Hatchlings

Yesterday, when I went to check on the fourteen eggs turning slowly in the incubator in my office for any signs of holes or cracks, I immediately noticed a beak-sized chip near the crown of one egg visible through the observation window. This being my first experience at hatching eggs (since I thoroughly bungled those I incubated last year and decided to leave the job to a broody hen), I felt a small rush of excitement. I peered inside to see if any other eggs were cracking. The directions said to move eggs off of the mechanical turner two to three days before they are due to hatch lest any hatchlings get caught in the turning trays, but I had not bothered to note the date I started the eggs. Since they had not all been laid on the same date, I was unsure if they would hatch out (if they hatched) as per the spacing by which they were laid, or if the gestational clock began with being incubated.

Lifting off the Styrofoam lid, I noticed one wet, bedraggled black-feathered chick wobbling among the turning trays already. Quickly I lifted out the turning tray, placed the thirteen remaining un-hatched eggs flat on the wire-screened floor of the incubator, and placed the chick among them. For approximately the next hour I bustled around gathering materials to create a brooder--a warm, sheltered environment that will house the chicks during this early phase of their lives. Although I began by lining a large cardboard moving box with shredded paper, the thought of running a heat lamp inside cardboard 24/7 did not appeal to my sense of safety. Soon, though, I had a large dog crate placed on the front porch near an electrical outlet. I lined the crate with hay (we were out of straw), placed fresh water and a dish of poultry grower feed (I still needed to purchase chick starter) within, covered the openings that could permit a draft, and rigged a heat lamp and plugged it in. Almost immediately I could feel the enclosed area heating up. I gave it several minutes to approach the 100-degree temperature of the incubator, then hiked upstairs to fetch the new chick.

It was still wet and bedraggled-looking, with plenty of pink skin showing between the wet, matted feathers. In contrast, the two sections of its former shell were bone dry. The chick settled quickly into its new environment and I went about the business of my day. I was amused that the eggs remaining in the incubator chirped and cheeped from time-to-time. Later when I was inside working on the computer, and after the cheeping had gotten quite steady and loud, I heard something tumbling around on the incubator's wore floor. Upon investigation, I found another scraggly-looking black-feathered chick panting hard, just having completed its first somersault without benefit of any eggshell casing.

This chick joined the first in the now-toasty brooder. Indeed, the first chick was resting a good distance from the lamp and the heat blasted out when I opened the brooder's door, so I fetched the long-stemmed cheese thermometer to measure the brooder's temperature. While the instrument measured, I reviewed the directions to the Thermal Air Hova-Bator to check the recommended temperature range. Instructed to provide a 100-degree area for the first week, with a cooler exercise area, then to drop the temperature by five degrees per week until the ambient temperature within the brooder is 70-degrees, I returned to the proch to read the thermometer. It read 100 degrees F. And, since the chicks had placed themselves beneath the lamp's red light, I stopped worrying about the temperature being too high for them.

After a stop at Edwards Feeds, I came home with fifty pounds of broiler starter. Any chicks that prove to be cockerels be warned, your feed regimen has you headed for the oven. And the feed looks and feels so good, its rich yellow color begs eating. Indeed, in the late afternoon I found a chick standing in the feed cup I'd provided, chowing down on this tasty new feed. Also worthy of note, the five redworms I'd gathered from beneath an outdoor planter pot had vanished by evening. I'd say these chicks are off to a good start.

In the evening, while sitting downstairs, I heard very loud cheeping from upstairs again. Upon investigation, I found another newly-hatched black-feathered chick and ferried it out to the brooder. Last year when our broody hen--a black-feathered Black New Jersey x Rhode Island ed cross--had favored the yellow chicks and murdered the black chicks, I had assumed that the black chicks were guinea keets, not chicks. Now, I'm not so sure. I must compare last year's photos to this year's chicks.

So far today I've ferried out three more chicks, all yellow. More continue to hatch. While a 100-percent hatch rate is not to be expected, I am quite pleased with our success thus far. Ha, "our success" would imply that I had something to do with these little miracles of life. Indeed, it amazes me the strength required to peck one's way out of a shell and wobble forward into life on Earth.

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Although I have yet to read this title, Patricia Foreman has impressed me as an author whose work is easily accessible for the neophyte farmer. Urban-dwelling readers who thought poultry only live in the country may be pleasantly surprised to discover the phenomenon of urban chickens. From backyards to rooftops, I understand that city dwellers are finding ways to enjoy the benefits of keeping poultry--fresh eggs being only one of many!