First Chickens

Raising chickens has been an interesting adventure. When I first bought chickens at the local feed store, the employee grabbed each chick and stuck it in a cardboard box with a handle. Even though the baby chicks tried to jump out, I wasn’t offended, I knew that they really wanted to go home with me. But when handed to me, I felt such trepidation. It was if they had handed me a newborn baby… Oh my… what do I do with them?

I mean, I had their new starter home ready, heat lamps, small brooder box fashioned from an old wooden box that I had found in the old barn. I was excited. I actually took a picture of the box they were in and shared with my friends… no chickens in the picture, just the box. Such a goof! But I was on my way. Chickens… Fresh eggs… I was totally in it to win it!

I didn’t have the barn area ready however, so the baby chicks were going to be in my office for a few days under heat lamps until I could get the stall they were destined to live in safe and secure from predators. I couldn’t imagine losing one of these cute little babies to anything except old age. I was so naive, but determined to protect these babies.

What I didn’t think about was my boxer, Basia. How was she going to handle having baby chicks in the house? I was sure she would be fine. After all, who doesn’t like babies? Well, as soon as I came through the door with the little box stuffed with baby chicks, I realized that I could be wrong. This seemingly mild-mannered dog became super alert and protective. I swear I think she thought the little chirpers were going to eat me alive. I had to force my way past her and close the door to the office behind me. Whew!

Safely on the other side of the door, I set the box of baby chicks down on the floor and began placing them one by one into their new home. As I grabbed one, three tried to get out. I held one hand over the box while I lifted each chick flapping and scratching. After about the third escape attempt, I was convinced they were going to get out, where they could get lost behind my office desk or poop on a pile of paperwork. I could see myself on my hands and knees reaching behind and inside areas of my office space catching baby hatchlings, which made me giggle just a little. In order to save myself the trouble, I decided to place the carrying box inside the brooder and slowly tip it over.

Well, some things look better in my head, than in practice. As I tipped the box, the little birds scratched and scraped to remain upright. Even though I was moving the box slowly, the birds obviously didn’t want their world turned on end. I hadn’t taken into consideration that they had already had quite a day. They had been scooped out of their pen at the feed store, shoved in a little box, carried through the store, been for a car ride and then sniffed by a crazed boxer protecting her human. Now here I was rocking their world literally. There was jumping and squawking and little wings fluttering. I squealed, which cause the dog to bark from the other side of the door. This bark caused the chickens to freeze. All 18 of them. Standing perfectly still. Just for that moment, mind you, but I was hooked. Chickens, even though they can be flighty and squawky, were also very entertaining.

Barn Chores

It was 13 degrees when the sun began to set on the eve of what was a very cold night. Late January in Indiana and it was minus 13 when I last checked the weather channel, with overnight wind chills predicted between - 20 to – 40. I trudged out to the barn for the 4^th time that day carrying buckets of hot water to top off the goat’s buckets. Water freezes incredibly fast at these temps and I have one goat that was due to kid three days ago and one due to kid in two days.

            Typically, I go to the barn closer to dusk, but the wind had significantly picked up and, well, to be honest, I just wanted to get them all tucked away before dark. Cold is one thing, wind is another and cold and windy, well, not a combination I crave. I just wanted to be back in the house in front of the fire.

            The goats and I have gotten into a pretty standard routine and I am pleased with the way the barn work runs smoothly and efficiently. Everyone knows who goes into what stalls, and for the most part they are patient while I refill water buckets and hay feeders. The three yearling does who are not bred are probably the unruliest, but nothing outrageous. More like kindergarteners stuck in the house during a long day of cold rain… too much energy, nothing to do.

            In years past, my goats have sort of controlled me and even though I have been able to push through it, I really prefer a quiet barn. There are those who say it isn’t possible, but I disagree. I now have a relatively quiet barn. That is, until something changes…The first change is that I am there early. I have been in and out all day and no big deal, but when I started the night routine early, oh man…. Suddenly, we have problems. It is like someone flipped the idiot switch. No one had any idea what they were supposed to do. The flow was broken, and I wasn’t getting it back. I have had to begin using a bucket heater for the water at the evening feeding to try to ensure the water lasts as long as possible before it freezes. Goats, or perhaps I should say, my goats aren’t big fans of cold water. I would imagine drinking cold water would not help maintain their body temperature. This, of course, is not imbedded in scientific fact to my knowledge, but just what seems to happen in my barn.

