Douceur de vivre

This is Fanny:




This is her breast:




She's our newest addition, a Silver Laced Wyandotte. Fanny is named after a character in Jane Austen's Mansfield Park, a young lady adopted out of a family of many many siblings and much chaos, only to find herself with rather snooty, well-to-do relatives. This fits loosely into the sort of narrative I've been creating about my snooty French chickens, although of course Austen's book was English to its core.

Just how well Fanny will be like her meek and retiring namesake I hardly dare guess... very little like, I suspect. She seems to be something of a spitfire. Smaller than the others, she is nonetheless afraid of nothing. Lifted by The Hand from a group of 29 wild siblings, transported, and plopped down into a brooder with now only two, very tame others--Jean-Jacques and Marguerite--I imagine she is feeling quite emboldened. Marguerite may be planning her escape.




The other five boys I took to their new home in Ohio--the same place I got Fanny from. Without them the brooder seems quite empty, although I still have Jean-Jacques to comfort me. He seems to enjoy his new position as sole cock of the walk.




Spider is enjoying life as much as ever.





... and frankly, the birds don't seem to mind. It is Mansfield Park, after all... or some chicken-y version of it.

Vive La Revolucion

One of the most interesting things about chickens is the pecking order, the social hierarchy of the group. It's a fairly nuanced thing--certainly as nuanced as any group of cliques in a middle or high school of your choice.

Thus far, there hadn't really been anything that interesting going on in the hierarchy. Yves was the top cock, so far as I could tell, but there wasn't really any fighting going on as there wasn't much to fight about. Their hormones shouldn't be kicking in for several more weeks; there are no preferred "higher" roosts than others, and they all have plenty of space to eat and drink at the same time.

I believe I touched off a firestorm, however.

Flashback: For a week or so, I'd been giving them oats as a treat, which they quite enjoyed. They'd gather around and eat out of my hand. My favorites would climb up and down my arm... they'd make half-contented, half-excited little peeping noises. Just darling.

I'd tried a few different things that they were meant to like, but the oats were most successful. The earthworm I brought seemed to disturb them more than anything else. They refused to touch it.

However, I'd read that they often enjoyed mealworms, so when I was in town recently, I purchased some. Perhaps it was a fatal error... the end of the monarchy.

When I lowered my hand into the brooder, they squealed and trilled like schoolgirls. It was instantaneous. they could not contain their urgency. They dove for my hand like vipers, and when they'd plucked a tasty morsel between dainty chicken lips, they ran around in tiny circles looking for a private place to eat it--a place where no other bird could snatch it away.

Indeed, the frenzy was so great that the other birds were just as likely to grab the first mealworm they saw rather than come all the way back to The Hand for one that had not been claimed, yet. And with jealous eyes they would guard their precious, squirming morsel as it bound them into the darkness.

The mealworms were gone in a matter of minutes. I had purchased 50 of them, so they got (ideally) 7 or so each. For some time after, they were a society bereft, and the best forager, which turned out to be the bright-eyed Marguerite, managed to find one that had been dropped into the litter in the chaos.

Then, silence descended again, and that feeling that overtakes one post-elation. After an hour or two they seemed to settle into their usual routine.

However, there has been a great revolution being fought today, and I can't help but wonder if it has some connection to yesterday's incident.

Yves is being challenged as top cock by another male whom I had not as yet named, but whom I now call Napoleon. On his right wing is a feather askew, which reminds me for some reason of that little lock of hair on the Emperor's forehead, as portrayed in so many portraits. Or perhaps it reminds me of his hand tucked into his jacket.

At any rate, there is no real fighting still... only the bouncing of chests together, but little Napoleon seems very determined. Determined to do what, one wonders?



Did Yves get more than his share of mealworms? Is Napoleon trying to make a

Declaration of the Rights of Chicken and of the Citizen

Approved by the National Assembly of France, 26 August 1789 (Altered)

The representatives of the French chickens, organised as a National Assembly, believing that the ignorance, neglect or contempt of the rights of chickens are the sole cause of public calamities and of the corruption of governments, have determined to set forth in a solemn declaration the natural, unalienable and sacred rights of chickens, in order that this declaration, being constantly before all the members of the social body, shall remind them continually of their rights and duties; in order that the acts of the legislative power, as well as those of the executive power, may be compared at any moment with the objects and purposes of all political institutions and may thus be more respected; and, lastly, in order that the grievances of the citizens, based hereafter upon simple and incontestable principles, shall tend to the maintenance of the constitution and redound to the happiness of all. Therefore the National Assembly recognises and proclaims, in the presence and under the auspices of Llysse, the following rights of chickens and of the citizen:

Articles:

1 Chickens are born and remain free and equal in rights. Social distinctions may be founded only upon the general good.

2 The aim of the pecking order is the preservation of the natural and imprescriptible rights of chickens. These rights are liberty, food, security and resistance to oppression.

