Back in the chicken coop, the bigger black hen had also decided to try sitting on her eggs. This was the same hen that sat on 20 eggs this summer and hatched out ONE. That one chick made it one day before drowning. We didn't have high hopes for this hen to be successful but her tote got moved with the silkie and her chicks into the "chick room". Lo and behold a few days later and she hatched out 5 chicks of her own. Now silkie hen is a good momma, but black hen is fierce. Between the two of them, they divided out their corners of the chick room and protected their territory like boxers in a ring. Each hen had a mutual respect for the hostility of the other and things seemed to be going along swimmingly.
And then Tim comes to me to tell me he found my hamburg hen, Jelly, in the hay room. We were pretty sure she was dead. We knew she was going in the hay room regularly. We had no idea she had crawled back in as far as she could, about a foot from the ceiling and a good 20 feet back into the room and decided to start sitting on eggs. She wasn't dead, but doing a darn good job of playing dead as she sat on those eggs. I started panicking about what would happen if those eggs hatched. I had visions of the chicks dropping between the bales and rotting. (Insert gagging emoji/gif or whatever.) I had visions of being attacked by Jelly as I tried to move her, her eggs or the bales to try to get her into a better place to hatch them out. So we left her and slowly started to use the bales between the door and her so that we could hopefully get to them before hatching day. We made it. Kind of. And then she started hatching those eggs. In the hay mow. Oh sigh.... Again, with Tim's help, I tried to check how many had hatched. You laugh at a grown woman being afraid of a couple pounds of chicken, but let me just tell you, if you have never tangled with a hen protecting her chicks, you have no idea how terrifying they can be. And keep in mind I was about a foot from the ceiling and surrounded by hay bales. I was more than a little claustrophobic and slightly more terrified than I probably needed to be. But she had hatched out 6 already, on her nest of 18. I told Tim we would give her another day and then we would have to move her before the chicks started exploring.
Fast forward to time's up, this morning. I tried to sneak up behind her and grab her, and very nearly got my hand pecked off for the favor. So we had to use the net to catch her and then grab chicks as quickly as we could before they rolled off the bales. Quickly we relocated her and her chicks to the chick room. There was a bit of a kerfuffle, but they seemed to settle in. However, when I got back to the hay room and went to remove the eggs, I heard peeping. Not chirping per se, peeping. Yeah, there were more eggs waiting to hatch. Sigh. So now I was a baby chick murderer because there was no way Jelly was going to sit on those eggs in a strange room with strange hens and with 6 chicks to guard. Thankfully I still had my friend's incubator so we frantically plugged it in, relocated the eggs and hoped for the best. Whatever that meant, because what were we gonna do with more chicks? But I refused to be a baby chick murderer.
Off I went to work with 14 eggs in the incubator, 6 new chicks in the chick room, and 9 slightly older chicks as well. After a long and busy day at the restaurant, I came home to the great chicken disaster 2019. Apparently the black hen went on a murderous rampage against Jelly's new chicks and had killed two and very nearly killed a third. In a little bit of anger and a lot a bit of running out of options, I kicked the black hen out, thinking I would just raise her chicks in the chick room myself. Two minutes later I caved as she was desperate for her babies and their sad cries hurt my heart. So then I had to try to catch her chicks, who had decided to hide amongst the other chicks. Here's what I want you to picture. Me, dashing around a room about 8 feet by 5 feet as two pissed off hens take running, flailing leaps at me, sure that I'm trying to get their babies. All the while the chicks are frantically running around and I'm struggling to even catch one, much less than all 5. Through it all, momma black hen is madly clucking outside and Sophie is "guarding the door", apparently from a random drive by pecking? Finally I got the last of her chicks outside with her. Feeling bad for them, I put a tote for them to cuddle up in, gave them their own waterer and tried to brainstorm a way to feed them apart from the rest of the flock in the morning.
I headed into the garage to discover 3 new chicks in the incubator. I didn't know whether to celebrate or sit down and put my head in my hands. What was I to do with 3 more chicks? Obviously hens don't appreciate chicks that aren't their own. But I had this great idea. Once Jelly was asleep, I'd just slip these new chicks in with her current chicks. By morning they would all smell the same and she would just be back to 6, maybe 7, chicks and all would be well. Into the chick room I went, with 3 baby flutter bugs in my hands. Jelly was asleep and I went to sneak the little ones under her when all of a sudden she came awake with a flurry and a fierceness. I quickly put the new chicks down with hers while she dashed around the room, upsetting the silkie and chicks started running every which direction. Finally Jelly settled back down on her chicks, including the new ones, one of her chicks remained with the silkie's and I shut the door calling myself lucky not to have lost an eye after tangling with pissed off hens. Again. Feeling hopeful but worried about all the chicks making it through the night, I took the black hen in the tote and moved her and her chicks into a pony stall for the night and wearily trudged to the house. As soon as I opened the garage door and headed towards the house I heard....
...another chick hatching in the incubator.
I give up.
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