A Chick Story

(The epic saga of chicken ownership continues....)

I had made a decision. Despite my annual spring desire to hatch eggs, I was going to put a restraining order on myself. I would watch the song birds sit with love pouring from the warmth of their down stirring life within the shell that held their developing young- and I would be happy for them… but NOT be encouraged to hatch my own. I love hatching chicken eggs, I love everything about it truly, I just really don’t need any more CHICKENS. The family was in agreement….and so I continued on with my life set in my conviction… or so I thought. Unbeknownst to me, two lady hens were busy. Far beneath the coop in a little corner of dirty hay and damp earth they decided against all odds they were going to keep the command to be fruitful and multiply. And so they built their nest in that filthy place unfit for tender new life, within reach of big pesky roosters and clumsy hens that could be the death of a new tuft of fluff. But alas, the broody hens’ limited number of brain cells failed to make the connection. So they sat and sat and sat and the embryos grew and grew and grew and I never knew…until day 19 when the eggs were just 24-48 hours shy of hatching. “Ah! She’ll never find us!” they must have cackled to themselves,” “No more chickens she says? Just wait until we prance out from under here with an ARMY.” I was alerted by some feathers sticking out from under the coop and decided to investigate. “What’s going on in there? Move your tail feathers!” They looked at me in disgust and squawked off. I saw the condition of the nest and how soiled the eggs had become because of it and was pretty sure no embryo would have survived or still been growing. I planned on candling them just to be sure, however, because I’ve learned to never assume, especially with chickens. I put the eggs in my pocket and went up to candle them in a dark room with a flashlight. I was just about to hold the light to the shell when one of the eggs starts…wait for it… PEEPING REPEATEDLY. I stood there in disbelief. And just like that my “no more chickens” policy flew out the window faster than a squirrel stealing sunflower seeds from our birdfeeder. Figures. The hens at this point are so upset I disturbed them that they refuse to be moved to a safer place for the hatching of their babies. So I’m forced to intervene. Babies are on the way and at a critical point of the development process. Their mothers are freaking out and not cooperating. And as usual that only meant one thing…..it was time to fire up the ‘bator. I ran down the stairs in hysteria (I was honestly excited about this change in my chicken policy) to find my incubator was still in hibernation. “HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM,” I yell to the machine. “No, this is my year off. I’m not even emotionally ready! SIT ON IT YOURSELF” I could see the fire and lava swirling around as we stood face to face in an unexpected confrontation. I uttered in disbelief, “BUT….YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE!” And suddenly my incubator became Darth Vader. I had to think quickly. Desperate times cause for desperate measures, this egg needed to be in a suitable environment fast. I began observing his mask. “I wonder how well ventilated it is? Would it be humid enough in there for hatching?” “DARTH! Does your machine body regulate at a temp of 100? I’m giving you another chance to be a father!” Kidding. Just wanted to make sure you were still paying attention. Anyway, I grabbed the incubator box, set it up and ……within a few hours the peeping egg had a pip. And by the following morning this baby chicken had defied the odds set against it from the slimy dirty floor it was incubated on for 3 weeks, to being tossed in my pocket before I knew it was viable and put in an incubator that was according to my imagination, rather moody. But alas life sprung from the shell that held it and fluff emerged and dried and became a true beauty. There are 3 other eggs that we are still waiting for signs from, we shall see. What can I say….chickens are like potato chips, my friends.