My Little Escape Artist
It's chick hatching season here on the farm. And that means peachicks all over the house, smelling up the place and earning me disparaging comments from the grandparents whenever they come visit. We collect pea eggs and set them in a big GQF cabinet incubator rather than let the girls do it themselves. Normally we try to set batches of at least eight or ten eggs so lots of chicks hatch out together. But about a month ago, while I was still at school, my mom went out to feed the peafowl and found one of my blue hens apparently setting. But the next day when she went out the hen hopped off the nest and my mom snatched the two eggs and stuck them in the incubator. It was another day and a half until my father set a large batch of eggs.
Flash forward to a few days ago when one of the two eggs (the other was infertile) hatched out. We were hoping he'd only be a day or so ahead of his siblings and future playmates, but as he got all fluffy and dried off in the hatcher and ready to eat, none of the eggs started to pip. My father took him from the hatcher and put him in a small box on a desk under a lamp, hoping to move him to the bigger barrels we use as brooders as soon as a few more chicks hatched. I woke up that morning to my younger brother, who had a bunch of friends over, telling me how often they'd had to pick this guy off the floor and put him back in his box. I peeked in, and he flew up right before my eyes, perched for a moment on the edge of the box, and then hopped onto the desk.
I spent most of that day chasing this guy around the ground floor of my house. Every time I passed through my father's office he was out, running around. I'd pick him up and we'd take a walk together, and peek into the glass door of the incubator to see if any friends were hatching (they weren't). We'd sit on the couch and he'd clamber all over me, sit on my shoulder and then run behind my neck where it was hard to grab him. I'd finally put him down and be upstairs typing and listening to him cheep, and when I went downstairs he'd run up to greet me.
After putting him back in his box about ten times, I decided I needed to move him into something bigger if I wanted to accomplish anything with my day. But did we have a bigger box? Nope. So I figured he'd just have to go into the brooder alone. I spent half an hour wandering the farm looking for the barrel I knew I'd recently seen right by the house, only to finally remember that it had been appropriated for a nesting box in the new pens my father had just finished.
I had to settle with putting a piece of orange netting over the box. It was cut to fit our brooders, and was therefore much too large, but it was the best I could come up with. It wasn't good enough. It didn't lay flat, and the chick was able to fly out of the space between the top of the box and its new cover. He was also able to fly up against it and knock it right off. And he was just about able to fit through holes of the netting as well. Mind you, this chick was not even quite 36 hours old at this point!
I woke up the following morning to the chick running across my chest--my mother's idea. After saying good morning I deposited him back in his box and got ready to go to the store. Twenty minutes later I passed my brother by the top of the stairs. "Control that bird of yours," he said teasingly. "He was just running up the stairs."
"You're kidding. When? I just put him in his box 20 minutes ago."
"I'm not kidding! I took him back downstairs 5 minutes ago."
Giving him a noncommittal gesture of surprise I took two steps down the stairs and there was my little friend!
He also joined us for dinner that night. I was sitting in the kitchen, listening to him peeping in his box down the hall, when suddenly the noise is louder and he's running into the room.
That night my father ruined his fun. He put a flashlight over the netting so he couldn't knock it off. Boy did he look annoyed every time I passed, and he'd vainly fly straight up. Another day passed, six more chicks finally hatched, we scrounged up a barrel and they all moved to a larger and taller home, where this little guy has more space to run in circles and fly up without escaping. His escape days are over, but he still runs over to peck at my ring and perch on my hand whenever I walk by.
"You're in love," my mom said on day one when she saw me letting the chick run up my arms and perch on my neck. And she was right. Although the last thing I need is another India Blue related to both my blue males, it's going to be hard to sell this little guy if he keeps even a sliver of his spunky, sociable personality. I've never had a chick act like this before, and I've raised a lot of peachicks in the past four years!
And yesterday morning I woke up to my brother's parrot chirping like a peachick running down the hallway. I'm so going to hear about this!
Flash forward to a few days ago when one of the two eggs (the other was infertile) hatched out. We were hoping he'd only be a day or so ahead of his siblings and future playmates, but as he got all fluffy and dried off in the hatcher and ready to eat, none of the eggs started to pip. My father took him from the hatcher and put him in a small box on a desk under a lamp, hoping to move him to the bigger barrels we use as brooders as soon as a few more chicks hatched. I woke up that morning to my younger brother, who had a bunch of friends over, telling me how often they'd had to pick this guy off the floor and put him back in his box. I peeked in, and he flew up right before my eyes, perched for a moment on the edge of the box, and then hopped onto the desk.
I spent most of that day chasing this guy around the ground floor of my house. Every time I passed through my father's office he was out, running around. I'd pick him up and we'd take a walk together, and peek into the glass door of the incubator to see if any friends were hatching (they weren't). We'd sit on the couch and he'd clamber all over me, sit on my shoulder and then run behind my neck where it was hard to grab him. I'd finally put him down and be upstairs typing and listening to him cheep, and when I went downstairs he'd run up to greet me.
After putting him back in his box about ten times, I decided I needed to move him into something bigger if I wanted to accomplish anything with my day. But did we have a bigger box? Nope. So I figured he'd just have to go into the brooder alone. I spent half an hour wandering the farm looking for the barrel I knew I'd recently seen right by the house, only to finally remember that it had been appropriated for a nesting box in the new pens my father had just finished.
I had to settle with putting a piece of orange netting over the box. It was cut to fit our brooders, and was therefore much too large, but it was the best I could come up with. It wasn't good enough. It didn't lay flat, and the chick was able to fly out of the space between the top of the box and its new cover. He was also able to fly up against it and knock it right off. And he was just about able to fit through holes of the netting as well. Mind you, this chick was not even quite 36 hours old at this point!
I woke up the following morning to the chick running across my chest--my mother's idea. After saying good morning I deposited him back in his box and got ready to go to the store. Twenty minutes later I passed my brother by the top of the stairs. "Control that bird of yours," he said teasingly. "He was just running up the stairs."
"You're kidding. When? I just put him in his box 20 minutes ago."
"I'm not kidding! I took him back downstairs 5 minutes ago."
Giving him a noncommittal gesture of surprise I took two steps down the stairs and there was my little friend!
He also joined us for dinner that night. I was sitting in the kitchen, listening to him peeping in his box down the hall, when suddenly the noise is louder and he's running into the room.
That night my father ruined his fun. He put a flashlight over the netting so he couldn't knock it off. Boy did he look annoyed every time I passed, and he'd vainly fly straight up. Another day passed, six more chicks finally hatched, we scrounged up a barrel and they all moved to a larger and taller home, where this little guy has more space to run in circles and fly up without escaping. His escape days are over, but he still runs over to peck at my ring and perch on my hand whenever I walk by.
"You're in love," my mom said on day one when she saw me letting the chick run up my arms and perch on my neck. And she was right. Although the last thing I need is another India Blue related to both my blue males, it's going to be hard to sell this little guy if he keeps even a sliver of his spunky, sociable personality. I've never had a chick act like this before, and I've raised a lot of peachicks in the past four years!
And yesterday morning I woke up to my brother's parrot chirping like a peachick running down the hallway. I'm so going to hear about this!
posted by Amy at
12:31 AM
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