The One Where I May Or May Not Have Turned Into a Chicken Murderer

We're talking about chickens again today. If you have a thing against chickens, or are sick and tired of hearing about them, just click out now.

When we got the chicks a month ago, I put them in an extra large dog crate in the kitchen. The theory was that the dogs would get used to them and not chase/bother the chickens when they were older. That theory, by the way, didn't turn out the way I envisioned it would. Instead, the chicks provided hours of entertainment daily for the frenchies. Especially Jack. Jack loves the chicks. He'd jump into their crate any chance he got, and even opened it one day just to let himself in. He just wants to stand there, closer to them. Never once did he even attempt to snap at them. He did, however, lick them. I fully expected to see him just lying there one day and see ten chicks climbing all over him. That never happened, except in my mind.

The chicks are baby chickens in training, of course. The older they get, the more chicken-like they become.  They will scratch in their shavings and peck at things, even though they have a full dish of chick food sitting in the corner. All that scratching about in shavings creates a cloud of dust. The awful DE episode I inflicted upon myself last week was a bit worse than the daily coating of dust the chicks contributed to society, but only barely. The poor husband (who hates chickens) said the chicks most certainly could NOT stay in the house. I said that the first time they smelled or made a mess, they would be relocated. (I just now remembered about the mess part. My bad.)

This morning I came downstairs to take care of the small farm that we've got going right inside our home, and life was normal. We went to town and came home to the most awful smell you could imagine. For a kitchen. It smelled like a barn. I kid you not. I have no idea what those chicks did in the hour we were gone, but the smell was unmistakable. It smelled just like It's Time To Leave.

So we headed to the chicken coop, shuffled some fencing, put the chick run right beside the chicken run so they could see each other but not hurt each other, and I relocated those ten chicks to live outdoors in a dog crate filled with straw and a nice yard for exercise and to scratch in the dirt.

And then I spent the rest of the day worrying about the chicks. They're technically not old enough to be outside yet. And it's cold. A bit too cold for chicks that are a bit too young to be outside. And I just heard tell of a friend's chicks that were outside and eaten by something. (She no longer has chicks. Obviously.)

I went to check on them before bed, and they had the common sense to be in out of the rain, huddling in the hay together for warmth. I'm sure they'll be fine, right?


Flea said...

Wait. Where's the murdering part? Did I miss the murdering part?

Cindy said...

Oh, poor baby chicks! You realize you'll be awake all night worrying about them. They'll get more sleep than you will. :)