Since we are on totally random randomness I think I'll share this Washingtonian's first chicken story.
About 9 years ago I got my mother some EE chicks for mother's day. She had a coop, and wanted some colored egg layers. Of course, not knowing anything about birds, I got them at the feedstore and chose the chicks that had the puffiest cheeks (but didn't look them over well). Once they were home and settled into the brooder I was dipping the beaks in water (as I saw described in a chicken book I checked out from the library) I noticed one with a very crooked beak. Upon closer examination, I also noticed one eye wouldn't open all the way, although there was no discharge.
Since these chicks were to be a present and I didn't want any gloom overhanging the gift, I took this chick home and brooded it in a cardboard box with one buddy. It had a hard time finding the food and water, so I was often hand feeding and aiding this bird. With that much time being spent on this chick, I thought it needed a name but wanted it to be fairly impersonal since I thought for sure it would die.
So I named it Retardo (I know, completely un-PC- so sorry!)
Retardo was always much MUCH smaller than the other EE. Once mature, and I was certain she would live, she was returned to my mother. By this time she was quite the pet. She loved people, loved to be carried, was always begging for treats and would come when called. The problem was her name. By the time I was sure she was going to make it she knew her name. Upon calling her Retardo would come running full tilt from wherever she was directly towards your voice. Due to the one eye her depth perception was awful, meaning often her 'coming when called' ended in her running into your leg and knocking herself off of her feet. My mother swears to this day I named that poor pullet Retardo simply so I could laugh at her yelling for her out in the yard. (It was quite a sight to see my mother, who is very proper, out in the yard calling 'Retardo' and turning bright red at the same time)..
This special hen was unfortunately lost to a hawk at slightly over a year old. To this day I remember her fondly, as does my mother, and she was the start of my love of poultry.
I suppose the lesson learned is:
A) sometimes the culls worm their way into your heart and
B) even if you think the chick won't make it, choose a better name than Retardo.
)
