Saturday 3/27/04

Donald had gone to visit Jared (the other neighbor kid). After he was back, we were talking about our days. Donald mentioned that Jared had some baby chicks, but that most of them had died. Jared kept them in a drawer, and Donald assumed that they had suffocated. Most likely, they died of either dehydration or hypothermia. Baby chicks need to be kept warm, and they eat and drink a lot.

Don told me that they had left the last chick on the table in the neighbor kids' clubhouse, which is outside. They had tried to feed it some worms, but it wouldn't eat them. Donald seed that it was chirping when he left it.

I told Don to ask Jared if he could take care of the chick for a few days because he will die if we don't. Mary said to go now, so Don went over there. He came back almost in tears, and with a very limp and barely alive chick in his hands. He said that he hadn't had time to ask Jared because the chick was almost dead.

I had Don hold him, then I checked the chick out myself. It felt cool to the touch. Chickens have a body temperature of over 100 degrees, so it should not have been cool to the touch. That poor thing had severe hypothermia. I had Don hold him in one hand while covering him with the other. I honestly thought that it was futile, but we had to try. Mary actually prayed over it -- probably more for Don's benefit than for the chick's.

Mary then gathered up the laundry and went to town. I asked her to get some chick feed if the feed store is open.

Miraculously, the little chick started to perk up. As soon as it showed some sign of life, I pried its beak open and used the dropper bottle Mary had found to give it some water. A little later, I gave it a bit more.

We had three things to deal with: hypothermia, dehydration, and starvation. The little chick needs some calories to generate some heat. Nearly freezing to death probably drained it of what little reserves it had.

After it took the water successfully, I put some milk in the dropper and fed it to the chick. A few minutes later, it was on its feet and pecking weakly.

I caught a fly and gave it to him. It took a little while for the chickie to get it down, but it did.

After that, we put it in a box with a wash cloth on the bottom, and gave it a little bit of bread that I pulled into small pieces. It ate that up. I soaked a little more bread in some milk and gave it to him. Protein, carbohydrates, and fat.

I put some water into a bottle cap (shallow metal crown cap) for the chick, and it drank it in standard chicken fashion (suck some into the beak, then lift head and allow water to drain down the neck). Then, I put more into a plastic bottle cap and sent Don out to get some sand and gravel. Chickens need that in their crops to grind up their food.

We were planning on going to a spaghetti dinner at church to help a couple with some serious financial difficulties, so I was starting to wonder if Mary was going to get back on time.

It turns out that the feed store was closed, so she went down to Big Rapids to the Tractor Supply Company and bought some starter mix. She told the guy there what had happened, and he just winced. She was quite pleased to come back and find a healthy and perky chick.

So, we put the box on my desk, replaced the fluorescent bulb in my desk lamp with an incondescent, and adjusted it so it was right over the box. Little chickie was nice and warm.

Then, it was off to the spaghetti dinner and talent show. We got there late, but there was still plenty of spaghetti left, and we had time to eat before the show started.

Gabriel had some runny poos that got on his pants, and on to Mary's pants. She decided to take Gabe home to change.

I figured it would take about an hour, but it was taking longer than that. We hung around, and I let the kids play in the nursery. After everyone had left, the pastor's wife showed me where all the light switches were and went to the parsonage. She told me to knock on their door if we needed any help.

Finally, well after dark, Mary showed up. It turns out that the van had died when going up the hill just after turning on to 11 mile from 190th. She was going to knock on someone's door and ask for help, but an older couple that lives on 180th gave her a ride back to the cottage. She fired up the little Jeep and drove back up to the Church.

After she told me the story, she just about broke down. The whole experience was stressful, and we also don't want to have to depend on that twenty year old Jeep that is in need of some repair. Also, we're trying to save money to make sure that we'll have enough for a down-payment and whatever incidentals go along with getting a house. We had already gone almost all the way through the process of getting the house on 16 mile -- only to have the whole thing aborted by a skittish underwriter. We put in a bid on another house, but all that did was light a fire under the person who had been dickering with them for four months. We also 'discussed' some other houses quite extensively, and all of the options had some problem or another. In any case, the last thing we need is to have the van out of commission, or drop more money into a repair bill.

The stress level was picked up by the kids, so they had to 'help' by harassing each other and getting obnoxious. The fact that it was late didn't help.

After some thought, we came up with the van was low on gas, and that the pickup was left high and dry when Mary went up the hill and the gasoline sloshed to the back of the tank.

The Jeep had some gas, but it was low enough that we had to be careful. Gas stations are few and far between around here.

We got onto 14 mile, crossed over the freeway, and went to Dewing's Corner. It was closed. We turned around, got onto the freeway, and headed down past our exit (11 mile) to Reed City. It's a major cross-road area, so there are a few big gas stations.

