This is the life story of a chicken - written not to educate, but simply to express how I feel about that life and what I learned from it. Feel free to move on to more interesting articles, but maybe some of you will enjoy the story and the pictures that come with it.
Once upon a time........
THE BEGINNING
There were four of them. Day-old chicks sexed female to 90% accuracy by a large hatchery and I drove 8 hours one way to get them.
The drive back took longer because they kept shouting peep-peep-peep, and so I kept pulling over to the side of the road to check they weren't on the brink of death.
They just seemed to want to say hello.
They got temporary names and the Chipmunk look-alike inevitably became Chippy.
They were vaccinated for Marek’s disease (which I have in my flock) and quarantined for a few days in a tent in my bathroom for the vaccine to take. They ate a lot and grew fast.
Then on day six I introduced them to my highly committed broody hen, Tassels. She wanted to be a mother more than any creature has ever wanted anything, but nonetheless I was worried they were too old for her to accept and at 3am when I popped them under her I hovered ready to airlift them out of danger.
They snuggled under her and everyone slept peacefully.
At daybreak I hovered again. They were of course way too big and too active for just-hatched chicks and Tassels was aware of that and flared up with murder on her mind.
Just as I was about to rescue as many as I could, little Chippy looked Tassels in the eye and peeped.
A switch flipped in her brain and in that instant Tassels became their mother.
I left them to it as I was clearly surplus to requirements.
Tassels turned out to be as formidable a mother as she had been a broody.
Any ideas I had about what the little family might need were a waste of time. Tassels had her own strongly held views about how to raise her chicks.
First off, she completely rejected chick feed. She took her babies out and about to forage. She accepted gifts of fruit and would stand on the treadle so they could access the adult pellets from the rat proof chicken feeders (first showing them how to break up the pellets so they were small enough for them to swallow).
She allowed some, but not all, of the older hens to come near. Anyone who dared to peck a chick for stealing food was roundly scolded by Tassels.
Tassels was a strict teacher. The chicks got lectures, and were expected to do field work.
She taught them what was good to eat.
And Chippy was an attentive student.
But sometimes it was just all too exhausting.
Chippy wanted to roost, but for weeks and weeks Tassels simply would not allow it. All it took was a stern look and Chippy had to fly down and go back into the brooder box.
This was my first time with broody-raised chicks. I know that many (probably most) people reading this on BYC will have experienced chicks raised by a hen many times. But to me it was completely magical.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the little family, how they interacted and how Tassels managed them in the context of the rest of the flock.
Every day felt like a miracle and I feel immensely privileged to have been able to watch it up close.
THE MIDDLE
In retrospect there were early signs that Chippy was not quite as advertised.
Eventually it was impossible to ignore that Chippy was a little guy. I found myself calling him Mr. Chips.
As a young child I was very close to my great Uncle. We had no language in common but I adored him. The only English I remember him being able to say was ‘Goodbye Mr. Chips’ which he would say to me and then roar with laughter. Sitting on his knee I would giggle uncontrollably. I have no idea why he knew this phrase which I believe comes from the 1939 movie of that name, but it made me smile and Chippy became Mr. Chips.
I never wanted a rooster. I have read many horror stories on BYC and I was anxious about aggression to me, over-mating of the hens, and disruption of my relationship with the hens.
But there is a big difference between choosing not to bring in a male chick, and having one appear accidentally. So I decided Mr. Chips would stay until things got bad.
I researched everything I could from experienced rooster-keepers. I got a lot of help and reassurance from a group of fellow BYC members. A shout out must go to @rural mouse and @RebeccaBoyd who answered endless stupid questions as I anticipated one disaster after another and who kept me more-or-less calm, most of the time. Another member, @ChicoryBlue, was having a similar experience - she was a couple of weeks ahead of me and I followed her progress closely (sometimes that was encouraging and sometimes very scary).
And of course there is the 'must read' article by @Shadrach that is hopefully linked here.
I set out to build a relationship with Mr. Chips. I didn’t want him to fear me, nor to fear my interactions with the hens, and I didn't want him to mistake me for one of his hens.
Blueberries were my weapon of choice.
Tassels made my life much more difficult. Mr. Chips was a real Momma’s boy and the two of them were always together. Tassels as always had strong views on appropriate behavior (mine and his).
