The first set of baby chicks were born on a Tuesday in early July. They were shipped to our post office in Emory. I waited for the call and at 7:30 a.m. on Thursday morning, it came. My husband and I set off to pick up the 5 Barred Rocks, 5 Buff Orpingtons and 5 Americana chicks – we wanted a variety. I gingerly cradled the box of peeping chicks while my husband drove us home.
We were prepared with a nursery in a 100-gallon water trough set up in our extra bedroom. I had it lined with paper towels and the watering founts were at the ready along with chick-starter feed. We brought the chicks into the room and set the shipping box in the trough. After carefully prying off the lid, I picked up each chick and dipped it’s beak in the water. The first few hours were crucial in that if the chicks don’t move around and start drinking on their own, they won’t survive.
With our first batch of chicks, one buff arrived dead in the shipment and an Americana chick wobbled around and never started drinking though I tried several times, carefully dipping its beak and encouraging it. The good news is the company shipped an extra Barred Rock in our order. So we started our flock with 14.
Names were given to each chick, but in the end only the Americanas were easily identifiable with their unique coloring and markings. Two of the Americanas turned out to be roosters, so Henrietta became Henry and Amelia became Emiliano. Those chicks stayed in our home far longer than intended. The extreme heat and drought situation that summer made it hard to move them to their coop.
As we waited for the daily 100+ degree temperatures to break, we moved the chicks to a bigger trough – 300 gallons – and even designed a hinged covering since they were trying to fly out. I spent some quality time with this first group. During the first month I woke up a few times each night to change the lining in the trough and make sure they had clean food and water. After work I usually sat with them, talking to them and in time, they perched on my fingers, hands and arms. Spending time with them was far better than watching a TV show.
Though they couldn’t move in yet, I wanted to get the chicks used to the idea of being in their coop. So I took them on outings to visit the coop for a few hours in the evenings. They traveled there in groups using our cat carrier. Finally in September the heat wave broke and we permanently moved them. That first night was pretty tough for me. It was like when your kids have their first campout or spent the night over with a friend for the first time.
It sounds crazy to have chickens living in your home for almost three months, and I guess it was. I have to admit, I’m crazy about my chicks.