Got a message and calls from Hank last night that I needed to call Taylor at the house. Taylor, our dear friend, was housesitting so of course Mr. Moon and I were worried, sitting at the Grill, sipping our Meyer's and Coke, waiting for our oysters baked with pico de gallo.
I called the house and Taylor answered and she was giddy. Miss Baby, whom I had not seen for a week, at least, indeed had been sitting on eggs and indeed, had obviously had some sex with a rooster because there were suddenly two puffs of baby chicks AND Miss Baby (although I think we shall call her Mrs. Baby now) and well, howdy! new ones!
They were all in the pump house the whole time, Baby and the eggs and so there was nothing for Taylor to do but be happy and she was. When she got up this morning, though, only one of the chicks was to be found. Damn. The heartbreak. Something obviously snatched it in the night.
But as soon as we pulled up this afternoon we discovered where the eggs were and darn if another one wasn't in the process of hatching and as it stands right this second, Baby is with her one child and ignoring the plaintive peeps of the second and our plan, our HUMAN PLAN is to move them all, including the unhatched eggs and newest chick into the coop where there is already a chick shelter and hopefully, at least one may survive.
But as soon as we started to put the plan into place, the sky ripped open and rain began to pour and Baby huddled back into the pump house with chick One and as soon as it stops raining, we shall somehow catch Baby who is going to fight like the feral banty she is and take her and the children and the eggs over to the coop and hope for the very best. Everything in this world loves to eat a baby chicken and that's just the truth. The dangers are myriad and lethal. And last year, when we lost so many, we learned a few lessons. One of them is not to get too attached, the other is to keep the chicks where they are protected from larger animals and hawks and owls, at least.