Memory is funny. There are so many things I don't remember at all unless I stumble across a picture or a letter, and then things I'd forgotten ages ago all come flooding back. My brain even does ridiculous things like saying, "Whelp, I can either remember I need to call Mom and wish her a happy birthday today, OR I can hold on to this memory of every single Simpsons quote from the 90s. Clearly Simpsons trivia is more important, let's ditch the dutiful daughter memory." Really, brain? Really!?!
Sorry, Mom! I love you.
As a way of holding on to my poultry related memories, at least, I decided to make a little journally-type thingamajig here with random entries about my poultry. I've finally hit the point where not all of my chickens are named, and I sometimes have to do a double take to distinguish who's who, so I thought I'd start with a picture post of my chicken flock in its current state. Maybe this'll help me decide what to name the unnamed ones. Maybe I'll lose interest and forget about posting here until years from now my brain is trying to remember my Mom's birthday and instead says, "Hey, you remember that thread you started eons ago?"
It's a fowl life, indeed.
My chicken flock isn't composed of anything others would consider "special." They're either hatchery stock or barnyard mixes born of hatchery stock, and they all do what I expected them to do; give me a few eggs and chicks, discourage ticks, and provide me with chicken TV. By those standards, my chickens are peak performers.
Okay, first I need to clarify a few things about these first three birds. I promised myself and my husband I'd never exceed 30 chickens on the property. For chicken math purposes, these first three birds are not chickens. They live, eat, and sleep in my duck pen and its surrounding area. Therefore, they are chicken-shaped ducks. Please do not confuse them for chickens. I do not have more than 30 chickens.
Goldie is my oldest hen on the property, probably around ten years old by now, and my only surviving chic -uh, duck - from back when I was keeping only bantam sized breeds to avoid detection by landlords. She's so tiny I trained her to stay in the duck area to avoid the attentions of the large roosters, who were squishing her. She now lives the unsquished life with her son and one of her daughters. Her feet are a mess from a previous bout with leg mites, but she's fine, I promise.
Klaus, Goldie's son and the first hatchling hatched naturally on the property. He was getting the snot kicked out of him by the bigger roosters before moving into the duck area. Now he walks the fenceline and taunts them from the safety of Club Canard.
Golden Girl. When we first moved here I allowed Goldie to brood a batch of her own eggs so she could have companions closer to her own size. One was Klaus, and the other five were all girls who are collectively named the Golden Girls. This is the only girl who decided to move into the duck area with her Mom and brother.
Okay, done with the chicken-shaped ducks, now onto the actual chickens, who also require a bit of clarification first. In the interest of chicken math, roosters do not count as chickens. They are there as guard animals for the hens, signaling when danger is afoot and whatnot. Obviously, this makes them technically livestock guardian animals, and not chickens in the strictest sense. Therefore, I have three chicken-shaped ducks and three livestock guardian animals. Please do not mistake these birds for chickens. I only have 30 chickens.
Rumplestiltskin (Rumps) is my cock of the walk. He's head honcho, and father of most of the chickens on the property. He once lost a spur successfully protecting one of my hens from a predator attack. He actually killed my favorite rooster in order to get top spot, and the hens (who collectively loved the other rooster) shunned Rumps for ages, so the matings were swift and rough and I disparaged of him ever taking his place as a worthy cock, but he was a real sweetheart with people so I didn't want to have to give up on him. Eventually the girls warmed to him, he learned to be gentler, and he's spun himself into a rooster worth his weight in gold.
Romulus is my lowest ranked of the three livestock guardian birds, but he's my favorite going by looks alone (I love naked necks and think they're the most gorgeous breed). He and his brother, Remus, were both sired by Rumps, and so far there hasn't been any fighting or drama between the three of them. Romulus is my sweetest behaved boy, but I've noticed the lowest ranked cock usually is, and as they gain status it's like they become cognizant of their increased responsibilities and quit cozying up to the humans for extra treats.
