New Kids on the Block

While it's hard to think of the town I live in as "urban," and I really try to avoid being "trendy," I've now joined the ranks of those backyard poultry owners who live within city limits. The girls, three laying hens (well, someday, anyway), finally arrived last Sunday.

They came as young birds, not chicks, raised from infancy by Tim's mom, Shirley, who raised another dozen or so more for his niece Deanna and her partner, Hans. Shirley, who was raised on a farm in Eastern Washington, was happy to raise chicks for us. Since I have never owned so much as a parakeet, I was happy to let her do it.

"Shirley said to tell you that you have to do the chicken call," Deanna informed me when Tim and I arrived to pick them up at her place. The chicken call, which Shirley taught them to respond to, goes something like "toot, toot, toot!"

There were several to choose from, however Deanna quickly pointed out the ones they were already attached to and therefore off-limits, one of them being a hen Hans had named "Otis." Not particularly confident that I'd be able to tell more than one of the same breed apart, I picked out and captured a Rhode Island Red, a Barred Rock, and a Black Sexlink.

Once the hens arrived at home and were placed in the pen which Tim had built, I realized I hadn't given much thought about what to feed them. And since it was a Sunday, and Cenex was closed, I had to hunt around town for feed. I guess that just goes to illustrate why it's a good thing I didn't have any children. Luckily, I ran into some friends at the Food Co-op, former chicken owners themselves, who said to get some cracked corn which I found at the hardware store. The next day, I became better equipped, purchased some chick grit and the necessary feeders at the grange, and later, another friend, a seasoned chicken owner, gave me a bunch of feed specifically for chicks.

Only a couple hours after they arrived did my cat, Larry, awaken from his afternoon nap on my bed and wander out to daylight to discover the fowl in the backyard. This gave him a chance to practice his stalking skills until he quickly learned he'd never get through that chicken wire and lost interest. In the course of the next couple days, every cat in the neighborhood also came to to the party. That has been the extent of predators, so far. I'm still nervous about the scarier variety though, so more security and coop refinement is planned as well as a better water feeder, the type with nipples that keeps the water from getting dirty.

Names? I don't have names yet. I'm not even sure I'm going to go in that direction. The red hen is definitely the tamest. The other two are more difficult to catch when they wander out of the pen, no amount of "toot, toot toot!" helps, and I feel a little foolish chasing them around the yard, so I'm trying to train them to eat out of my hand to lure them close enough to capture. Pecking order? I haven't been able to ascertain that yet, either.

However it all shakes out, that first egg with its bright orange yolk is going to taste very, very good.