TIME TO CULL

by bartermn

11/3/98

The nine-week old chicks left maximum security and went to the half-way
house today. Carrying the two pigion-sized birds in my arms, I told them
they would soon have room to spread their wings. I put them in the feed
room with a water fountain and grain for indoctrination. The fifteen Rhode
Island Reds on the other side of the wire wall knew who they were, they
had visited the brooder often while the chicks had shared it with three
younger birds still there.  As I walked away I heard them squalking and
clucking their welcomes...or were they taunts and jibes?

At noon I pulled the rope that lifted the guilitine door to the run and
after all the big birds had left, opened the screen door to the main
room. When I checked on them a few hours later, the chicks were happily
eating from the big feeder inside and scratching in the sawdust. I didn't
worry about them going out the little sliding door to the run, I've
watched many new tennents  stand at the small opening for hours before
daring to walk the ramp down to real dirt. I was more concerned that the
hens or a rooster would return to harrass them. I opened the big door to
the run and let the flock free range the homestead.

We had to go to town just before dark, I hoped the hens would behave
themselves when they went back inside to roost.





The hunter's moon glowed in my face on the way home. A slight ring
surrounded it, warning me that tomorrow was not going to be as clear as
today. I thought of the night creatures in the woods behind our small farm
and how they would love to have a young chick for dinner. I told Gin
to hurry so I could close the run and drop the hatch.

Changing to my barn boots, I hurried to the coop with that full moon
looking over my shoulder. The two year olds were inside, some roosting,
others pecking at the feed tray. The youngsters weren't anywhere in
sight. I searched the feed room; behind the barrel of corn...nothing but
cob webs, on the shelf above it...a spare feed tray and a short handled
broom but no chicks. I dropped the guilitine door and went outside to the
run. I spotted a white glow in the moonlight; there in the weeds near the
fence was LJ, the all white bird. I picked her up and carried her back
inside, setting her gently in a nesting box. I knew the light of the moon
wasn't enough to reveal the darker chick so I ran back to the cabin for
my flashlight. I searched the run again. Nope, not there. I circled the
coop; nothing but two barn cats waiting for their supper. I expanded the
search to the pet cemetary, to the compost piles, to the brush pile...there
she was, roosting on a branch. I carried her to the coop and under the
light bulb noticed her comb was bleeding. "You mangy hens! You are all
stew meat!" I put MJ in the same box with the other chick and went to the
barn to do chores.

I really thought that the pecking order had been established and the two
chicks would be alright from that day on, I was wrong. The next morning I
found poor MJ in a corner with feathers all ruffled, her comb half ripped
off, and upon a closer inspection saw a hurt leg. LJ was still in the
nesting box, she wasn't going to take a chance down on the floor with
those big red monsters. I returned the chicks to the brooder box for
rehab. I'll eliminate some of the meanies this weekend and see if the
rest of the hens learn anything about respect.