Remus, missing some tail feathers from Rumps having to shove him off hens whenever he catches Remus in the act. Last year I had gathered Remus up in a pet carrier, transported him to the butcher site, and reached in to take him out and do the deed . . . and he didn't try to back away, never squirmed in my arms or flapped or panicked. He just sat there, comfortable as could be, trusting that as soon as I was done doing whatever mysterious thing I was doing, I'd set him down and give him treats. I already had Rumps and Romulus; keeping another boy was stupid, and I needed to get over it and get it over with. So I - well, I let him go, and I decided to wait until he got aggressive, either to me or the other boys, so that I'd have an easier time butchering him. And the darn thing never got aggressive! He just continued growing up, staying sweet and giving me those looks from his sweet little naked neck eyes. It's just plain selfish when a cockerel gives you no good reason to eat him. So now he's officially one of my three livestock guardian birds.
NOW onto the actual chickens, of which I have exactly 30 and no more.
I've got a bunch of these blue daughters of Rumps'. Blue is my least favorite color of chicken - anytime I see it it just makes me think of how pretty a color it would be if it had retained the vibrancy of lustrous, black feathers, instead of genetics turning it into something washed out and depressed looking - but I've got a blue rooster, so whatcha gonna do? I'll take a sweet, blue rooster over a mean, gorgeous rooster any day of the week. None of these are named, mostly, I think, because of them being blue.
This is one of Goldie's Golden Girls. Goldie has feathered feet, which was passed on to all her offspring. As soon as they're all gone, I'm making a point of keeping only a clean-footed flock. I love the chicken version of bell bottoms, but it was no fun treating the feather-legged beauties for leg mites.
Cinder is an Easter Egger from Cackle hatchery, part of the very first batch of chicks I ordered when I moved here. She is absolutely shameless when she molts; she walks around as confident as can be, my little nudist hen. I much prefer her as she's shown here, fully clothed.
I have three of these splash Easter Eggers. One is Elise, from Cackle hatchery. She is the mother of the other two, ABBA and Drew. I haven't been sure of which one's Elise and which one's ABBA for a while now . . .
. . . but I do know this one is Drew! She's a much less splashy splash.
I've got three black hens. Two of which are unnamed barnyard mixes hatched here. I'd have more, but my black chickens seem to be particularly prone to predation.
This little unnamed black hen seems to me to have disproportionately short legs. It's the funniest thing seeing her run up; she reminds me of a basset hound. She's also a little pig, and stuffs her crop so full it's a wonder she doesn't bust at the seams.
This is Nattie, a black Australorp from Ideal Poultry. She went broody the first year I had her, raised three chicks, and hasn't been interested in brooding since.
I originally had four brown leghorns from Cackle, but the predators here are as quick to snatch the leghorns as they are the black chickens, so now I'm down to one. Collectively they were named the Italian Mafia - can you still have a Mafia with only one member? I plan on getting more leghorns eventually because I love their classic chicken look and I want more white eggs. Because my little Mafia member here is my only hen with white lobes, I know for a fact the next three hens pictured are her daughters.
Two unnamed daughters of the Mafia . . .
. . . and my unnamed naked neck hen, and the only chicken hatched on my property who I know for a fact must be the daughter of either Romulus or Remus rather than Rumps. Back when she was hatched I still had a couple other naked neck hens running around, but the white lobes confirm her mother has to be a brown leghorn.
These next two I consider my robin hens, because their red breast reminds me of all the robins on the property. This one is unnamed; I need to get around to giving her a name from the Robin Hood stories.
And this is Marian.
Another of Goldie's Golden Girls. Goldie produced quite a variety pack.
This Golden Girl didn't have white speckles on her face until after her first molt. I think they're cute. She also screeches like a banshee if you get too close to her at night. I feel like her scream alone would be enough to scare off nocturnal predators. It's ear-ringing.
I love the coloring of these three. There's something natural and wild-mammal about it that always makes me think of baby deer, even though fawns look absolutely nothing like this. They are named Fawn, Mini Fawn, and Fawnabe.
