When I “cycle birds out”, I simply list them for free or close to free on Craigslist. I make sure the person getting them knows they’re older and slowing down when it comes to laying. So far no one has cared and for all I know they’re butchering them.
These old girls are my first batch and I think I'm sentimental over the whole thing. I want them to go to someone who is ready to care for them properly. Even people around here who keep animals don't do it right and will periodically lose all their birds. I'd almost rather sell off all the new hatches then send the old girls to a bad home.
It's hatch day! Two mom's, one nest. I definitely saw one baby alive but they are locked down now and I can't see anything.
So the downside to two moms sitting is that they have a tendency to trample the babies. 2 were lost that way (shitty way to go, but I think they were both male). Another was lost because it wandered away and got cold, one egg was rotten, and one somehow wasn't fertilized. I have a theory about that one. Anyhow, there are 5 babies and now just 1 mom. The one brooding over the babies is the official momma duck now.
Several nights ago after doing a head count, I noticed one of my young pullets was missing. I figured a hawk or fox got her, something I consider the cost of doing business in the country. Despite all your best efforts, you're going to lose one or two along the way. Then last night I was closing them in, did a head count, and counted eight. Wait, what? I counted again. And again. Still got eight. When I let them out this morning I stood by and counted as they came out. Same number. That little bitch was gone for days. She must have felt like roosting outside for a while.
I was excited to have a family of crows nearby. They chase off hawks. Crows fascinate me. I want to feed them and be friends. Anyway. That fantasy was destroyed when I figured out that they were stealing any eggs plopped in the run. Lately with the coop closed off for the babies, it's been more than I'd like.
The babies are 3 weeks old and starting to blow out their fuzz in favor of feathers. Their sizes were so similar at first, but there is clearly a runt. I wonder if it is the baby of the tiny black duck (who I was hoping to breed to keep my ducks extra small).
That's soooooooo cool. We've wanted peacocks for the house, but this past year, the village board banned roosters, peacocks, and guinea hens within the area we reside in. We can thankfully keep our hens, but I really want a few peacocks.
True story, I was at a guy's place buying a couple peahens from him. He lived a good ways off the road and had an amazing set up of aviaries and exotic birds. He was telling us about the time he was out shooting his pistol, which got the peacocks riled up and doing their call. A short time later, several police cars came roaring down his private road and driveway. They'd gotten a report of gunshots and a woman screaming. He got a good laugh out of it, as did the police I guess.
I noticed one of our two roosters was MIA, so after a little investigating found a clump of feathers in the underbrush in their pen. I found what was left of him ( which wasn’t much ) a short distance away. I leave the brush in there pretty heavy because it gives them a place to take shelter from hawks, which frequently try to, but rarely succeed in getting a chicken dinner. The down side is every now and then a ground predator can get in and sneak ip in the birds. Not often, but like this instance, it happens. My remedy was to better clear the weeds and such from the fence and give the chickens a better line of sight to detect danger. Overall, it’s the price we pay living so close to the woods. Besides, this rooster was three years old and on his way down the road anyhow. I suspect he died doing his job, protecting the hens.
While I was in the garden I heard a car slowing down. Thinking someone was here I turned and at the same time heard the slap of feet on the pavement. This little shit had gotten out of their pen, saw me, and came running across the road thinking I had some cracked corn for her. She followed me back across the road, into the pen, where she got her corn.