Last month, my daughter and I took a class at the Burien Community Center called "Keeping Backyard Chickens". I can't remember how we got it in our head that raising chickens would be fun since they used to drive Marya and I nuts when we lived in Ecuadorian campo. Roosters crowing at all hours and our neighbors chickens destroying any attempt at a garden we ever had.
But we all change and I suppose as we look at the prospects of moving, unpacking, and taking on the laundry list of home improvement projects, chickens seemed more low maintenance than a dog.
We dropped $57 at Kirk's Feed Store on two Americana and one Rhode Island Red female chicks + 6 weeks worth of feed + bedding + a feeder + a waterer. We saved a little money by getting a loaner heat lamp from a friend (thanks Dana!). Kirk's says they can guarantee with 90% accuracy the sex of the birds. Que no haya gallos!
We were told during our 90 minute class we were learning all we needed to successfully raise chickens, but it turns out that making sure these little one day-olds have everything they need is a little stressful, especially since the temperature of your brooder box is so critical. And guess what, chicks exhibit the same basic behavior when they are too hot as when they are too cold.
Our three chicks came home and freaked us out by immediately flopping on their bellies and falling asleep. After a few hours of fiddling with the heat lamp we saw that while the little ones were still exhibiting behavior that at a minimum one could call, peculiar, they did all eat, drink, poop, and peep a few times. Looks like we're good for now. Our friend Dana counseled that the birds are likely a little stressed and that we ought not handle them for a day or two. We don't feel like we know enough not to oblige.
Posts
I think Desi needs to revisit the name of his chick...
ReplyDeleteI wish you good luck with your chickens!
ReplyDeleteYour story triggered a childhood memory:
Mymother kept chickens in the backyard for eggs. This was in the early 1950ies. When prosperity grew in Germany, the town council didn#t like that people kept chickens ("not nice looking"). They had to be killed from one day to the next. My father fled, my mother had to do the bloody work and I stayed in my room with cotton wool in my ears. Later I was forced to eat chicken ragout, my father stayed hungry. In the 1950ies fathers could not be forced...
Long + happylife to your chickens!