LESSONS

.  .  .  continued from the previous post: GOOD MORNING

Lucy got right to work teaching and feeding her little one.


The chick learned quickly to stay close,

but not too close.
 

  Lucy taught it to hunt for sorrel and dandelions, beetles and grubs, and to be respectful of bees, wasps and ants.

Sometimes chickie needed to learn from experience.

Lucy taught chickie to climb stairs..

in order to beg for treats at the front door.

While Hatsy had been just totally in love with Lucy's eggs, she had absolutely no warm feelings for this little chick.  To prevent a violent disaster, I kept Hatsy and Lil'White cooped up while Lucy and her baby were out and about.


And while Marky had learned that big chickens are not prey,

he just couldn't help licking his little black lips when chickie was around.

So he was kept at bay too.
.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

Lucy watched out for hawks,
and chickie did its part by being virtually invisible most of the time.


 

Find chickie in this picture.

I swear chickie's in this picture too.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

Lucy was strict about

the chick's bedtime... She required that they turn in way before dusk.

Some evenings, Chickie was just not into that.

Some days Chickie was just not into walking either.

Lucy was a good sport about it.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

It wasn't long before we realized

chickie was a boy.


I knew he'd have to go, because we have way too many neighbors way too nearby.  We couldn't have a rooster waking the whole neighborhood on Sunday mornings.


But hey... how hard could it be to find a home for a rooster?

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  next episode: ROOSTERMAN!

EGG EMERGENCY

Continued from the previous post:  A HARROWING MORNING

It was a long afternoon teaching art in my studio, wondering whether that little chick was dead or alive out in Lucy's coop.

After my students left,  I took myself a deep breath and headed on out to see what had transpired.   This time I opened the nesting box door oh-so-carefully, holding my hand out to catch any projectile.

Lucy was on the nest.   All was quiet.

I gently slid my hand under her breast and she lifted herself up.
We both looked.

No egg.
No chick.

I peered into the nest box, looked around the coop.  --nothing.
I slid my hand through the bedding and the hay, but  couldn't find a hint of anything -- shell, feather, blood, anything.

Then while sifting around in the left corner I felt the egg.

It was cold.

I lifted it out,  picked the bedding off of it.  When it fell out of the coop that morning the side of the egg had smashed.  Looking closely I could see a bit of brown gooey chick inside.

I cupped my hand around the egg and blew warm coffee-breath on it.  The egg made a tiny peep.   I shut the door on Lucy, who had sat down and resumed her brooding as if nothing had happened,  and hurried to the house with the egg.

Thinking about Lucy, who Mother Nature had designed to be the perfect incubator,  I decided what the egg needed most was heat and humidity.

Immediately.

Here's all I could think of doing, immediately.

A spray-bottle and a damp paper towel prevented the lightbulb from cooking our little smashed egg.

Very very slowly, things began to happen.






I wanted so much to help the chick, but had read that it's very important to let the chick hatch on its own.


So I watched, sipping chardonnay and eating potato salad.

The hatching took hours.

 The chick struggled, napped, struggled some more.

I felt so fortunate to be able to witness this event.

I felt so happy for Lucy that she'd been successful in her brooding... well, until this last day.
I had to return the chick to her, and hoped that she'd welcome it back.

My family and I took only a few moments to adore the chick before I cupped it again in my hands and carried it out into the dark.

When I opened her door, Lucy said, Budup?
Hearing her, the chick peeped frantically and tottered off of my hand onto the nest.  Lucy lifted herself slightly and looked down as the chick dived for the warmth of her fluff.  I closed her door and waited a moment to listen as hen and chick shifted around in the dark.
The Budups continued, the peeping continued.
The peeps got louder.
The peeping sounded hysterical.
The Budups got frantic.
I opened the door and lifted Lucy to see what was wrong.
The baby had cuddled into the crook of Lucy's knee.  As Lucy folded her leg and sat, she was actually choking it.   When Lucy stood up, the chick was freed and it scooted around to find a safer location under its hulking mother. Lucy settled down again. I closed the door, sighed, listened a bit.
The muffled peeping quieted down and stopped while Lucy's soft chant continued.

She and her little one had worked hard for this moment.

I walked away.

 . . . . . . . . Next blog entry:  GOOD MORNING