This morning I got the call.
Unfortunately it wasn't for an all expenses paid trip to Bora Bora, but it was still a pretty awesome call.
My chicks were in.
Many, many years ago, I ordered my first box of chicks through the mail. It's much nicer to get your chicks in late January or early February (if you are getting layers), because that means they will be laying eggs by July. Yay!
That said, it's been a few years since I had ordered chicks, and since I don't sell eggs anymore and my kids are almost grown, I really didn't need 25 chicks (the minimum order in the winter time).
So, I did what many other homesteaders do, I asked my neighbor if she needed some new layers too. (Spoiler: She did indeed).
And now that you have a bit of backstory, I can continue with the sordid tale of picking up chicks. Oof, that sounded dirtier than a pig pen after a good thunderstorm.
I had just gotten the ducks fed, our freshly-neutered cat medicated, and was going to sit down with a lovely cup of cocoa coffee when my phone rang.
It said, Unkown Caller.
Usually I don't answer those types of calls, but as I knew my chicks had shipped from Dunlap Hatchery in Southern Idaho yesterday, I figured it was probably our postmistress.
It was.
Good morning,"I chirped, "Would you like me to run up and get those noisemakers out of there?"
She laughed and was very amiable to that suggestion, so I went and fired up my blue chariot.
Fifteen minutes later, the clandestine portion of my chick retrieval commenced. I got out of my car in the empty post office parking lot and went around to the back door.
There was a super scary sign on the back that reminded me about the consequences of armed robbery, but as the only thing I was armed with was my purse and a pair of not so insulated purple gloves, I figured that missive didn't apply to me.
There was a buzzer next to the door, but I wanted to practice my super important person knock.
It totally worked. Well, along with sticking my head up in the little safety glass window in the door and waving at one of the postal workers.
"Did she ring the buzzer?" I heard our postmistress inquire as she began to unlock the door.
The employee's answer went unheard by yours truly, but I'm not sad about it, because the door came open and the peeping hit my ears.
Now, it was about 21 degrees Fahrenheit this morning, and I wanted to get my little friends settled in, so I politely thanked my post lady, concluded the drop, and got the heck out of there!
Ten minutes later I was strolling in the door with my new pullets. The hubs earned super extra brownie points as he set up a Rubbermaid container, put shavings in it, hanged the heat lamp, and washed the chick waterers for me while I was grabbing the babies. Swoon....
I have an insulated chick nursery in my barn, but the first week of any baby bird's life tends to be spent in my bathroom. It's easier to control the climate and keep an eye on them in there. Yes, I am probably lazy.
The first order of chick deploying business was to dunk each of the little peeps into their electrolyte solution and soaked chick starter. In just a few minutes I had them all waterboarded. Um, maybe another word would be a better choice here.
Anyway, I like to give my peeps a good start, and a few of them were just a teensy bit stressed. In fact, I think they got a bit chilled in transit because one was dead when I opened the box. Hatcheries are good about sending extra chicks, but I HATE LOSING BABIES! Or any livestock for that matter, so I spent some extra time making sure any that looked a bit peaky were double dunked.
And like most baby animals, those little suckers have come around and are thriving after their big journey. They've only been in my bathroom eight hours and have eaten through 4 trays of feed. Little piranhas!
In every batch of baby animals, there's always that one over the top thriving creature, and this batch of chicks was no exception. Out of the pile of chicks emerged a beast of a baby, a Buff Orpington chick that came out of the box living its best life. I immediately named that one Bruce because the way she stomped around reminded me of the Hulk. I expect great things out of Bruce.
Out of the twenty five chicks, I have 24, twelve of which will be making a trip down the road to my neighbor's coop. Out of the twelve left, only eight or so will be staying on the farm. I told my parents I would raise them a few pullets. It will be good for my dad to have a few chickens, they can talk to each other.
And now, I need to go check on the little peepers again. I really tend to go overboard a bit on the care and keeping part of livestock tending when they are brand new to the world. I gotta say though, chicks are a lot easier than bottle babies, so I am feeling a bit spoiled right now.
And as most of the time, all of the images in this post were taken on the author's could probably peep on command if I asked it to iPhone.