Mother hen

Well, of the two broody hens who hatched out eggs, resulting in an unusual co-parenting arrangement with the resulting 13 chicks, one hen has flown the coop and abandoned all pretense of being a mother. This would be the Jersey Giant hen, who now blends in so well with the rest of the flock that I can't find her to chastise her.

Not that it matters to the chicks. They have happily grouped around the Buff Orpington hen, who continues to act motherly but now has an enormous brood to care for.

But she's done a good job. She hasn't lost a single chick. It's always funny to watch the whole brood try to cram under her feathers.

Like a good mother, she calls them over whenever it's lunch time.

The babies are approaching what we call the "velociraptor" stage, gangling awkward creatures who run with their necks stretched straight out, flapping as they go.

Yep, makes for a happy barnyard.

Co-mother hens

If you remember, about three weeks ago we had a Jersey Giant hen who stole a nest and hatched out eight chicks.

We also had a Buff hen setting on eggs as well.

Well, the Buff hatched out five chicks, so combined we have 13 peeping babies.

The funny thing is this: For the first 10 days or so, I kept both hens and all the chicks in an inner pen in the coop, for protection. After that we opened the pen door and let everybody venture out. But by that time, the chicks were making absolutely no distinction between hens regarding who their mama is. Essentially we have co-mother hens.

Sometimes I see the Jersey Giant hen with some of the chicks:

Other times the Buff seems to collect more:

At night the chicks will tuck themselves under whatever hen has room.

This unusual co-parenting arrangement seems to be working just fine for the chicks. There's always someone to hang with and show them the ropes of searching for food.

Oddly enough, the Buff mother is dominant over the Jersey Giant mother and likes the chicks to be with her. Notice who has all the babies?

And notice who's standing off by herself, watching her family gather around the other mother?

Still, I don't feel too sorry for the Jersey Giant mama. She gets her share. Besides, it's the chicks themselves who make the decision which hen to go to.

It's amazing how much a batch of chicks -- hatched by a hen rather than an incubator -- makes a barnyard seem more alive and "proper."

So the babies are thriving as they flow between one mother or the other, and we have two very happy hens co-parenting the chicks. Whatever works, I guess.

The little thief

In a seldom-used side yard, we have a tangle of weeds.

A couple weeks ago I happened to notice a clutch of eggs among the vegetation -- the latest "hot spot" for hens to lay. I gathered up the eggs and tested them for freshness, and thereafter kept an eye on the weed patch in case more eggs appeared.

A few days ago I happened to hear a characteristic noise as I was near the weed patch -- the "braaaaack" of a hen who is setting on eggs. I parted the vegetation and spotted a hen so thoroughly bedded down amidst the weeds as to be totally invisible. I went into the house and told Don, "I think we have a hen setting in the weed patch." Beyond that, we didn't give it much thought.

Yesterday I took it into my head to lift the hen off her nest and count how many eggs she was setting on. I waded to where she had her nest, but the spot was deserted. Instead the hen was a couple feet away, invisible in the weeds, clucking and making a fuss. Three eggs were visible in the old nest amidst a mess of smashed eggshells. "Oh well, something ate the eggs," I concluded, and turned to leave.

But the hen's agitated clucks were interspersed with -- peeps. Lots of peeps. I chuckled and went to get Don. "The little thief stole a nest," I told him. "Can you help me gather up the chicks?"

We found an empty bucket and carefully -- lest we step on any stray babies -- waded into the weed patch. Don put on gloves and pulled out some of the more obstructive plants while I picked up the squawking and protesting hen and put her in the coop. By the time I returned, Don had seven chicks in the bucket, and I found one more.

We tucked the new family into an inner cage in the chicken coop, where one of our Buff Orpintons is also setting on a mess of eggs. (We tucked the three unhatched eggs from the outdoor nest under the Buff, just in case, though they're probably duds.) Here's the Buff:

It's kind of dark in the coop so these photos didn't turn out terribly well, even with a flash. Here the mother hen is settling into a corner and gathering her chicks under her feathers.

Here the mother hen and her chicks are right by the edge of the cage, while two other hens stare through the mesh at the chicks. "Hey, I want some of those too!"

