Spring is (finally) here.

The Red Buckeye is in bud.

Red Buckeye

Scilla are in bloom in the front woodland.

The reason that there aren’t more of these flowers is obvious.

The first asparagus spear of the season has emerged.

Yesterday I planted the cool season vegetables: lettuce, kale, peas, and carrots. I’m going to buy a packet of radish seeds today.

Chicks are feathering out in the brooder.

Blue Andalusian Chick

The egg basket is full.

Although it’s missing a few eggs. TWO Buff Orpingtons are broody.

(Topaz and Beryl are for sale. $15 for the two. If you have chicks arriving, they’ll take care of them!)

I’ve been asked, “how much do you handle the chicks?” Understandably, when the fluffy adorable little balls arrive, the first thought is, cuddle. I don’t. I handle the chicks only enough to care for them. I don’t enclose them in my hands. I don’t reach down into the pile of chicks and scoop one up. I don’t do this because it scares them. Pick up a chick and you will feel the heart beating fast from fear. Yes, the chicks will eventually get used to the grabbing and holding. But, getting there puts them through a lot of stress. You do not have to handle your chicks in order to have friendly hens when they are full-grown. Soon after the Gems arrived, the older hens, in the little barn, came down with a severe respiratory disease. To keep the chicks safe I practiced biosecurity. I wore a different overshirt in their barn, and changed my shoes between flocks. I didn’t handle the chicks. And yet, today they mill about underfoot, run up to me with speed when I call, and I can take them to schools and nursing homes, with the surety that each one will sit calmly and sweetly on my lap while unfamiliar hands pet them.

In contrast to the good behavior of the Gems was what happened to a group of chicks raised on a farm and used in an educational program. They were handled daily by children. At the end of the season the farmer gave the pullets to myself and a few other backyard chicken keepers that he knew. Instead of being acclimatized to people, they wanted nothing to do with us. Every one of those chickens had behavior problems. Now, it’s likely that if you have a few chicks and are handling them gently (it’s unlikely that every one of those children at the farm did) that your chicks won’t have issues. Still, I don’t pick up my chicks just for fun.

My goal with chicks, with all animals, really, is for them to come to me. To do this, I pay attention to the animals’ reactions and needs. The first thing that I noticed was that the chicks all scurried into corners when I opened the barn door. Of course a door swinging open towards them, and sudden bright light and a big human looming over them, was terrifying. Now, as I approach the coop, I call out, Hello Chickees! Then I open the door. The chicks, instead of turning tail, look up, and if it’s nap time, don’t even bother getting up. I’ve tried opening the door without announcing my presence, thinking that perhaps they’re simply used to it by now, but without my hello, they scramble in fear.

Once inside the coop, I do not scoop down and pick up a chick. If I did, this would happen, a mass of worried chicks.

When you have 26 chicks in a brooder, the chicks move in waves of motion and sleeping. They are a flock that reacts as a whole. Remove one, and all panic.

But, this doesn’t mean that I ignore the chicks or cautiously avoid them. I have a stool in the Little Barn, next to the brooder. I sit. I talk quietly to the chicks. In this photo you can see how comfortable the chicks are with me in their presence. They’re going about their business. They’re not huddled into a terrified mass.

I’m eyed with calm, friendly curiosity.

Once the chicks are moved into the coop, there will be room for me to sit amongst them. I have no doubt that some will want to sit in my lap.

I’m not saying here that you shouldn’t handle your chicks. Your situation might be different than mine. If you have only three chicks in a small brooder, and you visit them all day long, then the dynamic is different. If you have a pen that you sit in with your chicks, that changes the interaction. Some chicks might like being picked up. If a chick stands still and lets you scoop her up, then all is fine. Chicks will let you know loud and clear when they are stressed. You might be happy holding the fluffy ones, but are they happy with you? All you have to do to know the answer is to not be blinded by their cuteness, but to pay attention. They’ll tell you the right thing to do.

UPDATE: I was totally wrong about this chick. Although the guide says that Cuckoo Marans have white bellies and a white spot on their heads, that description doesn’t apply to this belly and this head. Blue Andalusians can be a soft whitish grey (as are two of the three that I got), but they can also be slate grey, and as chicks have white bellies. This chick is a Blue Andalusian. The Cuckoo Marans, within the first two weeks, developed softly mottled brownish feathering, much like their adult plumage will be. I never did see the white bellies and heads.

When you get a box of 26 chicks, it’s hard to know who’s who. Newly hatched, many breeds look almost identical, and the colors of their downy coats bear no resemblance to what they’ll wear when mature. I have two Cuckoo Marans, which, two weeks ago were hard to distinguish from the Dominiques (both were dark with white spots on their heads.) However, lately, the white bellies of the Marans have become more distinctive.

It’s an awkward stage,

Blue Andalusian chick

but darned cute.

Most backyard chicken keepers get only a handful of chicks, which are doted over and minutely observed. One of the great worries of these new hen mamas and papas is pasty butt. This is the general term for a vent that has manure hardened over the vent, which can block more poo from coming out. It certainly looks uncomfortable.

Before I write these posts I do research. I like to know what people did in the past, before factory farming. I have numerous books written at the turn of the last century which are filled with advice for the small-scale poultry keeper. I looked through 24 books. Not a one mentioned pasty butt. Nor blocked vent. Is this a new disease? Or are we overly concerned about a bit of manure?

Gail Damerow, in her new book Hatching & Brooding Your Own Chicks, calls it pasting, and writes half a page about it. My advice is even more succinct. It’s easy to take care of. Simply pick up the chick and gently break up and remove the lump of manure. If it’s stuck on hard, soften with warm water. It will come right off. The above photo was taken the first week that my chicks arrived. I removed about six little poo balls. That was it. If pasty butt is rampant in your group of chicks, look at what you are feeding. Do they have grit available to help them digest their food? Are they drinking their fresh water? Are they bored and consuming bedding?

If what you see on your little chicks’ bottoms is bloody diarrhea, then it’s not pasty butt, it is coccidiosis, caused by a protozoa, and it’s lethal if not treated with medication. If what you see is thin, brown, runny and stinky, then it is vent gleet, caused by a yeast infection.

But, most likely, all that’s there is a bit of dried poo, something so normal and basic that not one of my vintage books mention it at all.

Remember these chicks?

On day 18 they have entered the mini-pterodactyl stage. Here is a pile-up of dinosaurs.

Each breed is maturing at a different rate. This is a Black Star. She is as curious and bold as she’ll be when full-grown.

Leghorns mature quickly. The white Leghorns are already growing combs. They’ll have bright red floppy ones when mature. I believe that this is a Brown Leghorn. She’s already lost most of her baby down.

i already have favorites. This Ameracauna has been calm, gentle and friendly from the first day. Such a sweet face!

I’m not naming the chicks yet, as most will not stay here. Five of the chicks are going to the nursing home, where they’re already talking with the residents about what the names will be. Perhaps they’ll use old-fashioned ones, the names of the residents’ mothers. I’ll be keeping only four (or five…) and the rest will be sold. When I settle on the chickens staying here, we’ll have the fun of thinking up names. Stay tuned!