Welcome to the world little chicks!

This post has taken a long time to be written due to the exciting events of the past couple of weeks. All of which shall now be revealed...

A scribbled diary entry for Tuesday 17th March heralded a momentous occasion in my life at Newhouse Farm. It read "Day 21: Chickens hatching". A couple of days earlier I'd stopped turning the Maran hen eggs, quickly removing their cradles from the incubator in order to rest the eggs on their sides, giving them a vigorous spray of warm water to keep them humid and content. Since then I'd been keeping a watchful eye on the incubator, hoping to hear cheeps and tappings to mark the chicks arrival. I was desperately trying not to count my chickens before they hatched, but it was just so difficult to remain patient and suppress my anticipation. It felt like the build up to Christmas when I was a little kid.

As the morning of Tuesday 17th dawned I woke early and hurried downstairs to see if any chicks were making their way out of their shells. I made a bee-line through the kitchen towards the incubators, and peered into the polystyrene one to see what was inside. Hmmph, still just a load of eggs and no chick in sight. I decided to open the lid and take a closer look. Without wanting to let too much heat and humidity out I quickly lifted each egg and held it gently against my ear to listen for any signs of life inside. The first 2 eggs I picked up and listened to were silent, but as I began to lift the third egg it emitted a loud CHEEP! I was so startled I emitted a loud cry of surprise too. This egg which looked intact from above had a little hole underneath, with faint signs of movement inside. This was the result I was hoping for, yet I still couldn't believe it. At least one of the eggs was actually hatching!! I lowered the incubator lid and forced myself to step away and leave the chick to get on with its emergence into the world uninterrupted.

Yet this was easier said than done. For the rest of the day I paced to and fro filled with anticipation, unable to wander far from the incubator for fear I'd miss the moment the chick arrived. As the hours ticked by and evening drew in I grew more and more anxious. Surely the chick shouldn't take this long to hatch. What if it wasn't strong enough to make it out? But at 11pm my fears were quietened as the chick finally broke free from its shell and lay prostrate on the floor of the incubator. It was a small, black creature, a little bit goopy, but definitely a Maran chick. Exhausted after its efforts it rested with its head to one side, a dark beady eye peering up at me as I stared back in amazement through the window of the incubator. Well done little chick, you made it, you're alive!

A knew that I had to leave the chick in the incubator overnight in order for it to thoroughly dry off. At the moment its feathers were damp, and stuck to its body in a dark swirl. Also some stringy gloopy membrane still connected the chick to its shell, presumably a sort of chick umbilical cord. It was far too early to expose this fragile little creature to the world outside the incubator. By the time I dragged myself away to bed, the chick had begun to find its feet and was scrambling around the incubator, careering into the other eggs and then collapsing once more into a tired heap.

The following morning I once again headed straight to the polystyrene incubator and peered inside. This time I saw something that resembled a black fluffy cotton-ball with a beak and 2 large feet blinking up at me. The chick had survived through the night and had almost entirely dried off. The tips of its minute wings were white, and its oversized feet were beige and black. It was then that I noticed to one side of it a dark wet blob with a beak... a second chick had hatched during the night! What's more another egg had developed cracks and chips, and I could hear cheeping from within the shell. That meant not one, not two, but three little chicks! It was time to prepare the chick house.

Outside in the potting shed was the chicks new home: a large black barrel on a table with a grill on top and a heat lamp hanging above, connected to a dimmer switch in order to control the temperature. Inside I'd covered the bottom of the barrel with sawdust and put in a water dish and a food tray, on which were a few handfuls of chick crumb. Home sweet home! I'd placed a thermometer below the heat lamp to measure the temperature in the hottest part of the barrel, and a second thermometer to the side to check the temperature nearer to the edge. There was no way these little chicks were going to catch a chill.

The eldest chick was now ready to move across to the chick house. I reached inside the incubator and carefully picked it up, feeling its warmth and fluffiness against the inside of my hands. As I carried it through the back door into the sunshine I wondered what must be going through the chick's head as it saw the outside world for the first time. I paused to allow it time to look around at the sunshine, the green of the grass, some hens behind the gate. Then off we continued into the potting shed, where I lifted the lid and carefully placed the chick inside. It cheeped and ran about, then stopped and looked at its surroundings. I'd read that chicks have to be shown how to feed and drink, so I very carefully held the chick and dipped its beak into the water. This clearly was not an experience it enjoyed, but I persevered and dipped its beak in the chick crumb. Hopefully that should do the trick.

By the end of the morning the third chick had hatched, but this one wasn't black but a beautiful yellow colour with a few black flecks. The two of them spent their time stumbling around inside the incubator, or lying prostrate on the floor. By mid afternoon they'd dried off sufficiently to move across to the chick house where they joined the eldest. I spent ages quietly watching the chicks as they settled in, unable to drag myself away, and trying not to panic when they'd suddenly lie down. The poultry keeping books I'd read hadn't prepared me at all for this stage. They simply stated that the chicks hatch, full stop. No further details to calm an anxious soul such as myself. Were the chicks meant to lie motionless, with only their sides moving to indicate they were still breathing? Was this normal, or were they dying?!

A second night went by and despite my nerves the chicks were absolutely fine and growing rapidly. But now the unexpected happened. Late in the afternoon of Thursday 19th a fourth chick hatched. I'd placed 8 Maran eggs into the incubator, so I'd been fairly happy that 3 had turned into chicks. After all, a hatch rate of 30 to 40% was meant to be normal for beginners. I'd left the other hen eggs in there, just in case there was still life inside them, but not very hopeful of further success. So as I watched the fourth chick squirm and strain and finally break free from its shell I was pleasantly surprised: this meant my hatch rate was up to 50%. Hurray! What's more it was another little black feathered one.

The night following the hatching of the fourth chick was a fretful one. The chick seemed determined to injure itself as it tumbled around the incubator, and kept clambering over the duck eggs which were still on their turning cradles at the back of the incubator. I was convinced it was going to really hurt itself overnight, so I made a barrier out of a recycled filo pastry packet to separate the chick from the duck eggs. The chick survived the night and had dried off enough to join its siblings in the chick house. But as the following day progressed my anxieties grew: the fourth chick seemed weaker than the others and I couldn't seem to get it to drink. What's more the other chicks seemed to bully it by pecking it or walking on it. I felt so helpless, and all I could think of to help it was to keep pushing it to the front of the food tray in order that it would have the chance to feed.

Fortunately this story has a happy ending... so far at least. All the chicks, including the weakest one, have survived and are growing fast and strong. They're full of personality and energy, and when I come to check on their barrel they get very excited and scurry around. The eldest two have a tendency to attempt to fly, whilst the yellow one prefers to charge beneath its siblings. The youngest one, nicknamed Shorty, is a little more subdued than the others and sometimes stands or sleeps seperately from its bigger siblings. However its certainly found its feet and asserts itself, despite its smaller stature, by pecking at the other chicks if they attempt to bully it.

Looking at them now it's astounding to think that not long ago they once fitted inside of a little egg! The chicks have grown rapidly and no longer resemble cotton balls: they've acquired sleek wing feathers, a few sprouty tails tufts, and even a little mohican type ridge of feathers along their backs. Now that they're growing older I'm gradually reducing the temperature in their barrel bit by bit each day in order to harden them up for life outside. And in turn as they grow bigger and stronger my anxieties as to their welfare are lessening: so long as they have plenty of clean water and food they seem happy.

But just when it seemed I could sleep peacefully at night once more, Mother's Day dawned and with it came the surprising arrival of seven and a half fluffy bundles...

To be continued in a future post.