- May 3, 2023
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It is amazing to see how they are accommodating the babies and Frets work to teach them. It is a beautiful thing!Henry and Carbon waiting out of the way while Fret tries to get the chicks onto the ramp.

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It is amazing to see how they are accommodating the babies and Frets work to teach them. It is a beautiful thing!Henry and Carbon waiting out of the way while Fret tries to get the chicks onto the ramp.
So much fun to see the little puffballs. Every one is doing so well with them, they really are a sweet family. Thanks for sharing them with all of us.10.30am to 7.30pm today with an hour and a half off for lunch. Rain on and off throughout the day. Everybody seemed more relaxed today. Them because they're getting used to the chicks being about; me because I decided to forgo the tent and concentrate on getting better quaility weed.![]()
There has been a job needing doing since the new coop got put in place. I've dug all around it but underneath I had planned to do when the coop got moved.
The chickens go under the coop when it rains and apart from the rocks protruding the area had become a bit of a mess.
There were a number of large rocks, a foot times six inch sort of large under there, plus a lot of smaller but equally uncomfortable pieces of rubble. I took the back of the coop stand off and with the aid of a mini pick axe dug out the rocks, broke the ground up and added a wheelbarrow full of compost.
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Henry christened the job.
I dismantled the nest box Fret sat and hatched in and gave it a proper clean with disinfectant and filled the base with new shredded paper and after cleaning the coop floor added a nice confy pile of shredded paper in the corner Fret chose to sleep in last night.
Fret showed her appreciation by going to roost in the other corner.
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Although it isn't clear, this chick is having a dust bath. It didn't make much dust but it had a good try.
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Eating is becoming more sociable. The chicks think dads cool but dad has to be very carefull where he treads. I like this picture. It shows the size difference between Henry and the chick well. The chick can walk underneath Henry's spurs.
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Auntie Carbon is allowed to be close to the chicks now.
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Fret took the chicks onto the allotments for a while.
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Carbon after raspberries.
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Henry sunbathing while Carbon laid an egg.
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This evening Fret put some work into showing the chicks how to climb the ramp.
She's got most of the idea but instead of waiting at the pop door and calling she comes back down the ramp too quickly and the chicks don't get they have to go to her. I put the chicks at the top of the ramp this evening and they made it through the pop door under their own steam.
Henry and Carbon waiting out of the way while Fret tries to get the chicks onto the ramp.
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Fret and chicks outside the coop run. This is one of their favourite spots.
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I think we might be talking at cross purposes too, but fwiw this is where I'm coming from: The suggestion was that modern production hens need modern commercial feed because they are genetically different. I can see how this idea comes about, but I think it exaggerates the role of genetics and overlooks the role of the feed. The layers breeders guide I have cited a few times makes much of the feeding regime from hatch, and explicitly links the productiveness of the birds hatched to it. It says several times that the birds will not reach their genetic potential unless the very detailed and frequently-changing-while-the-birds-are-young feeding regime is followed.I don't know how this has been achieved.
This reminded me of a scene a few days ago that had me laughing out loud: Killay, who looks pretty fierce to @ManueB and others, and who has completely mastered the head grab on a hen passing as fast as she can go (if only our rugby players were so adept at tackling - though not at head level of course!) leapt backwards into the air when a chick ran under him to get to the food bowlThe chicks think dads cool but dad has to be very carefull where he treads.
I'm with Fret. Paper can cut, and shredded may be fine for adults but chicks might get tangled in it. Got any sand to put down instead?added a nice confy pile of shredded paper in the corner Fret chose to sleep in last night.
Fret showed her appreciation by going to roost in the other corner.
I've had production hens raised as backyard hens, they never were in a commercial environment. I didn't have them their whole lives, I got them along with some other hens (same flock) when they were around 2 years old. They were all well cared for before coming to me. They laid like crazy, had their final moult, laid some more then died horrible reproductive system deaths.I think we might be talking at cross purposes too, but fwiw this is where I'm coming from: The suggestion was that modern production hens need modern commercial feed because they are genetically different. I can see how this idea comes about, but I think it exaggerates the role of genetics and overlooks the role of the feed. The layers breeders guide I have cited a few times makes much of the feeding regime from hatch, and explicitly links the productiveness of the birds hatched to it. It says several times that the birds will not reach their genetic potential unless the very detailed and frequently-changing-while-the-birds-are-young feeding regime is followed.
There may be billions of production layers, but they are descended from a very, very small number of roos, and they constitute a couple of strains that have been selected by people, not nature, for high productivity in a highly controlled environment, over a blink in evolutionary time. Whatever the minor modern variations in their genes, if any, it is massively outmatched by those that have evolved since they were dinosaurs to see them through that mass extinction and many other catastrophes in the millions of years since. And if getting the feeding regime just right is essential to get the high production, those few, if any, genetic changes must be extremely delicate and unstable. Most genetics work is about turning genes that are there on and off, it's not about changing them per se. I suppose something in the feed could conceivably turn one or more on or off. If someone hatched the same eggs and raised them like heritage birds, and didn't stuff them with commercial feed and nowt else, I wonder if the results would be very different from what might be expected from normal genetic variation within a population.
