“My Chicken Theology isn’t Up to Scratch”

You guys, I have some awful news:

my tweener chicks are gone.

 

And, let me make this clear: I am actually, really, not-in-any-way-exaggerating emotionally upset about this.

 

Here’s what we think happened – it appears as though some bratty-little-kids came into my backyard, killed Pteradactyl (the blonde) and took Opossum(the redhead).

 

Here is why we think that: when I got home, I went to check on the tweeners like I always do.  Bubba was over and we found Ptera’s body. There were, for lack of a more appropriate term, no signs of a struggle. It certainly doesn’t seem as though any critter was to blame because of the lack of mess. No blood. No feathers. just sweet bird laying on her side, lifeless.

 

ohmyheart.

 

Opossum, who never liked to be even inches away from Pteradactyl, was no where in sight. Also no signs of struggle from her anywhere.

 

 

I couldn’t handle it. I never thought I’d be that girl, but i called Homenovio, and said “Can you come over sooner?” (he was supposed to be by in an hour. But I could not bear to wait an hour knowing the body of my sweet pet was laying in the dirt. It seemed so unkind.)
“Uhh, I can…”
::something unintelligible about birds::
“You can’t find them?”
“I can but she’s dead!”
“I’ll be right there.”

 

So bubba and I try to change the subject while I pace my kitchen. Homes shows up about half a blink later and I break down.

“I don’t know what to do with her.”
“It’s okay, baby. I’ve got it.”

So he did. He scooped her up and drove ACROSS TOWN IN SXSW traffic so he could “properly” dispose of her, which according to the google, after hours on a Friday,that means driving to some disposal center off Ben White. All just so I didn’t have to cry over my baby bird in a trash can.

 

Sometimes a trauma hurts a little less when you don’t have to tough it out, ya know? When someone will just let you lose your mind a little over a dead chicken. (It will be VERY diff when we eat Tiger. That’s not senseless. This seemed so….unjust.)

 

Later, when we were discussing what might have happened (we were all really stumped at the lack of any seeming reason behind one dead chick and one missing chick, and yes, I asked the neighbors and we looked in all the surrounding yards) David says,

“Maybe there was a chicken rapture.”-David
“You don’t think she loved the Lord?” -Me, appalled that he would question the integrity of my birds’ salvation
“Tough to say.”
“Plus she DIED, she didn’t get left behind. Chicken rapture means death for unbelievers?”
“My chicken theology isn’t up to scratch.”

 

I left the light on and coop door open in case Opossum comes back.

 

just in case.

 

 

Free Range Chicks: Teenage Bullies Across Species

I’ve been all stalky-stalky on other blogs today and that’s when I remembered I should be all writey-writey over here.

 

Except I’m too hyper. Literally bouncing around the house to good music, trying to focus enough to get to the dang gym (you know some times you have to much energy you can’t actually get anything done).  Here’s a funny thing, though:

 

We finished the chicken coop last week and have transitioned my tweener chicks*  to the coop. I take the term “mother hen” to a new and exciting level by checking on them at midnight to make sure they’re warm and happy. And if they aren’t i pick them up and move them to the light-heated nesting boxes. Which requires me climbing into said coop. At midnight. I love these birds. But when I’m home during the day, I let them have free range of the entire back yard. Which is nothing to sneeze at.

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This is their coop. It’s not the prettiest thing but it is very sturdy, they seem to like it, it gets the job done, and because I used mostly pilfered recycled materials, it all-told cost about $50 to make, compared to $200-700 for comparable sized, cuter versions online. I’m going to paint it and decorate it with silliness because that is who I am.

 

The transition to the coop freed up the cage, so the chicks and duckling  (named Simone, Ursula, Vixen, and Tiger) moved to the cage. They are funny little things to watch going here-and-there. We tied a ribbon to the top and put a ball in the cage so they can play. They mess with the ribbon (im not sure they like it….maybe it just bothers them and they are trying to pull it down?) and ignore the ball.

 

WHY WITH ALL THE PARENTHESIS?! WHY CAN I NOT BETTER ORDER MY THOUGHTS?

Did I ever tell you that I have had TWO separate employers suggest I take ritalin? 

Anyway, today I put the cage outside to see if the chicks would like to explore.

Which maybe is a Valle thing because Spencer told me he put Tiger (duckling) in the tub the other day to see if she’d like to be in some water. (“It FREAKED her out.” He says)

 

Well, they did not. But something else happened. Pteradactyl(the red-head) and Opossum (the blonde) who, in these pics, was investigating but not yet participating, got IN the cage to come eat some of the chicks’ food! Look closely at the chicks freaking out but not sure what to do as, from their perception, Ptera looks like her namesake.

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Here, you can see the chicks start to rally. Tiger straightened and started waddling up to stand her ground against invaders.

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Getting into position….051

 

They are so brave! They got together and squeezed Ptera out of the way so she couldn’t eat their food!

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I know exactly three people will for sure care about this. And one won’t read the post. To everyone else, well, I have no apologies.

 

That’s okay. I just wanted to share because i find it legitimately entertaining (and so does Spencer) to literally watch my chickens. It’s relaxing. And I’m not so good at that, so I like sharing about my growth in the area.

*(that’s not a real term, they just are in their adolescent phase. I thought they were not quite there yet because they are so pretty and the chickens i’m used to were NOT that pretty. SO there you have it: inexact terms for chickens, by Ritz)