Here we've come to my favorite coloring on a chicken. I don't know why, but I'm drawn to white on chickens and guineas, and when you acentuate that white with a little bit of darker coloring at the tips I just go gaga over it. These three colombian wyandottes come from Cackle and are named Stacey, Claudia, and Dawn after Babysitters Club characters. This first one is Claudia because she has some stray black speckling in her white feathers, and in the books Claudia kept a messy room. I won't pretend to be certain which of the other two is Stacey and which is Dawn, though.
Li'l Dot here is a product of Dottie, a silver Wyandotte from Ideal who died of complications from bumblefoot (is it just me, or do silver wyandottes seem exceptionally prone to bumblefoot?). Dottie was a sweetheart, and after her death when one of the chicks developed this tell-tale lacing, I was happy knowing a little part of Dottie lived on.
Pidge, named for the fact that Speckled Sussex look like pigeons have pooped all over them, is by far my boldest hen. She doesn't hesitate to come right up to me in search of treats, and won't even budge when I try to nudge her out of the way with my foot. I feel certain that if I die, it'll be because I tripped over this little stinker. She's from Cackle.
Cuckoo, another bird from Cackle, is a cuckoo marans. I got her mostly for the coloring of her feathers rather than the coloring of her eggs. Most of the hens from my childhood looked either like this or like barred rocks, and I consider the black and white hen to be the quintessential chicken. I remember my grandfather called all black and white chickens he owned "domineckers," and it wasn't until adulthood that I realized at no point in time did my grandfather ever actually own dominiques; it was just a catch all term for a certain coloring.
No idea which hen this cheeky little thing came from, but since I allow my hens to raise their own chicks, it's rare that the chicks hatched on this property get quite as tame as this one. I wish I had a name for her, because she actually follows me clear across the property whenever I'm out and about. You might say she's not quite intelligent; Pidge is smart enough to quit trailing me when she realizes I'm not holding treats, but this one seems to think if she keeps at it, I'll magically conjure treats from thin air. Which makes me feel guilty, so I usually go in to scrounge up a little something for her . . . okay, so maybe she's intelligent, after all . . .
Sorry, Mom! I love you.
As a way of holding on to my poultry related memories, at least, I decided to make a little journally-type thingamajig here with random entries about my poultry. I've finally hit the point where not all of my chickens are named, and I sometimes have to do a double take to distinguish who's who, so I thought I'd start with a picture post of my chicken flock in its current state. Maybe this'll help me decide what to name the unnamed ones. Maybe I'll lose interest and forget about posting here until years from now my brain is trying to remember my Mom's birthday and instead says, "Hey, you remember that thread you started eons ago?"
It's a fowl life, indeed.
My chicken flock isn't composed of anything others would consider "special." They're either hatchery stock or barnyard mixes born of hatchery stock, and they all do what I expected them to do; give me a few eggs and chicks, discourage ticks, and provide me with chicken TV. By those standards, my chickens are peak performers.
Okay, first I need to clarify a few things about these first three birds. I promised myself and my husband I'd never exceed 30 chickens on the property. For chicken math purposes, these first three birds are not chickens. They live, eat, and sleep in my duck pen and its surrounding area. Therefore, they are chicken-shaped ducks. Please do not confuse them for chickens. I do not have more than 30 chickens.
Goldie is my oldest hen on the property, probably around ten years old by now, and my only surviving chic -uh, duck - from back when I was keeping only bantam sized breeds to avoid detection by landlords. She's so tiny I trained her to stay in the duck area to avoid the attentions of the large roosters, who were squishing her. She now lives the unsquished life with her son and one of her daughters. Her feet are a mess from a previous bout with leg mites, but she's fine, I promise.
Klaus, Goldie's son and the first hatchling hatched naturally on the property. He was getting the snot kicked out of him by the bigger roosters before moving into the duck area. Now he walks the fenceline and taunts them from the safety of Club Canard.
