Prodigal Chicken Returns

A few weeks ago, almost a month, in fact, we lost a chicken. We keep them penned because of the fox, but a couple of the cleverer ones manage to escape. We had seen her milling around the yard, scratching and pecking. And then- she vanished. I thought Chuck had gotten her back in the coop, but he hadn't, and at the nightly chicken count we counted 11 chickens, not the 12 we had. Our girl was gone. We got flashlights and circled the farm, searching barns, fields, and hedgerows. We were loathe to give up, but we finally had to- there was no sign of her. We assumed a fox or hawk had grabbed her so swiftly that she had not left behind the tell-tale poof of feathers that signals an attack.

Weeks passed. During those weeks, we had two more very bold fox attacks (no chickens killed either time, though!). Those attacks are just the ones we know about...we know this fox routinely cases the farm. Not to mention the many other predators haunting the woods and fields.

I went up to the coop Tuesday morning to look in on the chicks, who are now in a holding pen to get them used to life in the big house. As I approached the coop, a barred rock was loitering in the old sheep barn. I was surprised a hen had escaped, because I knew Chuck had left the coop locked down, which makes escape nearly impossible. Figuring she must have slipped out the coop door after him while he changed their water, I called to her "come on, chicky chicky chicky" and easily got her back in the coop. When she got inside she immediately headed for the feeder and proceeded to eat like she had not eaten for...oh, three or four weeks. It then dawned on me that her tail feathers looked pretty ratty, and I did not recall any chickens with ratty tailfeathers. It also occurred to me that she was leg banded, and our other leg banded barred rock was already pecking in the corner of the coop. I counted chickens. Twelve. Twelve chickens, not eleven. The barred in the barn was the prodigal chicken, returned.

I think I did an actual double take. It felt almost like I was looking at a ghost, or a resurrection chicken. I would have bet you $100 that the missing chicken was gone, eaten, and I am not a betting person. A chicken to survive alone in the fields, in an area with known fox, coyote, hawk, raccoon, skunk, and owls? For ALMOST A MONTH? Impossible. But the proof was still greedily gobbling food.

We think she must have gone broody; she knew where some eggs were stashed and sat on them until she was satisfied. The timing is exactly right. It is unlikely any chicks hatched because the eggs were probably too old- she certainly did not return with any. My admiration for this mothering instinct knows no bounds, but a foolish mission it was for a chicken in the wild!

After a little bit of ruffled feathers as she settled things with Manny and the head hens, it is as though she never left. If only she could talk; the tales she must have.

Babies

Spring is baby season. The other day as I rounded the corner on a walk, I came right on to a mama deer and her brand new baby. She alerted to me, but the baby was so focused on nursing it did not even know I was there, and they stayed put, so I got a good look. The fawn was covered in newborn spots, had impossibly spindly legs and tiny hooves, and enormous ears. I backed slowly away and cut across in another direction, feeling fortunate to have seen them. There are baby red squirrels darting across the driveway, and turkey hens herding gangly chicks through the fields. The barn swallows are diving at our heads whenever we go near the barns, in their seasonal frenzy of familial protection.

We have four baby chicks in the basement. They looked like this when they were five days old. They are now three and a half weeks old, and look almost like tiny chickens; they are mostly feathered out, but still have downy heads. The rate of growth on chicks is astounding. They are visibly larger at the end of the day than they were in the morning. They got most of their feathers over the course of three days. When they are about six weeks old they will move out of the basement, and will go into a pen in the coop. These are Americaunas, which will lay eggs with sky blue shells when they get bigger.

The goats are doing very well. They visited Winter's daycare a couple of weeks ago and got their photos in the local newspaper. They loved the visit, and the human kids loved the goats.

Winter visited the Montshire museum recently. The Montshire is a medium-sized science and nature museum. Chuck and I used to teach science classes to kids there, and probably will again, but I had not been there for a while. I knew there was a water park area, but I expected that Winter would just want to maybe paddle her feet in the water. I did not even pack a towel or change of clothes, not figuring I would need them. Winter took one look at the water area, and I knew immediately. She wanted that water. I turned around and headed back up to the gift shop to purchase the required swim diaper. I coated her in a gallon of sunscreen, and turned her loose. She played, and played, and played. And played. She played in the water for well over an hour, and would have stayed for much longer, but I knew she was so wet that a second coating of sunscreen was futile. She passed out in the car on the way home and slept the sleep of the happy summer child.

She also had ice cream for the first time recently. I think she has decided it is going to be a great summer.