Aww, there aren't many things cuter than baby chicks.

A funny little incident: one of the newborn chick wandered too close to the Buff hen, who promptly started pecking the chick. I opened the cage door, ready to rescue the chick, but by the time I got inside it had -- disappeared. I lifted the squawking Buff off her eggs and, sure enough, found the chick under her feathers. They may protest, but setting hens adopt strange chicks at the drop of a hat -- in this case, in about five seconds. Still, I put the chick back with its mother.

Eight chicks. And another setting hen as well. Gonna be a crowded coop this winter.

Baby birds

Boy am I blowing it.

You might remember a few weeks ago we found a killdeer nest at the side of the garden.

I was careful to avoid the nest, and one day everything was -- poof -- gone. No eggshells, nothing. By this I'm assuming the babies hatched and took off when I wasn't around, and the family lived happily ever after.

But recently another killdeer has taken up nesting space smack in the middle of the garden. I'm in the garden several hours a day now, and apparently causing distress to the poor mother.

But though I knew a nest must be somewhere, it was devilishly hard to find. Those eggs are amazingly cryptic.

Here's the mother launching into the classic "broken wing" display in an effort to draw me away from her eggs.

But where were those eggs?

Finally I stood back at a distance and zoomed in the camera, scanning until I found the mother. There she was, setting on her eggs. Uh-oh. Notice where she is? Right next to hoses and a wheelbarrow. That's what I was afraid of.

Closer investigation revealed two eggs. Not four, two.

This means I had carelessly dragged the hoses across the nest and smashed two of her eggs. I felt terrible.

Can you see the eggs amidst the tangle of hoses? Well guess what, neither did I.

Here they are.

I removed the hoses and wheelbarrow and laid a stick nearby the nest so I could see it more easily from a distance, and since then I've been tiptoeing around the mother bird. However I still need to do lots of work in the garden, notably watering (we're just on the tail-end of a hot spell). To her credit, the mother seems to think I mean her no harm, and will settle herself on her eggs when I'm just a few feet away.

And yesterday I saw -- three eggs.

Then this morning, there were four.

I don't know how the extra eggs will do, since they're developmentally behind the other two eggs. But I figure the mama knows what she's doing. Now it's my job to keep the bleepin' hoses away from her nest.

Now you might be wondering how our baby robins are faring. If you recall, we have a nest under the awning in the barn, and I've been checking on the baby birds every few days, watching them grow.

We have magpies around here, and magpies are known to eat baby birds, so I was feeling protective about this brood. Several times I've heard the "chuck" alarm calls of robins, and went outside to see robins and other birds mobbing a magpie and chasing it away. So far my pair of robins haven't lost any babies.

May 23:

May 27:

As usual I climbed the ladder to get a view from above (May 27):

May 28:

Then I made a grave error in judgment. I went to check the babies yesterday, May 30. All four chicks were still in the nest:

But when I climbed the ladder to photograph the babies from above, as I'd done several times, the babies exploded out of the nest, to the distress of the parents who were just swooping in with worms in their beaks.

The babies were fairly strong, if inaccurate, fliers, and they fluttered all over the barn with the parents squawking around in concern (and probably cussing me out as well).

Fledgling robins still need to be fed by their parents, and while the offspring would have been out of the nest shortly anyway, I feel terrible that I prematurely scattered the brood simply for a photograph. (I'll offer this platform to publicly apologize to the parent robins.) The babies left the barn shortly thereafter, so I sincerely hope the parents can keep up with their half-grown babies and keep them all alive.

And do you remember we have a hen setting? Well, the eggs are in the first stages of hatching even as we speak (Wed. morning, May 31). Unfortunately the mama hen is off to a bad start, as I found a fully-hatched baby chick dead beside her.

The baby still had bits of eggshell adhering to it, but it was quite cold when I found it, so it probably didn't survive the hatching. Sadly, that's not uncommon.

I removed the dead baby and put an old firescreen around the mama to keep her protected during the vulnerable hatching.

So as you can see, it's been a mixed bag of bad and good news as far as baby birds is concerned. Life is never dull.

And I promise never again to try to get too close to a robin's nest when the babies are fledglings.