Meanwhile, Mary remembered that her purse is still in the van. She reached into her coat pocket and found a twenty dollar bill. I also had one, so we were pretty well set.

We went to the gas station where we sometimes get ice cream -- the one across the road from the McDonald's. They had a few one gallon gas cans, and one big yellow plastic five gallon diesel fuel can. I put it on the counter, and they couldn't figure out how much to charge. There were no more in stock, there was no listing, and there was no price tag. The one gallon cans go for $2.99, so they gave it to us for $4.99. I gave her the two twenties and told her to put the change on the gas pump. I filled the gas can, then the Jeep. I stuffed as much as I could into the jeep (shaking it to get the bubbles out), and then went in to get my change. I handed Mary the $1.16 or so that we had left over.

We drove back to the van, and I managed to fill it without dribbling too much gas. My hands smelled like fuel after that, though. The van fired right up and I followed Mary home.

When we got there, the little chick was still doing just great.

Chicks are flock animals. A lonely chick has a characteristic cheep that it uses to call its mother. This poor thing was having a rough time. When I reached in and covered it with my hand, it was fine. As soon as I let go, it was chirping plaintively again. We heard it a few times throughout the night.

Sunday 3/28/04

The chick is still fine. With a light blaring down on it, it has no cues for day and night. It cheeped through the night, so it rested during the day.

We went to Church and attended Sundry school. The teacher talked about fear, and how God didn't give us a spirit of fear. I nudged Mary because her biggest complaint about the house on M-115 is the fact that the house is only a tenth of a mile from that busy freeway.

We let our friends know what had happened last night, and why Mary was so late getting to the church and picking the rest of us up.

We then went to Cadillac to the Tractor Supply Company. It really isn't humane to raise a chicken by itself, so we bought two more chicks -- one for each of the other kids. Don got a Black Sex Link, which is a laying breed. Paul got one that's very similar, and may be the same breed. While we were there, we bought a big bag of pine shavings for litter (and for kitty litter). Mary picked up a book about raising chickens, and we also got a watering trough. The feeders were too big for the plastic tub that I had in mind to use as a chick pen. Mary found some grit (a food supplement), so we bought that. I had planned on using regular gravel, but that stuff has lots of mineral supplements.

After putting litter on the bottom of the tub, then putting the water bottle in, we added the chicks. They got along fine, and there is no more of that lonely cheeping. They squawk a bit if they are picked up wrong, but most of the noise they make is the short contented type of chirping.

I saw our neighbor, Mr. Wong, dragging a flat-bottom boat across the ice. He got to the ice from the end of his dock because the ice is melting from the edge of the lake. I pushed the canoe to the end of the dock, got in, and went to the other end. The ice was, in fact, solid there.

Jared and Jonah were over again. Mary had to go to work tonight, so I was left with the five boys.

We were all playing around on the dock and in the front yard. Mr. Wong was gone by then.

I was looking out the front door just as Donald decided to show the other kids that the ice near the dock is thin. I told him to not do that. I went back into the house and got dressed to go out and mess with the canoe. Just as I looked back out, Don was walking up to the house. He was soaking wet, and there was water sloshing out of the top of his shoes. Hey, I had told him to be careful.

I had him undress on the porch (the lake is icy, but the air is only slightly cool), and go inside and dry off.

I went out and got into the canoe (with my life jacket -- you know the drill). I moved out on to the ice, and it was still solid. I moved back to the end of the canoe that's by the dock and allowed it to slide into the water. I then broke up the thin ice that's around the south side of the dock -- just playing around, but also removing any temptation to step out onto that ice.

I was next to the dock and pulling the canoe up on to the thick ice, then rocking it to break the ice. Somehow, I shipped some water and the canoe capsized enough to sink. I tried to pull myself on to the dock, but ended up walking along the sunken canoe toward shore, then walking out of the water. My shoes, socks, and pants were soaked. The bottom of my t-shirt and flannel jacket were wet, but my life jacket was dry. I left all of that stuff on the porch, toweled off in the bathroom, and put on fresh sweats.

Later, I asked Jared about the chicks. He told me that they were going to feed the rest of the chicks to their snake. He also said that four had died.

Their dad came to get them. He was riding with his boss on the way to a job site down in Indiana. The kids were supposed to be grounded, so he was mad that they had disobeyed. I asked him about the chicks and he said that the snake won't eat them, and that we can have the rest of them. So, I told him that I would take his kids home and pick them up at the same time. That was fine with him and his boss.

