It's super hard to capture little fluffy fuzzy fluffballs on camera! They are always moving about, but what a miracle they are! Exactly 21 days after Grand Final Weekend in Australia, they tapped out of their shells and fuzzballed into the world.
Mum had gone broody, so I located a dozen Gold Laced Wyandotte eggs and popped them under her. She dutifully sad on them and has been a good Mum so far!
Sadly two did not make it out of their shells - they tried, but must have suffocated. I buried them in the compost, which I thought was enough - but NOOOOO - the Isa Brown I've been babysitting for a friend (he got separated, and had to move house and needed time to build a new pen, hence I've had four extra chooks for a month) managed to sneak in through a tiny gap in the fence, find the dead baby and then run around the garden with it whilst the others followed. Savage thing. It's why I asked for him to take them back - I didn't think I could trust her with the babies. Isa Browns are notorious for being hideous like that.
The other Australorps, however, have been marvellous - very gentle and sweet. Curious, but not bothered.
We DID have a drama though - two chickens with splayed legs, meaning they 'splay' out to the side and they can't walk. Apparently due to variable temperatures - and yep, that's this Spring for sure - hot one day, cold the next. We (that is, my 12 year old nephew who was staying over, my son's girlfriend and I) splinted them with a bandaid wrapped around both legs and spanning across the middle (google chicken splayed legs fix and you'll see various solutions, including rubber bands and straws). One was right by the morning, the other not at all and I think she'll die tonight as she's not eating. We had to keep her inside as she wasn't able to keep up with the others and was getting trampled by Mum as she couldn't move quick enough.
Still, that's chicken life - you have to steel yourself against losses. My German Nana was very stoic and matter of fact about these things. She raised a chick from a baby once (I'd brought it home from school) and it used to watch telly with her. It turned out to be a rooster. Poor Billy. She beheaded it and plucked it and ate it, much to the horror of us kids. She told us 'it's not Billy anymore' - a lesson in detachment from the death of animals, I guess. It stuck. I can deal with most animal deaths without missing a heartbeat (well, one or two are missed, but I push them to one side).
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my baby chicken photos, morbid death stories aside. Feel free to use - simply credit me, and if you can afford it, leave me a small beneficiary - if you can't, consider them a gift.
With Love,
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