Over the next few months I observed him develop into a fine young chap.
He started to call the hens over for the treats I gave him. Initially he called them over, but ate all the blueberries himself before they arrived. But soon he fed the hens before he ate any himself.
He learned to crow. His first attempts seemed to provoke ridicule in the ladies and he didn’t try again for a couple of days, but then he practiced and practiced and got the hang of it.
He held the treadle feeder open for his tiny broody-sister, Cookie because she was still too small to open it herself.
He fell hard for little Piglet (the smallest of the mature hens) who was initially terrified and hid in the nest boxes for 3 days. That was upsetting to me. But she emerged and realized she rather liked his attentions and started to call him over to join her.
He grew up terrified of Piglet’s sister Pooh, but she (the little hussy!) was very inviting to him until she had enough and then she pecked him mercilessly.
He spent days and days accompanying Geronimo inspecting and selecting possible nest sites before settling on the same nest box as everyone else already uses. He had just started the same process with Nutmeg.
He always snuggled up to Cookie at night and kept her warm and he had started to integrate the new pullets with the older hens at night bringing Cookie along with him to mingle with the big girls.
He was just beginning to practice herding the hens starting with his mother. Unfortunately she ignored him.
We became friends I believe. He was always the first to come barreling towards me when I came in. He would stand in front of me immovable like a tank demanding to see what tribute I had brought. He grew tall and broad and would put his head in my pocket to make sure I wasn’t holding back on the treats. He was always tolerant of me giving treats directly to the hens, but I made sure he got first pickings.
He was a big presence in the flock and slowly they all came around to paying him attention when he called for them. By Thanksgiving he had elegantly and without drama become the leader of the flock.
This was my first experience with a cockerel and I have to say I was enchanted by Mr. Chips. The pace at which he learned new skills in interacting with the Princesses, his growing confidence and apparent trust in me, and of course his stunning shimmering green. Just wonderful.
THE END
I knew something was wrong the minute I walked in. It was Tassels that came to greet me. No sign of Mr. Chips.
I closed the ladies in and went out to see if I could find him. But I knew it was hopeless. He would not be absent voluntarily, and he was way too big to fly over the electric fence.
About 20’ from the Chicken Palace I found a small heap of feathers. Some of them were Piglet’s feathers. Then another 10’ a few more Mr. Chips feathers and fox footprints in the snow. The fox had dragged something big and I followed the trail through a spot where the snow and wind had created a breach in the electric fence. Another small group of feathers and finally some feathers and some blood behind the fig tree. There the trail went cold.
I have cameras in the Chicken Palace and that evening I went through what they had recorded. Thankfully the cameras did not have a view of that part of the field, I am not sure I could actually bear to watch if they did, but they did show the hens all rushing inside in a panic and then staring out towards the place I found the feathers. Like passers-by watching a car wreck as it happens.
I cannot know exactly what happened, but I imagine that Piglet was initially the one attacked and that Mr. Chips created the diversion that allowed her to escape back to the Chicken Palace. I hope he knew that the love of his short life made it back to safety. I believe he died under the fig tree. He loved figs.
The Princesses have been confined since we lost Mr. Chips – I cannot repair the fence until there is a bit of thaw. Hopefully in the next few days.
They have all – but particularly Piglet - been more subdued than normal. As far as I can tell Piglet is uninjured. Roosting has gone back to being segregated. Which is fine, but saddens me.
I learned a lot from Mr. Chips in his short life. For me it was an exciting, sometimes nerve-wracking journey. I have a much greater appreciation of how wonderful a great rooster could be in a flock, and I am personally less anxious about my ability to interact with such a magnificent creature.
But I am sad. I am sad for Tassels who has lost her son who remained a Momma’s Boy to the end. I am sad for Cookie who has lost her nighttime cuddle and her snacking companion. I am sad for Pooh who was really having a great time partying with Mr. Chips. I am sad for Nutmeg who has to finish finding the nest site for her first egg on her own. I am sad for Geronimo who will have to continue to lay her eggs without Mr. Chips standing by and encouraging her.
And I am sad for myself because I have lost my buddy.
Goodbye Mr. Chips: you were initially unwanted, but I hope you knew you were greatly loved.
Once upon a time........
