- Jun 12, 2014
- 16
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Hello All,
My name is Flavia. I am a Rhode Island Red Chicken, and this is my story.
I was one week old and living with my sister Rhode Island Reds in a chick container at the local Tractor Supply store, when a man and his wife walked by and told the Tractor Supply clerk he wanted to buy five of us for his remodeled chicken coop. Although we scrambled (no pun intended) around trying to avoid the clerks giant fingers, we were quickly placed in a small box for sale and transportation. Then, a few minutes later, the same Tractor Supply clerk re-opened the top lid of the box and deposited four Australorp chicks into the now very crowded container. The Australorps were to suffer the same fate as us. We had all been captured not knowing what lay (no pun intended) ahead for us.
After a bumpy and somewhat crowded ride, we arrived at our owner’s residence. We were then unceremoniously placed into an over-sized Stanley tool box, where we quickly discovered an abundance of food and water waiting for us. I have to admit, we all seemed to enjoy the pine shaving floor, as we scurried around trying to get acclimated to our new home.
The nine of us ate, slept, and pooped, and it was no surprise to anyone that we were growing bigger and bigger with each passing day. After about two weeks into our captivity, the owner moved us into a much larger container. He kept telling us to “get ready for the big move” and that once we were moved “you will find out why you're called chickens.” We really didn’t understand his comments, so we decided to just ignore him and enjoy his hospitality.
Fast forward, and now we are almost six weeks old. This morning the owner came in to tell us that we were going to our new home, his remodeled chicken coop. And for the first time he mentioned Henrietta. Henrietta is his 6 year old last surviving Buckeye from his first flock of chickens. And now we were going to be introduced to her. Oh my!
The owner took two of us at a time and carried us over to the coop in a small plastic bin and let us loose in the “original run”. Henrietta was in the “new run” and thankfully was separated from us by fencing and a closed door. Maybe I should say more about the owner’s coop which is divided into three sections. The coop proper, the original run, and a newer run connected to the original run and separated from it by fencing and a plywood door. I have to admit the coop is pretty nice. It has a deep pine shaving floor, an overhead heat lamp, and when it really gets cold a small ceramic heater with a built in thermostat that kicks on adding additional heat to the coop when needed.
Well, we were all scurrying about checking things out and trying to get comfortable, when the owner opened the plywood door and who came rushing in to greet, no, attack us, but Henrietta. The coop had been her domain for almost a year and now she had to share it with us, and she wasn’t too happy about it. The owner tried to act as a referee , but Henrietta was too fast for him.
Using her beak and oversized wings and big feet she charged at us sending us in all directions into the coop, and the new run that was now open.
We soon discovered that our greatest defense was to hunker down in any corner we could get to and hope that Henrietta would take pity on us. So that’s pretty much where we are right now. When Henrietta comes into the coop we move to a corner and wait for her to leave, or wait for her to settle down in her sleeping box, which is actually a nesting box.
As a group we are pretty active in the coop as long as Henrietta doesn’t object We’re hoping that as we grow older and bigger Henrietta will allow us more freedom to do what chickens are supposed to do. We spend lots of time just laying around (no pun intended).
Thanks for reading my lament!
Flavia
My name is Flavia. I am a Rhode Island Red Chicken, and this is my story.
I was one week old and living with my sister Rhode Island Reds in a chick container at the local Tractor Supply store, when a man and his wife walked by and told the Tractor Supply clerk he wanted to buy five of us for his remodeled chicken coop. Although we scrambled (no pun intended) around trying to avoid the clerks giant fingers, we were quickly placed in a small box for sale and transportation. Then, a few minutes later, the same Tractor Supply clerk re-opened the top lid of the box and deposited four Australorp chicks into the now very crowded container. The Australorps were to suffer the same fate as us. We had all been captured not knowing what lay (no pun intended) ahead for us.
After a bumpy and somewhat crowded ride, we arrived at our owner’s residence. We were then unceremoniously placed into an over-sized Stanley tool box, where we quickly discovered an abundance of food and water waiting for us. I have to admit, we all seemed to enjoy the pine shaving floor, as we scurried around trying to get acclimated to our new home.
The nine of us ate, slept, and pooped, and it was no surprise to anyone that we were growing bigger and bigger with each passing day. After about two weeks into our captivity, the owner moved us into a much larger container. He kept telling us to “get ready for the big move” and that once we were moved “you will find out why you're called chickens.” We really didn’t understand his comments, so we decided to just ignore him and enjoy his hospitality.
Fast forward, and now we are almost six weeks old. This morning the owner came in to tell us that we were going to our new home, his remodeled chicken coop. And for the first time he mentioned Henrietta. Henrietta is his 6 year old last surviving Buckeye from his first flock of chickens. And now we were going to be introduced to her. Oh my!
The owner took two of us at a time and carried us over to the coop in a small plastic bin and let us loose in the “original run”. Henrietta was in the “new run” and thankfully was separated from us by fencing and a closed door. Maybe I should say more about the owner’s coop which is divided into three sections. The coop proper, the original run, and a newer run connected to the original run and separated from it by fencing and a plywood door. I have to admit the coop is pretty nice. It has a deep pine shaving floor, an overhead heat lamp, and when it really gets cold a small ceramic heater with a built in thermostat that kicks on adding additional heat to the coop when needed.
Well, we were all scurrying about checking things out and trying to get comfortable, when the owner opened the plywood door and who came rushing in to greet, no, attack us, but Henrietta. The coop had been her domain for almost a year and now she had to share it with us, and she wasn’t too happy about it. The owner tried to act as a referee , but Henrietta was too fast for him.
Using her beak and oversized wings and big feet she charged at us sending us in all directions into the coop, and the new run that was now open.
We soon discovered that our greatest defense was to hunker down in any corner we could get to and hope that Henrietta would take pity on us. So that’s pretty much where we are right now. When Henrietta comes into the coop we move to a corner and wait for her to leave, or wait for her to settle down in her sleeping box, which is actually a nesting box.
As a group we are pretty active in the coop as long as Henrietta doesn’t object We’re hoping that as we grow older and bigger Henrietta will allow us more freedom to do what chickens are supposed to do. We spend lots of time just laying around (no pun intended).
Thanks for reading my lament!
Flavia
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