Hard lessons

It’s spring out.  Jer and I were both ready for the end of winter, and I feel like with the hatching (is it still called birthing when they come out of an egg?) of our chicks, coupled with lovely warm weather, it’s arrived.  I’m stuck inside on a fantastic Saturday finishing the LAST assignment for my Professional Specialization in Teaching French Immersion certificate, and I’m bitter about it.  So I’m doing a blog post?  Moving on.

Jer and I helped our third chick hatch yesterday because we think it’s shell dried out and it couldn’t get out itself.  So we helped him out, and I fell in love with the slimy little chirpface, and we put him in the warm rubbermaid with his buddy, but then his buddy was pecking him (not so buddy, but what can you do?) so we put up a barricade, put him under the warming lamp and went over to buy enough local wool for me to make Jer a 30th birthday aran fisherman sweater (I’m making the one on the left.  I wish I could give him the pants with in, and maybe even the dog…).  When we got home, the warming lamp had somehow fallen and squished (and cooked) the newest chick.  I feel about as awful as I did when our ducks got eaten.  We’re learning lessons, but it sure sucks when the lessons we learn result in the creatures that are relying on us’ demise.  Jer and I felt awful last night, and still do today, but we’re forgiving ourselves, and we will do better by our 30 chicks arriving this Thursday.

I’m back to frenching so hopefully I can get myself outside tomorrow, or maybe even this afternoon.  Oh!  And I just saw my first butterfly of the season… maybe a California tortoiseshell?  Maybe?  And Ozdick caught the biggest mouse I’ve ever seen in my life.

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5 responses to “Hard lessons

  1. Oh, so sad!

    The first time I was responsible for chicks was at a farm where we had a box of 50 delivered, and I was so in love with them… And then, as each day passed, I learned that they ruthlessly pecked and sat upon one another, causing at least two to die each day. After a week, I felt so upset and guilty and beside myself with the awfulness of it all! And the farmers laughed, and explained that I’d actually kept the mortality down far more than they expected: They usually lose half the first week, they told me, and so always order 50 each spring even though they only expect 12 or so to survive to adulthood. Only 12! (These were not very nice or attentive farmers, I must admit, so I doubt this is a good stat to go by, but still!)

    • We’re getting 30 next week for much the same reason. I sure hope more than half of them survive, but even lots of attentive and lovely farmers lose many chicks. They’re so fragile and teeny tiny!

  2. We found 10 to be a good number, we usually can keep them all alive as long as they have enought space, food, and water. If you want or need more then you are probably doign the right thing to get more. Good luck with the new 30 🙂

  3. I knew there was a reason we always bought chicks!!!
    Love
    Dad

  4. Pingback: A treatise on being gnarly | Rhubarb Ranch

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