So.
We’ve been running a lot of cows through the chute lately. Trying to adopt calves onto cows.
It’s been a rough spring this has gone on a lot this year.

Once early on there was one chicken egg I found laid in the chute. I picked it up and set it aside so it wouldn’t get broken. The next morning there were three eggs!
The chickens were loose and I decided it was possible that three of them had laid there over night. Or maybe the kids had put the first one back?

After the last time we moved the eggs from the chute our chicken stopped putting them there. Many people suggested that she could have been picking them up and moving them there. I would never have believed it, but it is the only theory that makes sense.

We had collected the eggs them left them sitting in the basket. we have quite a backlog of eggs and I didn’t want to put them in the fridge not knowing how old they were. But I never thought any more about it.

Then I found a dead chick in the chute.

It all started last spring. It seemed so innocent at the time. The hen wanted to set so bad. What would the harm be in letting her have some chicks to raise? We’d have more chickens. She could go all broody. Win win.

Well. Two hens decided to set. Between the two of them they hatched quite a few chicks. It was all good. They stayed out in the trees. They didn’t eat the garden. They raised them to be wild creatures. Pheasants in chicken form. Then they moved back into the yard. It started to be a problem. Most of the chicks turned out to be roosters. White roosters. Where did that come from? I hate white chickens. So albino like.

Once in the yard they eventually moved to the trees right outside the bedroom window to roost. Then they got big enough to start crowing.

I started making nightly trips out to chase them out of the trees. They came back. One night I’d had enough. I was tired. They had been crowing since four thirty in the morning. Every morning. For weeks. I snapped. I was going to kill them I went into the house for a gun. My level headed husband stopped me on my way out the door with the 22. He pointed out the dangers of using a rifle, even a small one to shoot chickens in the yard surrounded by houses and vehicles. I admitted his wisdom in this but swore to come back with something more fitting.

I told him I was going to go buy a shotgun. He said I couldn’t just do that. I said I could. I asked his father if he had a smaller shotgun. He said only a 12 gauge. I went to walmart. When I told them I wanted a gun to go kill something they were happy to oblige. They looked at each other in that infuriating condescending manor that men have. Like, how cute, the little lady wants a gun. Maybe her husband can show her how to hold it. They were annoying but I wanted to kill things. I didn’t get the gun.

I wanted to wait and do some research first.

The gun sold the next morning. I was sad, research had found it to be a good one. The whole thing got the father in law thinking though. He remembered that he did have a 20 gauge up at the house I could try. Worked for me. I just wanted to kill things and it was a much better gun than the walmart special.

The chickens let me sleep for a few days after that. I wasn’t driven to a murderous rage. The gun sat untouched. Until it didn’t. At four thirty they started. The unending rounds, continuous and loud. Au au aaoooooo. Over and over. A small break in the middle to let you think maybe thy were going to stop. Then again. And again. And again. Until the real alarm finally went off.

I was the first out of bed for once. I met my husband eye, he read my mind. Go shoot the roosters he said. He would get the kids up and dressed.

Out the door I found three of them still sitting in the same tree. Hanging out. Maybe not crowing any more. I didn’t take the shot. Houses, vehicles. Saner minds prevailing. All that. I stalked them as they wandered down the drive. Waiting, cursing them, hoping for a clear shot. The other chickens joined them. They all went under the semis. I was loosing hope. Then they separated. My hated ones moving away from the good chickens who don’t crow outside my window. On down the driveway I got a clear shot. Taking a deep breath I pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Dang safety. Turning it off I tried again. And missed! What in the world! The safety thing must have messed with my concentration. Around the grain bins I tried again. This time I got one. He was down but not out, forcing me to finish the job. Nasty business. Then it was back to see the children off to school.

Once they were gone I went back. This time they were out in the wheat. I got a clear clean shot. Nothing behind them. One shot each, on either side of a rooster who was not on the receiving end of my hatred. Two shots, two roosters, problem solved.

Then of course there was a whole new problem. I didn’t want them to go to waste. I’m willing to eat chicken even if others in the family are not. I sat in the wheat, plucked and cleaned one. Then hauled the other back up to the house to work on. As I plucked, with the rooster up on a lick tub for easier reach, I looked closely and saw a small bug crawling across the plucked bare skin. Then another. Then  looked and saw two crawling up my arm! That was the end of that. I tossed the whole lot of them in the dead pile and called it good. Blood and guts are one thing, poultry lice is another.

