Eat The Yard

Yesterday the farm-ish-ness of our suburban fifth acre took a big leap forward: Our shipment of baby chicks arrived.  Our first farm staple.  We ordered them in February from an online vendor, My Pet Chicken, that had an informative site and wide variety of breeds — despite the superficial name.  The main criteria for selecting this hatchery ended up being its minimum order of three, whereas nearly every other seller and shipper of chicks required a purchase in the range of 10-to-25.  While we’re zoned for up to 25 chickens, we were thinking more like three or four.

We ordered four, a small number that ended up bearing out the contention of most hatcheries that day-old chicks need the heat of 10-to-25 little bodies to survive shipping.  One of our chicks didn’t make it, the Australorp, which was a surprisingly wrenching discovery.  They’re damn effective at being damn cute.  I think this reaction all but rules out raising chickens for meat.  We buried the Australorp in the garden where the Sun Flowers will grow.

The chicks arrived yesterday morning while I was teaching a class, delivered by our fantastic mailman, Gregg, who brought them by before tackling his route so they wouldn’t have to sit in his truck.  Sarah expertly, if worriedly, handled introducing the sluggish, road-worn chicks to their brooder, dipping their beaks in water so they’d know where to drink (they arrive more than parched) and setting them on the bedding.  I had read a recommendation just a day or so before that the wood-chip bedding be covered with nubby paper towels sprinkled with feed for the first few days to encourage the chicks to peck and eat food rather than wood chips.  We went with that, and it seems to be working.

Sarah said they arrived looking half-dead, wobbly, refusing to chirp, drink, or peck, but with a few quick Google searches she found these characteristics to be expected after such a traumatic first day of life.  Within a few hours the surviving chicks had perked up into a noisy threesome.  Now, I don’t want to call my pregnant wife broody, but she attended to these babies like a pro.  Chicks are shipped day-old because they can live off of their yolk fat for up to 48 hours.  They do need water and 95-degree heat, though, which are two necessities not included in transit.  The box they arrived in was just big enough to hold a pair of boots and insulated with a few inches of hay shaped into a rough nest.  A small heating pad, like a mini Icy Hot, sat at the center.

While I believe My Pet Chicken did everything they could to ensure the chicks arrived healthy and safe, after the loss of the Australorp and seeing the condition the others arrived in, we couldn’t justify ordering chicks online again.  It involves a little more pain and suffering than we’re willing to inflict on a one-day-old animal.  For those readers in San Diego, Kahoots Feed & Pet in Ramona has a good variety of chicks and everything you need to care for them, with a friendly and knowledgeable staff.  Ask for Kyle.  The next time we’re in the market for chicks, that’s where we’ll get them.

In addition to the Australorp, we ordered a Rhode Island Red, a Barred Rock, and a Buff Orpington.  They are all good layers, and relatively big birds when grown, which will hopefully give them some security when they’re old enough to roam the yard.  And we wanted to raise breeds other than those that dominate the industrial CAFO‘s, like the White Leghorn.  The single-breed dominance that has risen from commercial egg and meat production has threatened the existence of many traditional breeds.

Already, the chicks have distinguished themselves in their little brood.  The Red clearly dominates the others.  The Buff is the largest, puffy and noisy.  And then there’s the Rock.  The Rock seems to be a little runty and just a touch narcoleptic.  She has healthy behavior, like pecking and drinking and roaming.  But she also just stops, plops down, droops her head to floor, and nods off.  Rather suddenly.

That’s day one.  Twenty more weeks to eggs.

Tags: chickens, chicks