It's so classic, in fact, that it has it's own cliche.
I counted my chickens before they hatched.
Three broodie hens times let's say 10 babies each...
The broodies were sitting and we were hatching plans about how to house 30 babies.
The hatching started- three chicks- then more than a dozen were in the process of hatching!
"Isn't it particularly satisfying to have babies on R Farm again?"
The next morning we started to find the dead chicks.
Dead in the shell. Dead on the floor of the coop.
When I saw broodies pecking other hens' babies, we kicked them out of the coop. Picking up dead and dying chicks, I was so furious, I told Tim to get me an axe because no baby killers were going to live on my farm. He said, "There's been enough death." And I let them live but secretly hoped they'd get eaten by the raccoon. Grrr.
We borrowed a neighbor's incubator and put 15 eggs in there, hoping. One which was in the process of hatching we returned to the broodie and later found that chick dead in its shell.
A day later of the 15 who hatched 4 were alive, including Lazarus, the chick we thought was dead but had only been sleeping.
Lazarus was never well and he hung on for three more days. I felt I should put him out of his misery but I was hoping for a miracle. Maybe he'd defy the odds and make it. He struggled so much that I couldn't bear to watch or take photos. And then, one morning, he didn't come for breakfast.
New life.
Violent and meaningless death.
Tough couple weeks on the farm.
Since summer and the heat of passion, we've reflected on this experience and intend to separately fence broodies this year.
Only two chicks made it to the end of summer. The rooster we gave away and the other we kept. We are not sure whether it blended in with the other white hens we got this fall or whether it fell to a predator. Their mother was excellent and one we hope will brood again this spring.
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