Golden Girl. When we first moved here I allowed Goldie to brood a batch of her own eggs so she could have companions closer to her own size. One was Klaus, and the other five were all girls who are collectively named the Golden Girls. This is the only girl who decided to move into the duck area with her Mom and brother.
Okay, done with the chicken-shaped ducks, now onto the actual chickens, who also require a bit of clarification first. In the interest of chicken math, roosters do not count as chickens. They are there as guard animals for the hens, signaling when danger is afoot and whatnot. Obviously, this makes them technically livestock guardian animals, and not chickens in the strictest sense. Therefore, I have three chicken-shaped ducks and three livestock guardian animals. Please do not mistake these birds for chickens. I only have 30 chickens.
Rumplestiltskin (Rumps) is my cock of the walk. He's head honcho, and father of most of the chickens on the property. He once lost a spur successfully protecting one of my hens from a predator attack. He actually killed my favorite rooster in order to get top spot, and the hens (who collectively loved the other rooster) shunned Rumps for ages, so the matings were swift and rough and I disparaged of him ever taking his place as a worthy cock, but he was a real sweetheart with people so I didn't want to have to give up on him. Eventually the girls warmed to him, he learned to be gentler, and he's spun himself into a rooster worth his weight in gold.
Romulus is my lowest ranked of the three livestock guardian birds, but he's my favorite going by looks alone (I love naked necks and think they're the most gorgeous breed). He and his brother, Remus, were both sired by Rumps, and so far there hasn't been any fighting or drama between the three of them. Romulus is my sweetest behaved boy, but I've noticed the lowest ranked cock usually is, and as they gain status it's like they become cognizant of their increased responsibilities and quit cozying up to the humans for extra treats.
Remus, missing some tail feathers from Rumps having to shove him off hens whenever he catches Remus in the act. Last year I had gathered Remus up in a pet carrier, transported him to the butcher site, and reached in to take him out and do the deed . . . and he didn't try to back away, never squirmed in my arms or flapped or panicked. He just sat there, comfortable as could be, trusting that as soon as I was done doing whatever mysterious thing I was doing, I'd set him down and give him treats. I already had Rumps and Romulus; keeping another boy was stupid, and I needed to get over it and get it over with. So I - well, I let him go, and I decided to wait until he got aggressive, either to me or the other boys, so that I'd have an easier time butchering him. And the darn thing never got aggressive! He just continued growing up, staying sweet and giving me those looks from his sweet little naked neck eyes. It's just plain selfish when a cockerel gives you no good reason to eat him. So now he's officially one of my three livestock guardian birds.
NOW onto the actual chickens, of which I have exactly 30 and no more.
I've got a bunch of these blue daughters of Rumps'. Blue is my least favorite color of chicken - anytime I see it it just makes me think of how pretty a color it would be if it had retained the vibrancy of lustrous, black feathers, instead of genetics turning it into something washed out and depressed looking - but I've got a blue rooster, so whatcha gonna do? I'll take a sweet, blue rooster over a mean, gorgeous rooster any day of the week. None of these are named, mostly, I think, because of them being blue.
This is one of Goldie's Golden Girls. Goldie has feathered feet, which was passed on to all her offspring. As soon as they're all gone, I'm making a point of keeping only a clean-footed flock. I love the chicken version of bell bottoms, but it was no fun treating the feather-legged beauties for leg mites.
Cinder is an Easter Egger from Cackle hatchery, part of the very first batch of chicks I ordered when I moved here. She is absolutely shameless when she molts; she walks around as confident as can be, my little nudist hen. I much prefer her as she's shown here, fully clothed.
I have three of these splash Easter Eggers. One is Elise, from Cackle hatchery. She is the mother of the other two, ABBA and Drew. I haven't been sure of which one's Elise and which one's ABBA for a while now . . .
. . . but I do know this one is Drew! She's a much less splashy splash.
