The Sky Is Falling! The Sky Is Falling!

The world was supposed to end on Saturday, but it didn't. Now the impending doom has been rescheduled until sometime in October, or so I heard. Actually, this doesn't surprise me, because something happened at our house yesterday that I once thought never would. And my husband is the one proclaiming that the end times are near.

I've been wanting chickens for quite some time now. A few years ago, our neighbors' chickens (and a rooster!) came visiting and I fell in love. They were gorgeous and quirky and walked about Our Little Acre like they owned the place. They were pretty well-behaved, too. No pecking around in the garden or tearing things up, as chickens (and roosters!) are wont to do. No chasing the homeowners, either. They came and went and that was the beginning of me wanting some of my own.

I'd mention this from time to time to various people - including my husband - and most said that I was crazy - including my husband. I put the idea away for awhile, but it would resurface every now and then. We take care of our neighbors' chickens (and roosters!) on occasion, when they're out of town, so we both knew full well what's involved with their care. I still wanted them and my husband still thought I was crazy.

As winter moved into spring this year, I got serious about lobbying for chickens (no roosters!) of our own and my husband protested, as usual. I presented the arguments for getting them, but he was not easily swayed. I reminded him of how much we like to eat eggs and how much better our neighbors' eggs taste than the ones we buy in the stores. I enlisted the help of others who have chickens, having them tell him how easy they are to care for, and I promised to take care of them.

Despite what some people might think, I do NOT always get my way. No one hears about the times I don't. And besides, I know my limits. Some things are just not worth even asking about. But I really, really wanted the chickens and he finally relented. I knew I'd won when he said he'd help ME build the coop.

Choosing my chicks.

I had done my research. I wanted good layers, cold hardy, quiet-tempered hens (no roosters!). My first choices were Golden-Laced Wyandotte and Dominique. Buff Orpingtons were high on my list, too. From the time the chicken project was a go, until we actually got them, much time passed. So when I went to Rural King yesterday to pick them out, the pickings were pretty slim. Area "chick days" are over.

Buff Orpingtons at Rural King. There are three of my babies in there!

But five Silver-Laced Wyandottes were still available, so I snatched them right up. (P. Allen Smith told me  they're better than the Goldens, anyway.) And there were several Buff Orpingtons, so I took three of those.  I really only wanted four hens (no roosters!), but things happen sometimes and the coop we're building will hold twelve, so eight seemed like a good number.

We started building the coop tonight, in the garage. We'd gotten the materials several weeks ago, but things have been rather hectic around Our Little Acre this spring and I've been gone a lot. For now, the chicks are in the conservatory in a large Rubbermaid storage crate that some people use for storing their artificial Christmas trees. Our neighbor let us use their brooder light to keep them warm at night, but it's warm enough during the day that we don't have to use it.

Our chicks are almost three weeks old already and are trying their wings. A few of them can get a few inches off the ground and they're wanting to break free of their confined quarters. Hopefully, the coop and run construction will go quickly and we'll be able to get them in their cozy coop soon.

I just checked on them for the night, and I tried to notice differences in their markings so that I can tell them apart and start naming them. One of the Wyandottes is now known as Pippa. She's the one with the bright white stripes on each side of her back. As time goes on and they mature, the rest will earn their names, too.

So, I'm now officially a chick mama with a brood of eight hens (no roosters, we hope!), and my husband is still speaking to me. Life is good.