Crazy Chicken Lady

Well, dear reader, I have met a new milestone in my obsession with beautiful chickens. Approximately a month ago, I began incubating twenty-one cochin eggs. I waited until day twenty-eight and called it quits. Of the twenty-one eggs I incubated, two hatched. Yes, that is a terrible hatch rate. However, I believe the Universe knows what it is doing by not giving me twenty-one fancy, fruffy, delightful chickens to tend. I'm pretty sure the Universe knows my husband's breaking point and is protecting him from my crazy chicken obsession. Anyway, allow me to share just how far I've gone in becoming a crazy chicken lady.

I have shared that I have five crazy white Californian hens who are the bane of my existence. I never thought I could despise chickens, but oh, these nasty, broody hags have earned my detestation. These five deplorable old bags remain broody. Not only do they claim their own eggs to nest upon, but they also gather everyone else's eggs and sit on them as their own as well. This makes gathering eggs every day a stressful, unpleasant experience. I have a blister on my thumb, and I genuinely believe these hens of hell focus on using it as a bullseye for pecking me. However, I digress. Every day, I remove three of the five hens from the laying boxes. I allow one to sit on eggs. The other one just runs around like an insane wacko, throwing dust and dirt in my face if I happen to enter the coop when she is in there. I hate those hens. Each day, the one who is allowed to sit pushes eggs out from under her. These eggs I gather and destroy because I have no idea how far along they are in development, if they are spoiled, or how fresh they are. It's truly a waste of good eggs.

I toss said eggs out the coop door, usually breaking them on the stone walkway. While giving the questionable eggs the old atomic smash, one didn't break. To my horror and dismay, I heard a cheep coming from the egg. I quickly gathered the egg, assessed that it indeed had a live chick inside, and then panicked. The outer shell was decimated, but the membrane was intact. I quickly took the egg and the chick into the house and gently placed them in the incubator, making sure to remove the egg turning wheel. I did not hold much hope that the poor little chick would survive, but I did my best. To say I felt terrible is an understatement. However, much to my shock and pleasure, the little chick hatched and despite my best efforts to murder it, it survived the atomic smash fully intact and healthy. Not just healthy, but thriving.

This chick is a cochin crossed with one of my regular-sized hens. I have no idea who the real mother is; the chick is black as coal, so at least it isn't a crazy white chicken. Feeling very guilty for nearly destroying the poor baby, I pamper and spoil this chick. The little dear loves to sit on my shoulder and ride around with me throughout my day. It is the sweetest baby and doesn't seem to hold my atomic smash of its egg against me. I can't tell if the baby is a hen or a rooster, so I named it Eleanor Roostervelt. If it turns out to be a roo, I will change its name to Teddy Roostervelt. Now, I have one big, lone chick who is spoiled rotten.

Fast forward a few days, and one cochin chick hatched in the incubator. I took a chance and placed this chick with Eleanor Roostervelt, hoping they would bond and become friends. Chickens are jerks, even at very young ages. Often, they will bully and even kill the more petite, weaker chicks. To my relief and pleasure, the pair bonded and have become good friends. Because I can't show favoritism, I now have a chick that rides on each shoulder and snuggles into my neck under my hair. This little chick, I believe, is a rooster. I have named him Napoleon. So, Eleanor Roostervelt and Napoleon have become a bonded pair. Sigh.

Now, fast forward a week. One last chick hatches in the incubator. This chick is so tiny. It is far smaller than the now two-week-old Eleanor Roostervelt. It is also much smaller than the week-and-a-half-old Napoleon. I went ahead, took a chance, and placed this tiny little chick in with Eleanor and Nappy. The pair did not bully it, but the sheer size difference created an issue. The two older chicks just ran over the new tiny chick. After a week, the little chick seemed unwell. I removed her from the box with Eleanor and Nappy and placed her, which I believe is a hen, in a separate box. I gave her vitamins, electrolytes, and medicated feed. She improved within a few hours.

Despite improving, the little chick, whom I have named Jacqueline Hennedy, is lonely. She cheeps non-stop. Feeling bad for her and unable to take her cheeping, which The Bean declares sounds like a car alarm, I placed Jacqueline Hennedy beside me on the couch and covered her with a blanket. She immediately snuggled into my armpit and fell asleep. I was happy she was quiet and resting. However, dear reader, I am now on day three of Jacqueline Hennedy spending her nights snuggled into my armpit, sleeping quietly for eight hours or more. Sigh, I am her mother hen.

I am a light sleeper, so I don't worry about rolling on her. However, I cannot have a baby chick spend its nights sleeping with me. It's taking Crazy Chicken Lady to a whole new level. I also don't have the heart to put her in a box by herself and leave her to her own devices. So, I now have three very needy little chicks. Two shoulder sitters throughout the day and an armpit snuggler at night. All three chicks are quiet until they hear my voice. Then, all three cheep loudly and desperately until I pick them up. It's a lot. For once, I can't wait for something to grow up and treat me with indifference and disdain. I can't hurry the teenage years along fast enough with these little chicks.

I wish I had another tiny chick to place with Jacqueline Hennedy. Unfortunately, I don't. Perhaps that crazy white hen will hatch a baby, and I can steal one of hers as a companion for Jackie. I'm sure that broody old bag won't hatch anything just to be spiteful. I really dislike those white chickens. Forget about crazy cat ladies, I am taking crazy chicken lady to a whole new level.

On this lovely summer Monday, stay safe, be smart, take care of tiny, innocent creatures, and keep washing your hands.