I've got three black hens. Two of which are unnamed barnyard mixes hatched here. I'd have more, but my black chickens seem to be particularly prone to predation.
This little unnamed black hen seems to me to have disproportionately short legs. It's the funniest thing seeing her run up; she reminds me of a basset hound. She's also a little pig, and stuffs her crop so full it's a wonder she doesn't bust at the seams.
This is Nattie, a black Australorp from Ideal Poultry. She went broody the first year I had her, raised three chicks, and hasn't been interested in brooding since.
I originally had four brown leghorns from Cackle, but the predators here are as quick to snatch the leghorns as they are the black chickens, so now I'm down to one. Collectively they were named the Italian Mafia - can you still have a Mafia with only one member? I plan on getting more leghorns eventually because I love their classic chicken look and I want more white eggs. Because my little Mafia member here is my only hen with white lobes, I know for a fact the next three hens pictured are her daughters.
Two unnamed daughters of the Mafia . . .
. . . and my unnamed naked neck hen, and the only chicken hatched on my property who I know for a fact must be the daughter of either Romulus or Remus rather than Rumps. Back when she was hatched I still had a couple other naked neck hens running around, but the white lobes confirm her mother has to be a brown leghorn.
These next two I consider my robin hens, because their red breast reminds me of all the robins on the property. This one is unnamed; I need to get around to giving her a name from the Robin Hood stories.
And this is Marian.
Another of Goldie's Golden Girls. Goldie produced quite a variety pack.
This Golden Girl didn't have white speckles on her face until after her first molt. I think they're cute. She also screeches like a banshee if you get too close to her at night. I feel like her scream alone would be enough to scare off nocturnal predators. It's ear-ringing.
I love the coloring of these three. There's something natural and wild-mammal about it that always makes me think of baby deer, even though fawns look absolutely nothing like this. They are named Fawn, Mini Fawn, and Fawnabe.
Here we've come to my favorite coloring on a chicken. I don't know why, but I'm drawn to white on chickens and guineas, and when you acentuate that white with a little bit of darker coloring at the tips I just go gaga over it. These three colombian wyandottes come from Cackle and are named Stacey, Claudia, and Dawn after Babysitters Club characters. This first one is Claudia because she has some stray black speckling in her white feathers, and in the books Claudia kept a messy room. I won't pretend to be certain which of the other two is Stacey and which is Dawn, though.
Li'l Dot here is a product of Dottie, a silver Wyandotte from Ideal who died of complications from bumblefoot (is it just me, or do silver wyandottes seem exceptionally prone to bumblefoot?). Dottie was a sweetheart, and after her death when one of the chicks developed this tell-tale lacing, I was happy knowing a little part of Dottie lived on.
Pidge, named for the fact that Speckled Sussex look like pigeons have pooped all over them, is by far my boldest hen. She doesn't hesitate to come right up to me in search of treats, and won't even budge when I try to nudge her out of the way with my foot. I feel certain that if I die, it'll be because I tripped over this little stinker. She's from Cackle.
Cuckoo, another bird from Cackle, is a cuckoo marans. I got her mostly for the coloring of her feathers rather than the coloring of her eggs. Most of the hens from my childhood looked either like this or like barred rocks, and I consider the black and white hen to be the quintessential chicken. I remember my grandfather called all black and white chickens he owned "domineckers," and it wasn't until adulthood that I realized at no point in time did my grandfather ever actually own dominiques; it was just a catch all term for a certain coloring.
No idea which hen this cheeky little thing came from, but since I allow my hens to raise their own chicks, it's rare that the chicks hatched on this property get quite as tame as this one. I wish I had a name for her, because she actually follows me clear across the property whenever I'm out and about. You might say she's not quite intelligent; Pidge is smart enough to quit trailing me when she realizes I'm not holding treats, but this one seems to think if she keeps at it, I'll magically conjure treats from thin air. Which makes me feel guilty, so I usually go in to scrounge up a little something for her . . . okay, so maybe she's intelligent, after all . . .
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thanks for sharing!