I went over there and his girlfriend (not the kids' mom) told me that the rest had died, except the one that was in the snake cage. She gave me a glove (for my left hand) and told me I could take it out if I want. I put the glove on, but ended up reaching in with my right hand to grab the chick. He was actually quite healthy -- probably because there is a lamp in the snake's cage to keep the snake warm.

I got him home and introduced him to the flock. One of the black chicks pecked at him a bit, but they soon decided that everything was fine.

We decided to name that chick 'Lucky'.

Earlier, the chicks got a lot of litter into their water. I cut a tin can down to size and used it to prop up the waterer.

I made a feeder out of a plastic concentrated juice can (like an orange juice can, but made of plastic). I cut four slots in it so that the chicks could stick their heads through to eat, but couldn't climb into it and scatter the food or poop in it. That worked better than the jar lid that we were using, but the chicks still knocked it over.

Monday 3/29/04

The litter in the chick's cage is getting wet from the waterer. Also, the food dish I made isn't working out as well as I had planned.

I made another food tray, but left more plastic so the rim is higher. To keep it from tipping over, I pop-rivited it to the section of tin can I had used to prop it up.

I dumped the waterer, put fresh food in the feeder, and left them out of the cage. I put the chicks into a box and had Don watch them while I dumped the litter, washed the tub, and added fresh litter. While I was at it, I dumped out the old clay kitty litter and replaced it with pine shavings. I hope the cat likes it. The pine shavings are cheap, and we'll be able to compost it along with the cat droppings.

The new food dish is working well, but there is still a bit of a problem with water spillage. I think it is happening after the kids jiggle the cage. I have to do a better job of keeping them from messing with the chicks. Don is old enough, but the other two tend to jiggle the cage. They are really gentle with the chicks, though.

The kids played by the lake a lot. The ice is really breaking up. Most of the lake is free of ice, but our section is on the downwind side. We're still mostly iced in.

I packed all five of the kids (our three plus Jared and Jonah) into the canoe, and we made quite an epic trek along the shore, around Mr. Wong's dock, through some thin parts of the coverage, and out into the lake. We paddled out to the beaver lodge on the south side of the lake. Most of the food cache is gone. Beaver-chewed sticks are everywhere. There are a whole bunch of water lily roots where the cache was. Those things are huge, and supposedly edible. I know someone who tried them, but he said that they were bitter. Oh well... they would have supplied quite a bit of food.

We had to break a path through the ice on the way back, too, because the wind had blown our canal shut. The ice really is piling up on our end of the lake. I expect it to be mostly or completely gone by tomorrow.

Below is the introduction I used for the poultry lists.

August 2003, we moved from the Detroit area up to the Cadillac area and stayed in my parents' cottage while we searched for a home. This past April, my son told me of some chicks that the neighbors had. They were keeping them in a drawer in their "clubhouse", which is a derelict mobile home. The chick he was playing with was up in a tree house. I told him to go right over there and ask if he could take care of the chick for a few days because otherwise it would die. It didn't eat anything they were trying to feed it.

Well, he was back home in a few minutes with this poor little limp chickie in his hands, and he looked like he was about to cry. The chick was still alive, but just barely.

My wife had to go somewhere, so I asked her to stop at the feed store and pick up a bag of chicken starter. She ended up going all the way down to Big Rapids to the TSC. When she told the guy at the store what had happened, he just shook his head.

I showed him how to cup his other hand over the chick to keep it warm while I got some water and an eyedropper. The chick was cool to the touch (a chicken's normal body temperature is a little over 100 degrees F), and probably hadn't been fed or watered since those people got it. It managed to swallow the water, so I gave it some milk. In a little while, it was standing in my son's hand and pecking weakly. I fed it bread soaked with milk because I figured it needs fat and protein. Soon, he gained strength and looked none the worse for wear.

We set the chick up in a box with a bottle cap full of water, a smaller (crown) cap full of gravel (for grit), and a little bread. I found a goose neck lamp and put it over the box to keep him warm.

By the time Mary came home, the little chick was doing great. He liked the chicken starter. The chick was peeping plaintively, though, because he's a flock bird, and was lonely. The next day, we went to the TSC in Cadillac and bought two more chicks. We set the three of them up in a plastic tub and they were fine.

When the father of the neighbor boys came over to get his kids, I asked him about the chicks. He told me that he had bought them to feed to his snake, but that the snake didn't want them. He also said that we can have the rest. He went off to work at a job site a few hours away, and I took his kids home and talked to his girlfriend about the other chicks. All had died except the one that was in the snake cage. So, I reached into the cage and retrieved the other chick. I decided to dub that one "Lucky".

So, we had the two original yellow chicks, named Kevin and Lucky. We also had a Black Sex Link named "Blackie" and a black chick with a stripe down its back named "Stripe".

