During my junior year of college my mother decided that she wanted to get chickens. She started off, as most people do, with a totally respectable number. Six. Six hens who were raised in the house (my room actually since I wasn’t using it) for the the first few weeks of their lives. So we had six chickens, and once they started laying we got about four eggs a day, and mom seemed happy with that.
Then our neighbor’s dog killed one of the hens. So mom had to get one to replace it, but she didn’t want one, she wanted several. Then several more. Then the hens started to go broody and needed eggs to hatch. As of now, just about two years later, we have over 50 birds.
When asked how many chickens she has this is my mom’s answer, “Well the chicks don’t count, the roosters don’t count, the broody hens don’t count, so it’s about 25. But most of them aren’t laying so it doesn’t really count.” And it’s true. most of the birds are molting and not laying right now. But still, since they are walking around and clucking and pooping and eating I’d say they count.
This is Able, our current house chicken.
Able had a yoke sac that didn’t get fully absorbed. His mom rejected him, normally when this type of thing happens we don’t get there in time to intervene because when a hen is hatching a clutch we usually leave her alone for a full 24 hours. However when mom came across Able she thought he was already dead. She picked up his cold body and he peeped at her. No one could ignore that so we rigged a little place for him complete with a heat lamp and a teddy bear.
Able has actually done remarkably well and is going to be placed with a new mother tonight.
The only residents of the house who haven’t gotten used to the occasional chicken being inside, are our dogs.
Cyrus is unsure of what to make of this tiny peeping creature.
Our other dog, a Boston Terrier, is afraid of chickens and chicks alike. We don’t know why but it’s pretty funny to see him catch sight of one and go racing from the room.
Hope you leave here laughing.