Farm News 09-11-05
Sunday morning, after chores
Microdot Thrives
Microdot, the tiny bantam chick, is doing quite well with it's mother in the goat shed. Today Microdot got a waterer just for him (her, it?). When the bantam chicks reach just the right size they will often fly into a pan of water and then drown or chill. This period of what looks like suicidal obsession usually last for about four days for most chicks. As Microdot is the only bantam chick hatched this year, I would like to keep him alive, which is like saying, “I know this rock in my shoe is uncomfortable, but it's the only rock I have.”
Microdot isn't completely useless; in fact, the bantams usually sell for as much per bird as the geese or turkeys, and bantams require a lot less feed. In the Spring a breeding trio of nice Golden Sebright bantams, such as Microdot, will bring twenty dollars or more at auction. Isn't that amazing? An incredibly delicious and nutritious cholesterol-laden goose isn't any more valuable that a tiny, inedible, bad-tempered chicken.
The bantams roost directly over the barn door so that they will have the opportunity to poop on my head when I come in to do morning chores. Each morning I count them--there are only four, the rooster, Claudius, and three hens named Drusilla. If a hen is missing I assume it is either setting on eggs or helping baby hawks grow. This year none of the hens sat on eggs until Drusilla sat on her nest and hatched Microdot. The odds of that happening are very low, like the odds of a hurricane filling New Orleans with water.
The bantams are completely free range. They have the run of the place and, in most years, produce thirty or more young. The main thing that I must do to help them produce is to remove the excess eggs from the nests. If the hen has twenty eggs in her nest, she might produce four or five chicks if she's lucky. If she has ten eggs in her nest she will probably produce nine or ten chicks. More eggs than the hen can cover leads to eggs being rotated out from under the hen, where they chill.
Microdot hatched from a nest that contained way too many eggs. I noticed that Drusilla was missing from the roost at night but couldn't find her nest, so I assumed that she was helping baby owls grow, and never had the opportunity to remove the excess eggs. After Microdot hatched Drusilla stayed on the nest, but Microdot, being hungry, left. The first time I saw him he was in the mouth of Marmalade, a half-grown kitten. I rescued him, seemingly unharmed, from Marmalade and started looking for Drusilla. After several hours of looking I gave up and put Microdot in a heated box (101°) for the night, along with some chick starter feed and water. The next afternoon I found Drusilla and then put Microdot near her. She clucked a few times and Microdot dived for cover under Mama.
Mother hens do not lead their chicks, chicks lead their mothers. As far as I know, it's that way with all poultry, and the louder the baby can peep the more devoted the mother. Microdot, after a night with heat, light, food, and water, could make a lot of noise and Drusilla followed him, abandoning the rest of her eggs, which probably wouldn't have hatched, anyway. So now I have one chick for the year, which is better than I was doing.
Oh, Mercy – part 4 by Susan Maricle
When Mike got home, he tried a different tack. Rather trying to capture the keet, he set his sights on Mercy. We dragged out an old dog crate which was used years ago for our Doberman, Stoney, and had been used for countless critters since then. It was fairly easy to net Mercy, who was deposited into the crate. Within moments the keet ventured out in search of its surrogate mother. Seeing her in the crate, the keet slipped between the bars to join her. Hearing Mike's triumphant "GOT IT!"--by this time I couldn't stand the suspense and was standing across the yard--I knew the mission was accomplished.
Now, the only thing left to do was unite "mother" and babies. Mike, Wyatt, and I deposited the keets one by one from the cooler into their new home, an empty rabbit hutch. Last came Mercy. As we closed the hutch lid, the keets' alarmed cheeping turned immediately to contented peeping. They were all together again. It had been a trying day for all, people and poultry alike. The keets soon fell asleep snuggled under their new mother. Even without her tail feathers, Mercy was able to cover all 16 babies. Since the closest guesstimate of keets had been 18, the fox had only captured one--and perhaps none at all.
Considering the quantities of poultry we'd lost this summer, every rescued keet was a blessing. Maybe we were in denial, hoping that the predator would eventually move on. But when finding prey is as easy as shopping at the grocery store, no such luck. I felt ashamed for thinking we should sacrifice the last keet for the greater good of the flock, but Mike said no. Unintended losses to predators were one thing. Intentionally abandoning a bird was another.
Thinking of The Widow, who had lost her life after hatching a huge clutch against huge odds, I knew I would feel more kindly toward guineas. And I was especially grateful for Mercy. She's an ordinary Heinz 57 hen. But she eluded the fox, saved another hen's babies, and adopted them. So many chickens of ours have abandoned their chicks, or lost them, or continued to sit on nests of eggs that had gone bad weeks before. Mercy was worthy of a solid gold nesting box. She was as much a hero as the chicken on the PBS documentary, who covered her chicks with her body (and survived) as a hawk was about to sink its claws into them.
On our little five-acre farm, it doesn't take much to create an afternoon of high drama. But then, it doesn't take much to create a moment of sheer joy. The keets are no longer little puffballs, but little birds with long necks, a sign that they will someday be big birds. I don't know if they'll grow up with the mannerisms of guineas or of chickens. But one thing is certain. They'll grow up. Thanks to Mercy.
Thank you, Susan. And, I hope you will have another story for us soon.
E-mail Subscribers: To subscribe, unsubscribe, contribute stories, complain or send a gift subscription, send an email to FarmNews@GeezerNet.com . The editor reserves the right to steal ideas submitted, rewrite submissions, and sign false names to them whenever it strikes his fancy to do so.
