.  He's a very good little watchdog.

Of course, when he's not scanning the skies, 

he's doing his yoga.

Lucy, too... When she's not watching for hawks, she practices the Bharadvaja's Twist.

They take turns, so somebody's always on watch--


which leaves me free to seek a state of spiritual insight from the comfort of my stool.

At my feet is a telltale sign that Lil'White has begun her molt.  

 

I find the rest of her beneath the forsythia,

 where she appears to have exploded.


How does she do it?   
While all the other molting gals look miserable and disheveled,   

(poor little Pigeon, here, sports one pathetic tail feather)

Lil'White loses more than half her plumage and still remains the picture of beauty and poise.


Oh, the perspectives I'd miss

were it not for my chicken-milking stool.

And you know, I'm not the only one who seeks to attain a sense of peace and spirituality through chickens.   



Here my friend Sharon Araujo does a modified Standing Half Forward Bend while Terry Golson of Hencam.com attempts an especially complex yoga position to attain the best chicken-butt photo,

and thus, spiritual insight and tranquility.

Namaste.