Jennifer Shaw

Hi! Fuzzy chick babies, that is. And we’re having them shipped to us–yes, in the mail!– on Friday or Saturday of this week.

As I’ve mentioned before, our first real step into homesteading was getting hens. Raising chickens for their eggs (a superfood) was a major part of our plan to better provide for ourselves, and we kept hearing that chickens are easy; they’re “the gateway drug” into livestock-keeping. As with gardening, I was ready to try chicken-tending, but I was skeptical. I feared all kinds of disasters befalling these poor poultry at our inexperienced hands–disease, injury, loss, death in the harsh winter elements, deformed eggs (why that, I don’t know), you name it.

But, those six, sweet, original babies–five hens and one rooster, it turned out–arrived from the Murray McMurray hatchery on August 29, 2021, and they were healthier and hardier than I assumed. As soon as I heard their frantic peeping from their ventilated box in the post office, I was in love.

We named the girls after our grandmothers and great-grandmothers: Barbara, Doris, Beverly, Mildred, and Mabel. We named the boy Marty; he had been Mary Ruth (after my father’s mother), but you can see the issue with that.

Those chicks grew quickly, took on personalities of their own as they found their places in the chicken hierarchy, and proceeded to bring us many benefits aside from the eggs they eventually laid (in February the following year). They ate nasty bugs like ticks; they turned the compost when they jumped in it to play, their droppings provided wonderful green material for that same compost, and they gave us affection and hours of amusement. There aren’t many things funnier or cuter, in my opinion, than a hen’s derpy waddle-run.

Once our chickens became pullets and a cockerel (those are the precise terms for teenaged poultry), they were big enough to live in their outdoor coop, and they learned right away to take themselves to bed when the sun set–that’s instinct, really. They also weathered their few issues and injuries well–getting egg tied, cutting their combs on the metal treadle feeder, or losing a chunk of feathers to the jaws of a marauding dog or fox. They always healed and bounced back. They proved easy to keep, even for newbs like us.

After a lot of discussion, we chose to purely free-range them.

This means, they have nothing between them and the wilderness once they’re out of their coop each day–no fence, no run. This does make them more vulnerable to all kinds of land and aerial predators, but it also keeps them healthier and happier. They are able to roam our expansive property and do exactly what chickens need to do–scratch and peck in the dirt for all kinds of goodies after dust-bathing and shading themselves wherever they please. Over time, they have learned to stay close to the coop and house (treat-training with a bell aided that). Now, they are as free and relatively-safe as can be.

That summer of 2022, we did lose two of them–Mabel one evening to a fox, and Marty one day to another fox while we were vacationing in Rhode Island.

This hurt, but we knew it was possible. We’ve always missed them, but miracle of miracles, we went two more years without losing any more chickens.

This was due in no small part to my husband’s efforts. He is super-vigilant, listening for sounds of distress when he’s at his desk and then running out to scare away foxes, bears, and hawks. He once used Daphne’s playground ball to whack a fox in the side, scaring it away. He’s since upgraded to a .22 rifle.

I have to brag for a minute about the time he actually shot an approaching fox. It was February of last year, and we were all home sick with a nasty flu. I was getting over it, so I was up and about, bringing my husband and child water, food, and ibuprofen. Daph and Jer were curled up in the master bedroom together, and Jer’s temperature was 102–as high as I’ve ever seen it. He was wrecked.

I happened to look out our witch’s window and see a grey fox heading down our hill to the west of the house, no doubt after our happily-oblivious hens.

“FOX!” I shrieked, out of panic more than anything. I didn’t really expect Jer to do anything about it, sick as he was.

But my husband shot up. He flew downstairs barefoot, grabbed that rifle, and proceeded on the first try to hit that fox right in the hip–all in under less than a minute. I know because I was watching out the window, and the fox’s hindquarters jumped just before it took off into the Christmas trees, back to the woods where I assume it bled out because we never saw it again (sad, yes, but we had to protect our livestock).

Goddamn, I thought, overcome with awe. That is some hardcore pioneer shit.

Sorry, my inner voice is rather crass sometimes.

And in that moment, I found my husband especially attractive. Didn’t see that response coming, either!

Anyway, I say all that just to underscore how hard he works to protect our flock. He’s so good at it, too, I half-expect nothing to ever harm our chickens again.

Sadly, that’s not realistic, or fair.

When we came home from a trip to Lebanon on Saturday, August 24th, we couldn’t find Barbara, our Plymouth Rock alpha hen (and the only one who had never been attacked by a dog or fox, to my knowledge). I looked in the coop, thinking she might be laying an egg–not there. I looked around the back of the house where she liked to dust bathe–not there. I looked under our giant lilac bush where she liked to rest–not there.

Jer came out and looked for her too. Finally, he found a concentrated pile of black-and-white feathers around the side of the house, and we realized a hawk probably got her. We’ve had several hawks circling lately, and our crows, usually great about chasing them away (since they’re a threat to the crows’ young), have been strangely MIA.

The attacker didn’t appear to have been a fox, since in our experience with previous attacks, there are usually feathers scattered everywhere, tracing the path the fox took with the struggling chicken in its mouth. Not the case this time.

It broke my heart; it still does. I miss Barbara.

She was our good, capable girl. Our one in charge, who, protectively, took on some rooster behaviors after Marty died–like waiting until her sisters had their share of treats before biting an apple core or sticking her own beak in a bowl of mealworms. Our one with the loudest, proudest egg song. Our one to jump in our laps first when we sat in a patio chair.

*Sigh*

Jer said, let’s order some new chicks.

After all, he believes the best way to honor a lost pet is to get a new one, sooner rather than later. They’re not replacements; rather, they’re testaments to the love and joy our previous pets brought us. What better way to honor a deceased fur or feather baby than by giving fresh love to a new one needing a forever home?

I vacillated about getting the chicks. School had just started, and I’d just gotten back all my precious free time. Did I really want to spend part of it caring for baby chicks? It would mean multiple brooder cleanouts a day, checking for pasty butts, and spending daily time with them if we want them to get comfortable with us.

But, I finally told Jer to pull the trigger on the order. I needed something to help me refocus on homesteading.

So, we ordered three new chicks last week. They will be here just in time to grow big enough to leave their brooder and enter the grown-hen coop before winter sets in.

We have almost all our chick supplies ready to go–I just need to find the brooder heater in the shed and test it to make sure it still works, and I have plenty of time to do that.

I’m excited for this new opportunity. It should be a little easier, given that we have experience raising chicks. Their brooder will stay in our mudroom, and I’m planning to spend a lot of time each day with the babies, holding and talking to them so they bond with me quickly and grow up to be as affectionate as their older sisters. I’m thinking I’ll listen to podcasts to pass the time with them.

I will share pictures of our fuzzy babies next week!

Until then, enjoy the beginning of fall. Any chicken/homesteading tips you have, please feel free to share!

I’ll be back next week with some fun writing updates.

XOXO,

Jenn