I feel sorry for all of you who mourn so much over a loss of their beloved chickens. I have been feeling sad too, loosing a chicken. The special ones still feel as a loss, but not to the extent as some people here grieve for such a long time.@TropicalChickies I am so sorry that you lost Butchie. It is always a blessing and a curse to love an animal. They bring us such joy in their existence, and rip our hearts out when they pass.
I can't get this quote off my head for the past few hours. We've all heard it before, but this time I kept thinking about it. I've been raised with the notion of "it's just a chicken" and even though it never resonated with me, for many years I never developed any sort of connection with the birds. They meant a lot more to me than what they mean to my grandfather's brother (for example), but it never was the same, or close to what it was for cats and dogs. The first time I really connected with a chicken was with my last batch of ISA brown. There was one hen, about one year old at that point. She fell sick, and had to be moved to another small coop to heal. One night a predator attacked her, and bit some of her toes off. Next morning when we found her I was stunned. Despite what I though would happen, even while she was still relatively sick, and now had missing toes, while loosing some blood in the incident, she survived. Something sparked in me then, she was a fighter in my eyes. She was introduced to the flock after she healed, but she was constantly picked on. They even opened the wounds on her toe stubs that had healed at that point. She was tried many times, but every single time she got picked on. At that point, I had developed an OK bond with her, that grew stronger by the week. For most of her life, it was her, and the other chickens. She eventually ended up having a friend, but even then didn't ever feel too comfortable. She was always a bit of an outcast. At this point she had become my "favorite" hen. Our relationship wasn't built on cuddles or something like that, she wouldn't let me touch her. It grew from the fact that I had a deep respect for her. Each day I'd bring some weeds from the land to her cage, and feed it to her. During her last days, she was in with the bantams. What pains me is that she would not feel comfortable in most settings. She always just felt like she was missing on something. The moments she ate her weeds were probably her most peaceful. Her death was the first time I felt like something was missing. Every time a chicken died I would feel sad, but never like this. This time it felt like something important was missing. Sometimes when I say goodnight to the chickens, I catch myself saying goodnight to her, and then I stop and just look at the sky for a second, imagining she's up there flying, after not being able to for the majority of her life. She was the bird that made me truly open up to the emotional side of keeping birds. What I'm trying to get at with my long text I guess, is that we could never imagine feeling sad for losing a bird before we are forced into it, because they find a way to pry into our hearts. No one tells us that it's possible to have the same connection you can with a parrot or a cat, with a chicken. It's something we have to experience, even if we think we don'tJust a few years ago I would have never understood how or why someone would be sad over the death of a chicken. Now I know
I thought chickens were just dumb & tasty, but then Skeksis (and others) entered my life. I discovered chickens are actually intelligent and full of personality, to various degrees. But her above all meant the most. She was my little feathered buddy and we had a deep bond.I can't get this quote off my head for the past few hours. We've all heard it before, but this time I kept thinking about it. I've been raised with the notion of "it's just a chicken" and even though it never resonated with me, for many years I never developed any sort of connection with the birds. They meant a lot more to me than what they mean to my grandfather's brother (for example), but it never was the same, or close to what it was for cats and dogs. The first time I really connected with a chicken was with my last batch of ISA brown. There was one hen, about one year old at that point. She fell sick, and had to be moved to another small coop to heal. One night a predator attacked her, and bit some of her toes off. Next morning when we found her I was stunned. Despite what I though would happen, even while she was still relatively sick, and now had missing toes, while loosing some blood in the incident, she survived. Something sparked in me then, she was a fighter in my eyes. She was introduced to the flock after she healed, but she was constantly picked on. They even opened the wounds on her toe stubs that had healed at that point. She was tried many times, but every single time she got picked on. At that point, I had developed an OK bond with her, that grew stronger by the week. For most of her life, it was her, and the other chickens. She eventually ended up having a friend, but even then didn't ever feel too comfortable. She was always a bit of an outcast. At this point she had become my "favorite" hen. Our relationship wasn't built on cuddles or something like that, she wouldn't let me touch her. It grew from the fact that I had a deep respect for her. Each day I'd bring some weeds from the land to her cage, and feed it to her. During her last days, she was in with the bantams. What pains me is that she would not feel comfortable in most settings. She always just felt like she was missing on something. The moments she ate her weeds were probably her most peaceful. Her death was the first time I felt like something was missing. Every time a chicken died I would feel sad, but never like this. This time it felt like something important was missing. Sometimes when I say goodnight to the chickens, I catch myself saying goodnight to her, and then I stop and just look at the sky for a second, imagining she's up there flying, after not being able to for the majority of her life. She was the bird that made me truly open up to the emotional side of keeping birds. What I'm trying to get at with my long text I guess, is that we could never imagine feeling sad for losing a bird before we are forced into it, because they find a way to pry into our hearts. No one tells us that it's possible to have the same connection you can with a parrot or a cat, with a chicken. It's something we have to experience, even if we think we don't
I thought chickens were just dumb & tasty, but then Skeksis (and others) entered my life. I discovered chickens are actually intelligent and full of personality, to various degrees. But her above all meant the most. She was my little feathered buddy and we had a deep bond.