THE BEGINNING
There were four of them. Day-old chicks sexed female to 90% accuracy by a large hatchery and I drove 8 hours one way to get them.
The drive back took longer because they kept shouting peep-peep-peep, and so I kept pulling over to the side of the road to check they weren't on the brink of death.
They just seemed to want to say hello.
They got temporary names and the Chipmunk look-alike inevitably became Chippy.
They were vaccinated for Marek’s disease (which I have in my flock) and quarantined for a few days in a tent in my bathroom for the vaccine to take. They ate a lot and grew fast.
Then on day six I introduced them to my highly committed broody hen, Tassels. She wanted to be a mother more than any creature has ever wanted anything, but nonetheless I was worried they were too old for her to accept and at 3am when I popped them under her I hovered ready to airlift them out of danger.
They snuggled under her and everyone slept peacefully.
At daybreak I hovered again. They were of course way too big and too active for just-hatched chicks and Tassels was aware of that and flared up with murder on her mind.
Just as I was about to rescue as many as I could, little Chippy looked Tassels in the eye and peeped.
A switch flipped in her brain and in that instant Tassels became their mother.
I left them to it as I was clearly surplus to requirements.
Tassels turned out to be as formidable a mother as she had been a broody.
Any ideas I had about what the little family might need were a waste of time. Tassels had her own strongly held views about how to raise her chicks.
First off, she completely rejected chick feed. She took her babies out and about to forage. She accepted gifts of fruit and would stand on the treadle so they could access the adult pellets from the rat proof chicken feeders (first showing them how to break up the pellets so they were small enough for them to swallow).
She allowed some, but not all, of the older hens to come near. Anyone who dared to peck a chick for stealing food was roundly scolded by Tassels.
Tassels was a strict teacher. The chicks got lectures, and were expected to do field work.
She taught them what was good to eat.
And Chippy was an attentive student.
But sometimes it was just all too exhausting.
Chippy wanted to roost, but for weeks and weeks Tassels simply would not allow it. All it took was a stern look and Chippy had to fly down and go back into the brooder box.
This was my first time with broody-raised chicks. I know that many (probably most) people reading this on BYC will have experienced chicks raised by a hen many times. But to me it was completely magical.
I couldn’t take my eyes off the little family, how they interacted and how Tassels managed them in the context of the rest of the flock.
Every day felt like a miracle and I feel immensely privileged to have been able to watch it up close.
THE MIDDLE
In retrospect there were early signs that Chippy was not quite as advertised.
Eventually it was impossible to ignore that Chippy was a little guy. I found myself calling him Mr. Chips.
As a young child I was very close to my great Uncle. We had no language in common but I adored him. The only English I remember him being able to say was ‘Goodbye Mr. Chips’ which he would say to me and then roar with laughter. Sitting on his knee I would giggle uncontrollably. I have no idea why he knew this phrase which I believe comes from the 1939 movie of that name, but it made me smile and Chippy became Mr. Chips.
I never wanted a rooster. I have read many horror stories on BYC and I was anxious about aggression to me, over-mating of the hens, and disruption of my relationship with the hens.
But there is a big difference between choosing not to bring in a male chick, and having one appear accidentally. So I decided Mr. Chips would stay until things got bad.
I researched everything I could from experienced rooster-keepers. I got a lot of help and reassurance from a group of fellow BYC members. A shout out must go to @rural mouse and @RebeccaBoyd who answered endless stupid questions as I anticipated one disaster after another and who kept me more-or-less calm, most of the time. Another member, @ChicoryBlue, was having a similar experience - she was a couple of weeks ahead of me and I followed her progress closely (sometimes that was encouraging and sometimes very scary).
And of course there is the 'must read' article by @Shadrach that is hopefully linked here.
I set out to build a relationship with Mr. Chips. I didn’t want him to fear me, nor to fear my interactions with the hens, and I didn't want him to mistake me for one of his hens.
Blueberries were my weapon of choice.
Tassels made my life much more difficult. Mr. Chips was a real Momma’s boy and the two of them were always together. Tassels as always had strong views on appropriate behavior (mine and his).
Over the next few months I observed him develop into a fine young chap.
He started to call the hens over for the treats I gave him. Initially he called them over, but ate all the blueberries himself before they arrived. But soon he fed the hens before he ate any himself.
