I was all worried about Barnie because he’s wobbly on his feet, and keeps getting bowled over by the older, more rambunctious chicks. He’s still a little wobbly, but getting better. Steve keeps telling me he’s a newborn and I shouldn’t worry. So keep your fingers crossed that he’ll make it.
He’s passed out cold here:
And here they all are. They grow hourly:
It’s looking like my hatch was a bust, and I’m only going to get the one chick. There ARE three eggs in there that look like they still might be a go, and low temps COULD cause a late hatch–but when all is said and done, I still think my little chick is it.
She was crying so plaintively in the incubator all night that I found someone on Craig’s List selling blue birchen marans chicks (seriously, can I just ever get a NON rare breed?) and e-mailed her to ask if I could pick them up in the morning. So this morning, I settled Barnie in the brooder, gave her a tiny stuffed animal toy of Harry’s, and drove down to Enumclaw.
I don’t know WHY so many Seattlites are so dismissive of Enumclaw. Granted, it’s an ugly sounding name, but there are some of the most beautiful farms I’ve ever seen in my life down there. This place was no exception. The woman was lovely too. In addition to the four blue birchens I bought, she also gave me four silver laced wyandotte bantam / splash maran mixes. And she gave me a tour, showed me the parents (like I’d really know the difference, or even what to look for), and advised me that the wafer of the hovabator is most likely what caused my poor hatch rate.
So I came back, and put everyone in the brooder. Here’s Barnie, in the middle, still a little damp and sticky from the incubator:
Harry was pretty curious (which led to hoisting the incubator up on an end table):
And now Harry and Oliver (who was spending the weekend) are addicted to watching Chicken TV:
The rest of the day was spent building the coop. Pix of that to come …
Seriously, watching him get out of the shell was the most painful thing ever. People describe them as chirping, but it was more like crying. Oh well, he’s out. It was hard not just helping him along. I’m posting a picture, but am warning you that he’s not all that cute yet because his feathers are plastered to his little slimy body. But hey, people post pictures like these of their kids all the time. So with no further ado:
One pipped!
(Just in case you didn’t get the message.)
SO. For those of you who are NOT chicken experts, here’s the process, which I have learned from endless research over the past three weeks:
The chick pips, which means it breaks through the shell with its beak.
Then it zips, which means it opens the rest of the shell so that it can shuck it off.
Then it struggles mightily to be free of the shell.
The whole process can take hours because it’s exhausting. As one can imagine.
I know I shouldn’t have, but I was feeling so disconsolate at the thought of no baby chicks, so I opened the hovabator, gently picked one egg up and chirped at it.
It chirped back.
And made little scrabbling sounds.
So quick quick, I put it back where it was, closed the lid and ran to do this update. Now, back to press my ear against the vent hole. What me? Obsessed?
I think they’re dead.
It’s the end of day 21, and there’s nothing. Not a peep, not a pip, no shaking, no rocking. NOTHING. I am hoping that my temps were just a tad low–I’ve noticed that the temp is uneven throughout the incubator–and that they’ll hatch soon. But I have bad, bad feelings that they’ve all died….