Microdot Thrives
Microdot, the tiny bantam chick, is doing quite well with it's mother in the goat shed. Today Microdot got a waterer just for him (her, it?). When the bantam chicks reach just the right size they will often fly into a pan of water and then drown or chill. This period of what looks like suicidal obsession usually last for about four days for most chicks. As Microdot is the only bantam chick hatched this year, I would like to keep him alive, which is like saying, “I know this rock in my shoe is uncomfortable, but it's the only rock I have.”
Microdot isn't completely useless; in fact, the bantams usually sell for as much per bird as the geese or turkeys, and bantams require a lot less feed. In the Spring a breeding trio of nice Golden Sebright bantams, such as Microdot, will bring twenty dollars or more at auction. Isn't that amazing? An incredibly delicious and nutritious cholesterol-laden goose isn't any more valuable that a tiny, inedible, bad-tempered chicken.
The bantams roost directly over the barn door so that they will have the opportunity to poop on my head when I come in to do morning chores. Each morning I count them--there are only four, the rooster, Claudius, and three hens named Drusilla. If a hen is missing I assume it is either setting on eggs or helping baby hawks grow. This year none of the hens sat on eggs until Drusilla sat on her nest and hatched Microdot. The odds of that happening are very low, like the odds of a hurricane filling New Orleans with water.
The bantams are completely free range. They have the run of the place and, in most years, produce thirty or more young. The main thing that I must do to help them produce is to remove the excess eggs from the nests. If the hen has twenty eggs in her nest, she might produce four or five chicks if she's lucky. If she has ten eggs in her nest she will probably produce nine or ten chicks. More eggs than the hen can cover leads to eggs being rotated out from under the hen, where they chill.
Microdot hatched from a nest that contained way too many eggs. I noticed that Drusilla was missing from the roost at night but couldn't find her nest, so I assumed that she was helping baby owls grow, and never had the opportunity to remove the excess eggs. After Microdot hatched Drusilla stayed on the nest, but Microdot, being hungry, left. The first time I saw him he was in the mouth of Marmalade, a half-grown kitten. I rescued him, seemingly unharmed, from Marmalade and started looking for Drusilla. After several hours of looking I gave up and put Microdot in a heated box (101°) for the night, along with some chick starter feed and water. The next afternoon I found Drusilla and then put Microdot near her. She clucked a few times and Microdot dived for cover under Mama.
Mother hens do not lead their chicks, chicks lead their mothers. As far as I know, it's that way with all poultry, and the louder the baby can peep the more devoted the mother. Microdot, after a night with heat, light, food, and water, could make a lot of noise and Drusilla followed him, abandoning the rest of her eggs, which probably wouldn't have hatched, anyway. So now I have one chick for the year, which is better than I was doing.
Oh, Mercy – part 4 by Susan Maricle
When Mike got home, he tried a different tack. Rather trying to capture the keet, he set his sights on Mercy. We dragged out an old dog crate which was used years ago for our Doberman, Stoney, and had been used for countless critters since then. It was fairly easy to net Mercy, who was deposited into the crate. Within moments the keet ventured out in search of its surrogate mother. Seeing her in the crate, the keet slipped between the bars to join her. Hearing Mike's triumphant "GOT IT!"--by this time I couldn't stand the suspense and was standing across the yard--I knew the mission was accomplished.
Now, the only thing left to do was unite "mother" and babies. Mike, Wyatt, and I deposited the keets one by one from the cooler into their new home, an empty rabbit hutch. Last came Mercy. As we closed the hutch lid, the keets' alarmed cheeping turned immediately to contented peeping. They were all together again. It had been a trying day for all, people and poultry alike. The keets soon fell asleep snuggled under their new mother. Even without her tail feathers, Mercy was able to cover all 16 babies. Since the closest guesstimate of keets had been 18, the fox had only captured one--and perhaps none at all.
Considering the quantities of poultry we'd lost this summer, every rescued keet was a blessing. Maybe we were in denial, hoping that the predator would eventually move on. But when finding prey is as easy as shopping at the grocery store, no such luck. I felt ashamed for thinking we should sacrifice the last keet for the greater good of the flock, but Mike said no. Unintended losses to predators were one thing. Intentionally abandoning a bird was another.
Thinking of The Widow, who had lost her life after hatching a huge clutch against huge odds, I knew I would feel more kindly toward guineas. And I was especially grateful for Mercy. She's an ordinary Heinz 57 hen. But she eluded the fox, saved another hen's babies, and adopted them. So many chickens of ours have abandoned their chicks, or lost them, or continued to sit on nests of eggs that had gone bad weeks before. Mercy was worthy of a solid gold nesting box. She was as much a hero as the chicken on the PBS documentary, who covered her chicks with her body (and survived) as a hawk was about to sink its claws into them.
On our little five-acre farm, it doesn't take much to create an afternoon of high drama. But then, it doesn't take much to create a moment of sheer joy. The keets are no longer little puffballs, but little birds with long necks, a sign that they will someday be big birds. I don't know if they'll grow up with the mannerisms of guineas or of chickens. But one thing is certain. They'll grow up. Thanks to Mercy.
Thank you, Susan. And, I hope you will have another story for us soon.
E-mail Subscribers: To subscribe, unsubscribe, contribute stories, complain or send a gift subscription, send an email to FarmNews@GeezerNet.com . The editor reserves the right to steal ideas submitted, rewrite submissions, and sign false names to them whenever it strikes his fancy to do so.
posted by The Geezer at 8:31 AM
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