Because a crazy chicken lady has to have somewhere to share all her photos, right?
I've always had a semi-small flock, but before 2012, I never dreamed I would own chickens. I had barely ever seen any in my life. My love of chickens and all the love and time I've put into them now is thanks to one fateful day where I met and rescued my first chicken. I've had a total of thirteen chickens in my life, and these are their stories.
February 16th, 2012. I was still in high school, and the agriculture class had some leftover chicks from some project they were doing, and decided to give away those birds to whoever wanted them. I rushed over and found that the students and teacher had actually taken all but one chick and killed them, and were grilling them on the class's big grill out back. Mortified, I asked about the remaining chick. It was apparently too small and skinny to be eaten (as if any day-old chick is big enough for food!) and one boy had claimed it, saying he was going to take it home to his dogs and throw it to them as bait. I begged him to let me rescue it. I knew nothing about chickens or their care, or if my mom would even let me keep one, but I sure as heck wasn't about to let it die without a fight. It took the only nine dollars I had on me to get the chick from the boy, and I scooped it up and went back to class.
Not knowing how to tell its gender, I gave it two unisex names, Darcy Taylor. I would later find out that it was a she. Darcy was a regular yellow chick, but her feet and toes were a little curled up and she couldn't stand. I was given some chick food to take with her and she barely ate. I took the cap off of some body spray I had, washed it out in the sink, and filled it with water to make a tiny cup for her to drink, and she drank. I called my mom after school that day to say, "Come pick me and Darcy up!" "Who's Darcy?" my mother asked, assuming I had made a new friend. "A chicken!" Needless to say, my mom was a little upset at first, but once she heard Darcy's story, she quickly came around.
Darcy slept in a little rodent carrier with a towel that night, under a lamp for warmth. I wasn't sure she would make it.
She did though, and with love and care, she looked brighter the next day. We played, we cuddled, she walked over and fell asleep in my hand, she tottered around my bedroom floor, and then pooped on it. I was in love with the little bird already.
And she certainly knew how to strike a pose for the camera! She was always a little diva.
Darcy grew quickly, and as I knew nothing about chicken colors and breeds then, I wondered what she would grow up to be. A few weeks gave me my answer.
She grew really big, really quick. Ate like a big and gained weight like crazy. Bits and pieces of research and some members of this forum told me she was likely a Cornish cross -- a meat bird destined to have a shorter life than others. As she grew, she confirmed my suspicions, but I was determined to give her the best life I could. I got a flock of baby bantams to raise as her companions (more on them shortly), and she acted like a mother hen to them.
Darcy kept growing.
And growing.
She was huge!
She lost her cuddliness as she grew older, and was content for me just to pet her and collect her eggs. As the bantams grew, she treated them less like her chicks and more like her equals. She was still boss, though, and didn't tolerate any of their nonsense. I loved Darcy, and I would go so far as to say she loved me. I read to her. I brought her treats. I built her and the bantams a big run for them to live in.
It was August of 2012 when she passed away. She acted perfectly healthy but I came home from school one day to find her lying in the run, gone. I assume because of her massive size, she may have had a heart attack. She had, in her last days, begun to have trouble holding her weight on her legs. I cried and cried and cried. Darcy Taylor was not just my first chicken, she was the one who began it all, who inspired my love and fascination with these intelligent, beautiful animals. I buried her just outside of the run and promised I would never forget her sass, her personality, her wisdom.
The next post, I'll introduce you to my colorful little flock of bantams!
I've always had a semi-small flock, but before 2012, I never dreamed I would own chickens. I had barely ever seen any in my life. My love of chickens and all the love and time I've put into them now is thanks to one fateful day where I met and rescued my first chicken. I've had a total of thirteen chickens in my life, and these are their stories.
February 16th, 2012. I was still in high school, and the agriculture class had some leftover chicks from some project they were doing, and decided to give away those birds to whoever wanted them. I rushed over and found that the students and teacher had actually taken all but one chick and killed them, and were grilling them on the class's big grill out back. Mortified, I asked about the remaining chick. It was apparently too small and skinny to be eaten (as if any day-old chick is big enough for food!) and one boy had claimed it, saying he was going to take it home to his dogs and throw it to them as bait. I begged him to let me rescue it. I knew nothing about chickens or their care, or if my mom would even let me keep one, but I sure as heck wasn't about to let it die without a fight. It took the only nine dollars I had on me to get the chick from the boy, and I scooped it up and went back to class.
Not knowing how to tell its gender, I gave it two unisex names, Darcy Taylor. I would later find out that it was a she. Darcy was a regular yellow chick, but her feet and toes were a little curled up and she couldn't stand. I was given some chick food to take with her and she barely ate. I took the cap off of some body spray I had, washed it out in the sink, and filled it with water to make a tiny cup for her to drink, and she drank. I called my mom after school that day to say, "Come pick me and Darcy up!" "Who's Darcy?" my mother asked, assuming I had made a new friend. "A chicken!" Needless to say, my mom was a little upset at first, but once she heard Darcy's story, she quickly came around.
Darcy slept in a little rodent carrier with a towel that night, under a lamp for warmth. I wasn't sure she would make it.
She did though, and with love and care, she looked brighter the next day. We played, we cuddled, she walked over and fell asleep in my hand, she tottered around my bedroom floor, and then pooped on it. I was in love with the little bird already.
And she certainly knew how to strike a pose for the camera! She was always a little diva.
Darcy grew quickly, and as I knew nothing about chicken colors and breeds then, I wondered what she would grow up to be. A few weeks gave me my answer.
She grew really big, really quick. Ate like a big and gained weight like crazy. Bits and pieces of research and some members of this forum told me she was likely a Cornish cross -- a meat bird destined to have a shorter life than others. As she grew, she confirmed my suspicions, but I was determined to give her the best life I could. I got a flock of baby bantams to raise as her companions (more on them shortly), and she acted like a mother hen to them.
Darcy kept growing.
And growing.
She was huge!
She lost her cuddliness as she grew older, and was content for me just to pet her and collect her eggs. As the bantams grew, she treated them less like her chicks and more like her equals. She was still boss, though, and didn't tolerate any of their nonsense. I loved Darcy, and I would go so far as to say she loved me. I read to her. I brought her treats. I built her and the bantams a big run for them to live in.
It was August of 2012 when she passed away. She acted perfectly healthy but I came home from school one day to find her lying in the run, gone. I assume because of her massive size, she may have had a heart attack. She had, in her last days, begun to have trouble holding her weight on her legs. I cried and cried and cried. Darcy Taylor was not just my first chicken, she was the one who began it all, who inspired my love and fascination with these intelligent, beautiful animals. I buried her just outside of the run and promised I would never forget her sass, her personality, her wisdom.
The next post, I'll introduce you to my colorful little flock of bantams!
