Tuck and Winkie

I have a chicken addiction. I admit it! So when Speckle gets broody, if there are any eggs around that I think are fertile, I'll let her sit on them. This summer she sat on eight eggs from my purple bantam Cochin hen, Flossie. Flossie herself wasn't showing any interest in sitting. So Speckle got to be the mama instead. Chickens are cool that way.

On June 27, 2013, Speckle hatched four chicks. Two survived past the first day. Mo named them Tuck (a roo) and Winkie (a hen). I was terribly excited to have them and I moved Speckle and her new babies to a coop all by themselves so she could raise them in peace, away from the rest of the flock.

Tuck and Winkie

Mama, Look! I have a Chick!

One Day Old!

In this next photo, Tuck and Winkie were about two weeks old. They would come out of the coop under Speckle's supervision. I was very nervous about it, because they were small enough to get out of the pen through the fencing. But I watched them for a while, and though they would venture through the fence a little, they stayed really close to Speckle, and if anything spooked them at all (even a gust of wind), they'd run right back to her for protection. So I let them have their free-range time. Speckle needed it, and this way she could teach them how to forage and how to take dust baths. Chicks will figure that out all on their own as natural instinct takes over. But it's quicker and easier if they have a mama hen to help them.

Here it's easy to tell which is the rooster and which is the hen. His comb is much more pronounced and red than hers. Speckle is just behind them both on the roost. They were about eight weeks old in this photo.

Snugglin'

What'choo lookin' at?

Tuck had started to crow. He's pretty young so it wasn't a well-developed crow. More like a garble. Funny! But they all have to start. His daddy, Captain, was an early crower, too. 10 weeks is early. I think it's partly because they're bantams. My other roosters (other breeds, and full sized, not bantams) didn't start crowing until 20 weeks or later. Maybe it's the breed. I'm not sure.

About 10 weeks old. He's a gentleman. He lets the ladies eat first.

When the chicks got to be about eight weeks old, Speckle was pretty much done being the mama. She didn't roost with them at night any more, and they didn't depend on her for anything. But she didn't cut ties completely.

Even now that they're fourteen weeks old, she does like to come into the pen every morning and eat with them and she spends a good part of the day with them. But I think that's more flocking behavior than motherly behavior. Plus, she's smart. She knows I put food out for them. I put food out for the rest of my flock, too, but in this pen, there's only the two of them, so it's less competition. She has spent a lot of her life in this pen as a broody mama, so she's very comfortable in it. It's all the way across the yard from my other one, and she has taken to roosting in a tree at night and then coming across the yard and demanding that I let her in the pen every morning. I can't get her out of the tree--she's at least 20 feet high in it. So I can't break her of the habit. But I do let her in the pen when she asks. (She has me well trained, I guess.)

This morning, after I let her in the pen, per her demands, I was on the couch goofing off, reading Facebook posts, when I heard her cackling very loudly. She's a pretty vocal hen anyway, but this was loud and consistent and distressed. So I thought I'd go check it out. As I got closer to the pen, I could see she was under the coop facing the trees on the outside of the pen and the two younglings were nowhere immediately in sight. I began running. I could see Speckle herself was okay, but she was still making her loud distressed noise.

I was almost all the way to the pen when I saw the tiny inert body on the outside of the pen, laying down. Oh no, oh no, oh no, NO NO NO!!! One of my babies had been attacked. Right away I saw the signs of a hawk attack. The other baby was completely gone, no sign at all. The hawk must have flown away with it. I couldn't tell right away which one was lying on the ground, I was so upset. I was sobbing, Speckle was cackling, it was awful. I carefully checked the little one to see if there was any chance of survival, but no. Not at all. I must have spooked the hawk when I came out of the house or something. It's always my favorites! It seems that way. Mo came down the hill at that moment and saw me crying.


I usually try not to cry in front of him, because it disturbs him, but I couldn't get control of myself. 

"What's wrong, Mama? What happened?" he asked, brow furrowed. 

"My purple babies were killed by a hawk," I said, tears still flowing. I tried to sniffle them up. 

He took my hand in his small one, and rubbed my arm with his other one. "It happens, Mama. It happens sometimes." What a little comforter. "Are you going to bury them?" he asked.

"I could only find just the one, but yes, I'm going to bury him. I think it's Tuck," I said. He asked if he could help, but I said, "No, Baby, thank you. But he was hurt and I don't want you to see him."  

But Mo agreed to go tell Daddy, so I wouldn't have to do it. I went and got the shovel.

I found a good spot in the woods, and dug a tiny grave and placed Tuck (I was sure it was him, now) gently in it and cried some more. Speckle had come out of the pen and she was staring into the woods and emitting a low call. She kept doing that and it got my attention. I looked and listened and heard scratching. Squirrel? No! It's WINKIE!!! She's ok! She's ok! She'd escaped into the woods and she's ok! She was scratching around for food. The hawk must not have carried anyone off after all. I scared it away before it could get her. 

I called to Mo for help, because I though catching her would be a two person job. She's small and quick and she was already skittish because of the hawk attack. So he came over and we coaxed her out. He was smiling for me. "She's my best hen, Mama," he said. She was surprisingly easy to catch, after all. I guess I had tamed her more than I realized. He carried her to the chicken tractor, which has a roof, and we put her in that. I think she'll stay in that during the day from now on, and at night I'll put her in the coop that is divided, on one side by herself until she's bigger and the rest of the flock gets used to her. 

Safely in a Chicken Tractor

She's still so little!

I am amazed at how quickly a tragedy turns into "I'm so very lucky." I could have really lost them both. I was devastated at the thought. Josh did say that would have to be one gluttonous hawk, to have killed two chickens. But I wasn't thinking clearly and they're small, so it stood to reason for me that a big hawk could have killed both in one attack. But it didn't happen that way. Now I still have my little hen, she's safe and sound. I'll have to get her a new mate later. I'll figure that out in the spring, assuming she really survives the winter.

Speckle has refused to come out of the woods since the attack. But she has survived a dog attack and a previous hawk attack, and she's very resilient. She'll come out and roost tonight, and after that, she'll be ok. To help her feel less freaked out, I gave her some bread as a treat. Comfort food always helps. She scarfed it, so I was encouraged.

Chicken keeping has its difficulties. I learned quickly that they die easily. They can be killed by predators of all kinds, they can get sick and die, and some even make it into old age and die of that. Some chicken deaths are easier to take than others. I was pretty attached to Tuck and Winkie. I'll miss little Tuck and his beginning garbly crow. Winkie is the last of my purple chickens, too. I had high hopes of breeding them in the Spring and continuing  the line. But I don't always get to decide. For now I'll just be happy with what I have. Chicken keeping has lots of rewards. Eggs. YUM! And all the birds have their own funny personalities. Chicken antics are great. Now that all my flock free ranges, it's fun to see them run up to me when I come outside. Or chase Mo across the yard if they think he has a treat for them. I'm not giving up. And I'm thankful for my practical, sweet son. You don't anticipate as a Mama that your five-year-old will ever be the one comforting YOU. I'm so glad that he did and that he wanted to. I'm very lucky.