The hens had been up and gone with the new chicks. All through the day the nests sat empty except for unhatched eggs and the stench of rot. We decided to start cleaning. The only problem was that the hens and chicks were back for the night. Something had gotten into the eggs though, and a few were laying scattered about. We picked up one egg, laying far off from the nest and the children fought over who got to throw it into the dump.
8 won by refusing to relinquish his grasp on it. He threw it and it bounced off some boards and fell to the ground. My daughter told me it was bleeding. I thought we might as well look at the chick that hadn’t made it and get a bit of a biology lesson from it. But the chick that hadn’t made it… had.
Up until then he had been just fine. There amidst the broken egg shell was a perfectly formed baby chick. Egg yolk not yet absorbed and vessels not yet hardened off. He wasn’t dead just not ready to hatch yet. We had killed him, he just wasn’t gone yet.
I picked up the gasping chick and held him in my hand. Instead of, or as well as, a biology lesson we got a lesson in morality. I told them how all babies, even, or especially, those about to die needed to be held and loved. I nearly sobbed over this poor dyeing chick. The children looked at it and looked at me. Then they wanted to know, when could they throw more eggs?
Little monsters
Now that I knew there were at least a few of the eggs in the nest that were still viable I called my friend who is hatching geese in her incubator. She very kindly offered to let me put my chicken eggs in with them.
I covered myself fully with long sleeves and gloves and went to fetch the eggs. Reaching under attacking hens, blindly grasping for eggs I was afraid I would smash chicks so I picked up the yellow hen and set her next to the nest. As I did so chicks fell out of her like large rain drops. Plopping to the ground around her. I foolishly thought the hens set on the chicks, I didn’t realize they burrowed into her like worms. Or ticks, big fluffy ticks.
At my good friends house we turned the children out to play in the yard while we went down to the basement and candled the eggs. She started out doing it but the stench of rotten egg was making her sick so I took over. Out of around a dozen eggs the first few we did were bad. I was beginning to feel like an idiot for rushing these rotten eggs to her house to save. Then we found a good one, then another. The last one I was starting to say was yet another bad one, look it’s cracked, when she broke in that it wasn’t cracked! It was starting to hatch! Couldn’t I hear it?
Listening for a moment I realized that I could hear the tiny peeps coming from inside! We left it there to do its thing, scrubbed our hands, and took the goslings out to play with the children. That egg and one other has hatched. Repulsed by the lingering smell of rot she re-candled the eggs and found two more bad ones and with those gone it smells much better in her hatching facilities. There are still two more to go. Are they good? Will there be four extra chicks? We are waiting to see! And here I thought the excitement of the saga of the hens ended when the first set hatched.

They hatched Tuesday. Eight in all. Beautiful little pale yellow and white chicks with brown highlights on heads and backs. Both mothers are clucking after them worriedly. Yesterday they finally took them away from the nest and out to explore the world. When we checked the nest they were gone. As we crawled in to look at the remaining eggs we spied a little ball of fluff hidden in a corner.
One of the chicks got left behind.
We picked it up, cuddled it, and loved on it, as we went in search of the hens. They had found a good soft spot in the dirt and were proceeding to show the chicks how to scratch. Although they cast a wary eye on us as we got close we were able to sneak in close enough to set the chick down and send him off towards them. The took him right in not noticing he hadn’t been there all along.
Back at the barn things smelled of rotten eggs. After being set on for two extra days as the chicks got big enough to roam the remaining eggs hadn’t hatched. It was time to clean house. And that was where the drama began….

They are still sitting. Most of the time. When we’ve been to check on them the young yellow hen will be off sometimes getting a snack and a drink I always picture the older spotted hen being somewhat disapproving of the young mother. I see her clucking in dismay as she ruffles her feathers, that yellow hen, she should be here with her chicks, not off roaming around, humph. She’s a young mother and not settles enough to raise chicks.
But we looked today and both hens were off roaming together. They appear to have settled their differences and the older experienced speckled hen is going to put disapproval aside and mother these chicks together.
Hopefully, the eggs do hatch. I see one of them got broken. They are dark when candled, with only the air sack showing light through. My more experienced friends tell me that is a good thing. Shouldn’t be to much longer now if they are going to do it.

Last year one of the hens tried to hatch some eggs. She found a good, well hidden spot, she sat quite determinedly, but nothing happened. It could have been that we didn’t have a rooster.
She wanted it so bad and I felt so sorry for her that this spring I called around until I found a rooster to borrow. We went and got him and brought him home and the hen showed no sign of wanting to set. I was a little annoyed with her after all the trouble I went through on her behalf.
Then a different hen settled in on a clutch of eggs. Satisfied that at least one hen was going to make use of the borrowed rooster we started keeping a close eye on her in her hidden spot out in a barn. She was sheltered through snow storms, out of wind and rain.
But then the hen from last year decided to join the party. The speckled hen has pushed the yellow hen off the nest. Not that the yellow hen has given up, she still sitting happily next to the nest. I’m not sure what proper protocol is for this. The speckled hen certainly seems to have broken quite a few rules of etiquette here, stealing another hens nest can’t be considered polite! Maybe it will be to both of their benefits in the end. Shared mothers to a shared hatch. We will have to wait and see how they do. Until further notice we are on chick watch!