            So, I have the water ran, the heater placed, I am shooing all the chickens out of the barn, the goats are zipping around like it’s the first warm spring day, and the chickens don’t know what to do or where to go because the goats are running back and forth. To avoid the goats, the chickens keep trying to run back into the stall I just shooed them out of. I am walking behind them, waving my arms up and down to shoo them out the front door, but the goats are dead set on not only getting in my way, but in the way of the terrified chickens who don’t want to step foot on the snow just outside of the barn. Eventually I get every chicken removed from the barn and shut the door on them. They stand there, turning their heads from side to side, looking at me through the crack, first the right eye and then with the left, wondering, I’m sure, why they are out in the cold.

Once the barn door is closed, I open the door to the empty stall. Silly me. Everyone zoomed inside. Man oh, Man! Where did all this wonderful loose hay come from, they seemed to say looking at me with huge mouthfuls of the green fluffy stuff. I stood there, leaning on my pitchfork, not believing my eyes. Goats, or maybe just my goats, are the darnedest, pickiest eaters on the planet. That very hay, the hay that they were chowing down on, was in fact, hay they wouldn’t touch a week ago. I just shook my head and walked away. Back to the water. One bucket warmed, so I moved the heater to the second. With the goats happily eating hay, I left the barn and went to the greenhouse to get the remainder of the water buckets that were frozen from last night. A day in the greenhouse at 40 degrees has melted them to the point that I can throw out the ice and head back to the barn. Obviously, the only reason the goats were in that stall eating that hay, was because I wanted to lay new bedding in there for the buck and wether to bed down in for the night. Normally the boys are separated from the girls and have their own living space out behind the main barn, but with tonight’s less than stellar wind chills, I felt it prudent to bring them indoors. Needless to say, the girls had abandoned the previously delicious hay and had found the piles of straw that I had deposited in their stalls to rifle through. I finished laying the bedding in the boy’s stall and began the task of separating the girls into their respectful stalls for the night.

The rest of the process went along smoothly. The three most pregnant does are housed together for the night so I can keep an eye on them with my barn camera, with all the other girls using up the majority of the barn. Once the hay was distributed, the water buckets filled and clipped to the walls to avoid buckets being dumped in the night, it was time to go get the boys. These boys are yearlings, so they are on the smaller side. One is the herd buck, used for breeding all the does this year, and the other is a castrated male that is his pasture mate. Goats don’t like being alone and I really like only having one buck on the property at a time, so Bacchus and Eli are a pair. They don’t often get to come to the barn, so I assumed they would run like crazy once the gate was opened. But, no. No. They just stood there at the edge of their enclosure looking at me. Waiting, I’m guessing. Waiting for me to come back with the hay ration and fresh warm water. I didn’t come back… And the yelling began. At first it was just a bit of tentative bleating from Eli, and then a bit louder and more urgent by both the boys. I waited inside the barn for them, not so patiently I might add, watching the door. And then I got tired of waiting. They must’ve gotten tired also, because when I rounded the corner of the barn and they saw me, they ran towards me.

Goats have a very distinct run when they are approaching an area that they are unfamiliar with. Or in a situation where they feel cornered or away from the rest of the herd. It reminds me of how a rocking horse would run, pitching forward and as the back legs meet the front, a slight pitch backward, followed by a couple of antelope hops. I can’t help laughing, and as I do, I let down my guarded watch of where I’m putting my feet on the path back to the barn. A little slip on a patch of ice brings me back to the task at hand. I finally get the boys into their stall for the evening and double lock the doors, so they stay put. I make a quick check to see if all have water and enough to eat to get them through the evening. Satisfied that all their requirements are met, I turn off the light, close the big door and hook the latches. One more farm chore done.