The fluffy little chicks I bought in April are looking more like hens now. They’re spoiled little princess hens, carried into the garage at night and carried out to the hen-house in the morning. Nighttime temps are in the forties outside; it stays sixty in the garage. I expect to be leaving them outside all night within a week or so, if I can bear their pitiful stares of longing. Hey! It’s time to come get us!
Besides bugs, grit and chick-feed they’re eating salad leftovers (no dressing), hard-boiled egg, oats and corn meal and bread. I never should’ve given them bread. Wheat bread is like crack to those birds; they would kill for it. I only give them a little bit when they’ve been very good hens.
Betty Barred-Rock, the timid one, always thinks the sky is falling. She fusses the most at being picked up. She’s kind of a klutz. It’s funny to watch Betty’s flying leaps at the perch; sometimes she forgets to jump and runs right under it, sometimes she over-shoots the perch, sometimes she stops and jumps in place. She’s learning. She’s very skilled at catching bugs.
Wilma is the snuggle chicken. She doesn’t like to be caught, but she likes to be held and will fall asleep in your arms, much to the delight of two little granddaughters I know. Wilma is a bossy hen. She’s bigger and more athletic than Betty and sometimes she pecks Betty in the head, but Betty doesn’t mind. They’re very bonded.
Mr. Raven and I are enjoying the chickens. They haven’t been too much work or too stinky, yet. We’re looking forward to some good compost and it’ll be exciting to find our first eggs, later this summer.