Diary of a Mad Chick Mom

I grew up on a farm, so intellectuallyI knew that young chickens can be high maintenance and grow up into messy adults.  But when Jack suggested we get chickens, all I could seem to think of was cute little balls of fluff.

So we journeyed to the Smoky Mountain Farmers Co-op to select our little flock.  There are seemingly endless varieties of chicks.  http://Www.starmilling.com We chose three French Marans (black) and three Wellsummers (brown).  We named them Quiche, Omelet, Benedict, Scrambled, Poached and Hazel.  Why didn’t Hazel get an egg-dish for a name?  Because she quickly set herself apart as you will soon understand.

The Chicks Come Home

On the drive home I held the box of chicks on my lap.  They were all cheeping contentedly, except for Hazel, who complained loudly the entire trip.  We had a cozy brooder set up for them in our garden shed with soft bedding, a heater, water and chick feed.  The minute I set them in their new home, five of the chicks began exploring.  The sixth chick, Hazel, began flying at the other chicks, trying to peck their eyes out.  To my horror, I watched the other chicks try to hide behind Omelet, who had a large, bleeding gash beneath one eye, as Hazel flung herself at them again and again.

At about that time our poultry mentors, Jonathan and Morgan, arrived to see our new birds.  None of their chicks had ever been set on destruction like Hazel seemingly was.  They promptly dubbed her the Murder Chicken.

I couldn’t let Hazel blind my entire flock so I did the only thing I could think of—I put her into solitary confinement.  Her cell was a cardboard box with bedding, food and water.  I put it near the heater so she could stay warm.  Hazel was very unhappy and kept flinging herself at the walls of her jail.  I assumed she would soon calm down.  So we left the brooder.  And  Jack left for a business trip to Chicago leaving me in charge of our little chicks.  I did some research and found that chicks sometimes mistake the eyes of other chicks for bugs and try to peck them.  Thankfully, they seem to grow out of this phase quickly.

The next morning Hazel was still disconsolate.  She had not calmed down.  By the amount of bedding in her water, it seemed as though she had been throwing herself at the walls all night long.  I cautiously returned her to the general population.  I watched for a long time, and she did not attack any of her brooder mates.  Perhaps everything was fine and dandy in Chick World?  It was not.

Chick Spa Setup for Hazel

When I checked on them in the afternoon, I noticed something odd about Hazel’s profile.  Again I turned to the internet and found that stress can cause a condition that the English call “Pasty Bum”.  Basically stress upsets their little digestive tracts and makes the chick’s droppings pasty.  The dropping  then clog the chick’s elimination vent.  Without care, they will die within a few days.  Oh dear.

I read about caring for this condition.  I didn’t like what I read, so I read some more.  Finally I realized there was nothing to do but follow the recommended protocol.  I held Hazel’s little bottom under a gentle stream of warm water and used a soft cloth to clean her backside.  I dried her with a fluffy towel.  And then I used my hair dryer set on low to dry her fluff.  It takes a surprising long time to dry a chick, so I had plenty of time to think.  My thoughts ran along the lines of “I used to be a CEO of a $40 million organization.  I used to attend galas and cocktail parties.  And now I am spending my evening blow drying a chick’s bottom.”

Apparently this is not a one and done treatment.  So Hazel and I developed a routine.  When I walked into the shed I could almost hear her groan.  She would try to evade me, but once caught would quietly submit to my ministrations.  Day two involved a sitz bath in one of my grandmother’s berry bowls.  By day three I was able to clean her with a wet cloth and apply the tiniest bit of Crisco to her vent with a cotton swab.

After a week of daily cleanings, Hazel was finally back to normal.  And Jack was back from Chicago.  I was eager to show him how much the chicks had grown.  He looked at them and said “Now that we are good at raising chickens, maybe we should get some goats.”  ???????!!!!!!!!!!