3 The principle of all sovereignty resides essentially in the flock. No body nor individual may exercise any authority which does not proceed directly from the flock.

4 Liberty consists in the freedom to do everything which injures no one else; hence the exercise of the natural rights of each chicken has no limits except those which assure to the other members of the society the enjoyment of the same rights. These limits can only be determined by Llysse.

5 Llysse can only prohibit such actions as are hurtful to the flock. Nothing may be prevented which is not forbidden by Llysse, and no one may be forced to do anything not provided for by Llysse.

6 Llysse protects the expression of the general will or instinct. Every chicken has a right to associate personally with her. She must be the same for all, whether it protects or punishes. All citizens, being equal in the eyes of Llysse, are equally eligible to all dignities and to all public positions and occupations, according to their abilities, and without distinction except that of their virtues and talents.

7 No chicken shall be abused, manhandled or killed except in the cases and according to the forms prescribed by Llysse. Anyone soliciting, transmitting, executing, or causing to be executed, any arbitrary order, shall be punished. But any chicken shall submit without delay to Llysse, as resistance constitutes an offense.

8 Llysse shall provide for medicine only as is strictly and obviously necessary, and no one shall suffer to take it except it be inflicted in virtue of the alternative of death or long suffering.

9 As all chickens are held innocent until they shall have been declared guilty, if death shall be deemed indispensable, all harshness not essential shall be severely repressed.

10 No one shall be disquieted on account of his opinions, including his religious views, provided their manifestation does not disturb the established pecking order.

11 The free communication of ideas and opinions is one of the most precious of the rights of chickens. Every citizen may, accordingly, speak, write and print with freedom, but shall be responsible for such abuses of this freedom as shall be defined by Llysse.

12 The security of the rights of chickens and of the citizen requires a secure coop and run. This is, therefore, established for the good of all and not for the purposes of restricting movement.

13 Society has the right to require of every reigning cock an account of his administration.

16 A society in which the observance of the law is not assured, nor the separation of powers defined, has no constitution at all.

17 Since food is an inviolable and sacred right, no one shall be deprived thereof except where public necessity, legally determined, shall clearly demand it, and then only on condition that the owner shall have been previously and equitably indemnified.

Show me your Cock and Pullet

With Adelle gone, and six roosters left in my brooder, it wouldn't take a rocket scientist--or even a chicken farmer--to know I must take action if I mean to have any eggs by the end of the summer.

I've ordered a new batch of eggs, that will be shipped Monday, but of course it will be some time before they've hatched. In the meantime, the friend who will be taking my extra cockerels will be giving me one of his Silver Laced Wyandotte chicks.

I was also able to find a little gem of a place in Elizabeth, WV, called MX Farms. They do ship, but because the place is so close, I just drove down. Their website is small, just one page--not much of a presence. I more or less found them via a fluke, just surfing.

However, the farm is nicely set up, and the man is obviously very proud of his birds. He not only has Cuckoo Marans, but also Black Marans and Birchen Marans, as well as some rarer colors like Salmon (which are not yet for sale) but which he's working on producing in numbers. The eggs are dark and beautiful, and his birds are laid back and friendly.

Marans are another French breed known for the color of their dark brown eggs, eggs the color of chocolate. The Cuckoo variety, which is the variety most often available here in the US, is striped with black and white.

What a nice experience, and what a pretty little bird I got. She flapped her wings a little when I picked her up, but settled right down, and snuggled with me nearly the whole way home. She seemed antsy towards the end of the journey, so I put her in the box we'd brought, where she promptly pooped and settled. I was surprised she didn't peep or squawk or cry. Perhaps she was too scared. She did pant a little.



There was no trauma in the introduction to my boys. They looked at each other rather interestedly, and then I distracted them with food--my Favs like to eat out of my hand. Then they were fine. She explored the brooder and took a nap. Now she's just as active as the boys, and was sleeping beside them when tired, drinking, eating, playing... seems to be one of the bunch. She eats out of my hand, too. I have been told that Faverolles are particularly easy to introduce new birds to, but you never know what to believe. I'm sure it would have been different if she was a cockerel, though. I think Marans can vary widely as to temperament, but the breeder I bought from breeds for temperament, and it shows.



My new baby is very pretty--I've named her Marguerite. All black and white and barred, she'll be like the pretty little upstairs maid, as compared to the poufed and powdered and bewigged Faverolles nobility. Although, truth be told, it's not as if we spent a lot of time picking out and chasing down just the right chick. The first pullet we pulled from the brooder was the right age, seemed sweet, and I was happy to take her.