He learned to crow. His first attempts seemed to provoke ridicule in the ladies and he didn’t try again for a couple of days, but then he practiced and practiced and got the hang of it.
He held the treadle feeder open for his tiny broody-sister, Cookie because she was still too small to open it herself.
He fell hard for little Piglet (the smallest of the mature hens) who was initially terrified and hid in the nest boxes for 3 days. That was upsetting to me. But she emerged and realized she rather liked his attentions and started to call him over to join her.
He grew up terrified of Piglet’s sister Pooh, but she (the little hussy!) was very inviting to him until she had enough and then she pecked him mercilessly.
He spent days and days accompanying Geronimo inspecting and selecting possible nest sites before settling on the same nest box as everyone else already uses. He had just started the same process with Nutmeg.
He always snuggled up to Cookie at night and kept her warm and he had started to integrate the new pullets with the older hens at night bringing Cookie along with him to mingle with the big girls.
He was just beginning to practice herding the hens starting with his mother. Unfortunately she ignored him.
We became friends I believe. He was always the first to come barreling towards me when I came in. He would stand in front of me immovable like a tank demanding to see what tribute I had brought. He grew tall and broad and would put his head in my pocket to make sure I wasn’t holding back on the treats. He was always tolerant of me giving treats directly to the hens, but I made sure he got first pickings.
He was a big presence in the flock and slowly they all came around to paying him attention when he called for them. By Thanksgiving he had elegantly and without drama become the leader of the flock.
This was my first experience with a cockerel and I have to say I was enchanted by Mr. Chips. The pace at which he learned new skills in interacting with the Princesses, his growing confidence and apparent trust in me, and of course his stunning shimmering green. Just wonderful.
THE END
I knew something was wrong the minute I walked in. It was Tassels that came to greet me. No sign of Mr. Chips.
I closed the ladies in and went out to see if I could find him. But I knew it was hopeless. He would not be absent voluntarily, and he was way too big to fly over the electric fence.
About 20’ from the Chicken Palace I found a small heap of feathers. Some of them were Piglet’s feathers. Then another 10’ a few more Mr. Chips feathers and fox footprints in the snow. The fox had dragged something big and I followed the trail through a spot where the snow and wind had created a breach in the electric fence. Another small group of feathers and finally some feathers and some blood behind the fig tree. There the trail went cold.
I have cameras in the Chicken Palace and that evening I went through what they had recorded. Thankfully the cameras did not have a view of that part of the field, I am not sure I could actually bear to watch if they did, but they did show the hens all rushing inside in a panic and then staring out towards the place I found the feathers. Like passers-by watching a car wreck as it happens.
I cannot know exactly what happened, but I imagine that Piglet was initially the one attacked and that Mr. Chips created the diversion that allowed her to escape back to the Chicken Palace. I hope he knew that the love of his short life made it back to safety. I believe he died under the fig tree. He loved figs.
The Princesses have been confined since we lost Mr. Chips – I cannot repair the fence until there is a bit of thaw. Hopefully in the next few days.
They have all – but particularly Piglet - been more subdued than normal. As far as I can tell Piglet is uninjured. Roosting has gone back to being segregated. Which is fine, but saddens me.
I learned a lot from Mr. Chips in his short life. For me it was an exciting, sometimes nerve-wracking journey. I have a much greater appreciation of how wonderful a great rooster could be in a flock, and I am personally less anxious about my ability to interact with such a magnificent creature.
But I am sad. I am sad for Tassels who has lost her son who remained a Momma’s Boy to the end. I am sad for Cookie who has lost her nighttime cuddle and her snacking companion. I am sad for Pooh who was really having a great time partying with Mr. Chips. I am sad for Nutmeg who has to finish finding the nest site for her first egg on her own. I am sad for Geronimo who will have to continue to lay her eggs without Mr. Chips standing by and encouraging her.
And I am sad for myself because I have lost my buddy.
Goodbye Mr. Chips: you were initially unwanted, but I hope you knew you were greatly loved.
* * *
RIP Mr. Chips August 4, 2025 - January 3, 2026
RIP Mr. Chips August 4, 2025 - January 3, 2026
Thank you for the privilege of seeing them grow with you. I'm deeply saddened that Mr. Chips life was cut so short.