As it warmed up, we let the chicks peck around outside. Then, I built a pen for them. The TSC was starting to get some business from us -- a roll of chicken wire, one of those waterers that screws on to a quart jar, a feeder, more starter, and a few other odds and ends.

When the chicks were about the size of banties, the neighbor's dogs got in and chased them around. I came down on those dogs like the wrath of God, and carried the one they had caught in. It had some puncture wounds, so Mary treated the wounds (she's a nurse) and I put the little guy into the brooder to keep him warm and ward off shock. Within a few days, he was as good as new.

We went to the TSC again and came back with an electric fence charger, some wire, some insulators, and some posts. Our dog soon learned about the fence. Maybe I laughed a little too hard when I heard the neighbor's dog learn about the fence the hard way. In any case, that was the end of that problem.

When they were big enough and the weather was warm enough, they stayed outside all night. The stock watering tub that had been their brooder became the roof of their shelter.

This past May 7, after much searching, we finally moved into our new place. The four chickens went into the old dog kennel, and the stock tub was set up in the pole barn in preparation for the chickens we had ordered from the local feed mill. We had ordered three Araucana cockerels and a dozen araucana pullets. We also ordered three Isa Brown pullets. For old time's sake (we had chickens when I was a kid), I ordered three Barred Rock pullets and three Ida Red pullets. I also ordered six pearl guineas to control bugs (and because I think guineas are neat).

They didn't all come at once. Also, we took on some birds that someone had ordered, but didn't want. We ended up with quite a batch. The Araucanas are nice birds, but we ended up with nine hens and seven roosters. That's one more bird than we ordered, but three less hens. Also, one of the Isa Browns turned out to be a rooster. The Rhode Island Reds have white feathers, so I think they're Red Sex Links.

Of the original four, the first turned out to be a Cornish Rock. He got huge, and ended up killing a pretty little Rhode Island Red (not quite grown) by trying to mate with her. He was mating with the other original -- a broiler hen. He was rough, and tore up some skin on the back of her head and neck. When I showed it to Mary the next day, we saw that it was a bad wound, and would probably get infected. I had to get the hatchet and do her in. After we plucked her, we found that she had some deep claw marks on her back. As I was gutting her, I found some really deep bruises. I felt really bad for that poor hen -- not because we had to kill her, but because she suffered so much before we found out she was hurt. We almost ended up just burying her carcass, but I found enough good meat to make it worth our while to cook her up. Certainly, she provided a lot more meat than that little Rhode Island Red that Kevin had killed (her back was broken)

Kevin started to turn mean, so I told my oldest son to pick out another chicken to be his pet. He chose an Araucana pullet that's mostly black with some gold markings. She has a really fluffy head and neck, so he named her Bluffy.

And Kevin? Well, we called him our Thanksgiving chicken because he really looked like a turkey all dressed out.

It is our policy to not name a food animal, and not eat anything we had named. Still, that mean old bird had too many strikes against him, and he was just too big and fat to let go to waste.

The other two originals are doing fine. Blackie was renamed "Racetrack" by my middle son (I don't know why), and he has her tamed so well that we can walk up to her and pick her up. She started laying a couple months ago, and Paul used to love going out to the chicken pen in the morning to get his breakfast. He would bring the egg in and we would have to fry it right up.

Stripe turned out to be a beautiful rooster (we don't know the breed). He and Racetrack make a handsome couple, and tended to hang out together when they were roaming free.

We now have four roosters -- Stripe, Big Red (the Isa Brown that turned out to be a rooster), Monkey (a beautiful Araucana rooster), and a fourth Araucana that fooled us by looking like a hen when we were separating the cockerels out. We had 14 cull roosters -- two white rocks, seven barred rocks (probably black sex links, actually), and five araucanas. My middle son chose the biggest white rock for his birthday dinner this past Saturday 10/23. The other thirteen paid a visit to a local Amish family. We let them rest in the refrigerator for three days, then took the neck off of three of them and froze them for future roasting. The other ten got separated into bags of breasts, wings, legs, and soup carcasses. We'll eat well this winter.

We have 34 laying hens, and are up to about twenty eggs a day. We have nine araucanas (3-4 eggs a day, so far), ten white rocks, seven barred rocks, five Rhode Island Reds, and two Isa Browns. They are residing with the goats, and like to share the goats' grain when they can do so without getting butted out of the way. They also like to lay eggs in the manger, sneak under the woven wire fence, and fly up in the red pine trees. In fact, I think the red ones (some RIRs and Araucanas) have a scam going. They get out and come around to the storage area. I then do my part by coaxing them in there with some grain, closing the door, then shooing them through the inner door back to the shelter. Later, they're back out there looking for more corn. I tell ya, they're organized! I think that Ginger one is their leader.