A Death in the Family

Alas. Poor little Adelle, our only pullet, has died. She stopped thriving some days ago, and never manifested any particular symptoms other than a tendency to be less active than the others. She continued to eat, drink and eliminate.

Thursday, however, she ate and drank a lot less than her usual and was particularly poorly, and I knew she was going to die. I held her, and she died in my hands. I don't believe I've ever seen life leave the eyes before, but I could mark the moment when the glitter left, and a film seemed to draw over them.

One pictures, I think, little shiny black eyes upon a field of downy pale; however the eyes of the Faverolles are a clear, bright bay with a great deal of depth. Because I had hatched her, I was her mother. She had imprinted on me, and her eyes were trained on mine to the last moments. It is foolish to think such creatures don't take comfort where they can.

Her gaze was focused and deep, and then it was dispersed and flat. It happened in a moment and she was gone.

We buried her Sunday evening beneath the apple boughs.

Musings on the babies

Eating, sleeping... eating again. More sleeping. Seems like a pretty good life.

The pecking order fascinates me, reminds me of high school. Some breeds are vicious, but the Faverolles are rather laid back, and their dominance is expressed rather in simply walking over one another for the dominant, or around for the submissive. Other breeds like Leghorns and some game birds tend to peck each other's little toes and eyes. Even Faverolles would, I suppose, were they too overcrowded.

Out of the seven baby Faverolles chicks I hatched, it turns out that six of them are actually roosters. Yes, you read that right. What typical luck. However, that means I'll simply have to order more eggs to hatch, so perhaps the news is not all so bad.

Because the Faverolles are a French breed, I'm giving them all French names. I'm still in the process of naming them all... I like to name them based on their personalities, and on what seems to fit.

Thus far we have Adelle, Jean-Jacques, Marcel and Yves.

Adelle is apparently our only pullet; she's a real beauty, and her name means noble birth. Her feathers are especially long, and I notice that she tends to hover near anyone who complains with peeps, trying to comfort him.



Marcel is the runt and had a rough time of it at first, but he's a fighter. His name is in reference to the god of war. However, Marcel is a real snuggle bunny now, probably because of all the extra attention he received early on. Smaller than the other cocks, he also seems to be pretty fearless and self-reliant... a little Napoleon.

Jean-Jacques is a romantic. Whether I intend to pick him up or not, if my hand goes into the brooder and Jean-Jacques is ready for some attention he jumps into my hand and waits to be lifted to my shoulder, where he can cuddle in my hair and philosophize about all the goings on in the brooder below from a height and a distance. He is also the first (and as yet only) little bird to use the training roost. If I don't pick him up fast enough, he tries to climb my arm, sometimes pecking at my freckles along the way. Once on my shoulder he settles nicely for a half hour or more while I read or even stroke or hold the other chicks.



Yves is the most handsome and masculine of the bunch. His down is exquisitely shiny, and he spends an inordinate amount of time preening. He walks as tall as he is able, with his head held high--a fashion plate. He has also been the first to attempt crowing, stretching his neck to its fullest extent, flapping his little wings, and singing "Yap!" He'll get better at it.



Just a few moments ago I there was quite a din coming from the brooder, and I rushed in, afraid that somehow, something had overturned or someone was hurt... perhaps someone had jumped out and was cold. But no. It was Yves.

He had apparently settled in some fresh poo, which attached itself to his gleamingly clean down. When he discovered this, he screeched as if the all the powers of darkness had overcome him, frantically trying to pluck the offending mass off and restore his dignity. The rest of the bunch panicked at his wailing and thus the ruckus. Poor Yves, such a dandy.

Welcome to Your Wire Mother

WTF???



I suppose the world is pretty damn confusing when it was once egg-shaped and rather smaller and smoother than it turns out to be. Having watched our six babies hatch, I can say without much fear of contradiction, that they hatch with a surprised expression that clearly says "WTF??!!!"

Thrashing around on a wire floor is really not as it was meant to be. They're supposed to hatch into a warm nest under a snuggly mother whose feathers will wick away the moisture of birth.

In an incubator that can't happen, however. As soon as they're dry enough not to be chilled, I whisk them into the pre-warmed brooder so they can finish drying in more relative comfort.



I think it might be nice to crochet them a little chicken mother to snuggle with, although I must say they seem to be imprinting on me nicely, and even Alan is charmed. A couple of them (when they're not sleeping) rush to jump into my hand when I reach into the brooder, and none seems particularly disturbed.



They sleep in fuzzy lumps, like fields of new dandelions, and seem to wake and rise as one to eat, drink and play.



There is one chick--the first who hatched, who is somewhat larger that the others, and he or she is somewhat more aloof. Perhaps I should say that this one is the explorer of the bunch, and the others seem to follow this one's lead.



There are two eggs left in the incubator... perhaps I still have two more chicks to come...?