bombs in bottles
The post office called at 1:15 yesterday to tell me that my chicks had arrived. I picked them up at 1:23.
I am now the proud "mama" of three silver-laced Wyandotte chicks. They survived the trip from the hatchery and were still young enough to imprint (as well as chicks ever do) - they would rather hang out near "mama" than anywhere else in the brooder, even when I put in fun toys like a clump of dirt with clover in it.
I think I gave my chicks a case of name determinism.
When I ordered them, I asked several friends to help me name them. I had one and only one criterion: No pun names. Naturally, we settled on "Repecka," "Penelopeep," and "Gretchen" (pronounced "Gretch-Hen").
I named them more or less randomly. The chick that was easiest to tell from the others at first glance became "Repecka" because that name was first on the list. Of the remaining two, the larger one became "Gretchen" because I live in Michigan. (Look up "Big Gretch" if you don't see the connection.) That left Penelopeep, who was the smallest one of the bunch.
So far, Repecka is my adventurer. She has successfully jumped out of the brooder twice, which earned her a middle name so I could admonish her in proper mama fashion. ("Repecka Hendolyn!") She has also pecked me twice as much as the other two combined. Granted, they're mostly exploratory pecks. But still.
Gretchen is my most standoffish chick. She'll tolerate being picked up, but she warmed to it last; I only got her to snooze in my hand as of this morning. She's solid and sensible.
Penelopeep is the only one of the three so far with the classic Wyandotte habit of talking to herself. Which she does. Constantly. It is adorable.
The jury seems out, actually, on whether chicks imprint the way ducks do. If they do, it's only in the first 48 hours of life.
Thus, I cannot be certain whether mine are imprinted or just fond of the nice large warm animal that shows them where to find food and water and gives them a warm lap to sleep in (the first and only one they have ever encountered). Signs that tend to support a belief they've imprinted, however, include:
The "gotta sit by mama" thing is so pronounced. I put some garden dirt/gravel in a box top and put it in a corner of the brooder. I even sprinkled food in it so they'd scratch. They wanted nothing to do with it. I moved the box top to the door of the brooder and they were all over it - mostly in the end of the box top that was right next to me.
(I am using a large dog crate as a brooder, so it has a side-opening door; it's on a table so I don't have to loom over them like a freaky predator. I have a chair to sit in so I can hang with the chicks, but I am limited to the brooder doorway.)
Or movies, anyway. I watched one last night with them in a towel on my lap.
Like human babies, they get restless; we had to take breaks every half hour so they could eat and drink. But they figured out pretty fast they could sit on my lap and watch the movie, which they did, in between naps.
Meanwhile, the cat is losing her mind. I am ignoring her for a room full of the freshest chicken nuggets she has ever smelled.
The chicks have given her a case of Being a Giant Jealous Baby. She shredded some work I had lying on the coffee table just to make a point, and ever since I got up she's been aggressively In My Lap. She'll probably adjust just in time for the chicks to move to their coop. Cat torment.
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