The Hatchlings

by bartermn

11/3/98
The nine-week old chicks left maximum security and went to
the half-way house today. Carrying the two pigeon-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 hens 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
squawking and clucking their welcomes...or were they taunts
and jibes?


At noon I pulled the rope that lifted the guillotine 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 tenants
stand at the small opening for hours before daring to walk the ramp
down to real dirt. More concerned that the hens or a rooster
would return to harass 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.
Thinking of the night creatures in the woods behind our homestead
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. Outside in the run
a soft glow in the moonlight revealed  the all white bird. Carrying
her back inside, I set her gently in a nesting box. The light of
the moon wasn't enough to reveal the darker chick so I ran
back to the cabin for my flashlight. There was no doubt, she was
not in the run. I circled the coop; nothing but two barn cats
waiting for their supper. I expanded the search to the
cemetery, to the compost piles, to the brush pile...there she
was, roosting on a branch. Returning to the coop I noticed her
comb was bleeding. "You mangy hens! You are all stew meat!"
Placing MJ in the same box with the other chick, I went to the
barn to do chores.


I really thought that the pecking order had been established
and the two chicks would be all right 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.



SONRISE