Friends are always surprised to hear that I keep chicks in my tub. I guess it is a strange invitation–“Come into my bathroom and meet the babies.”
But it’s the perfect safe haven for our little fluffballs: they feel happy and warm under the heat lamp, it’s easy for me to check on them, food and water is at the ready and I change their papers every day (they prefer the comics, but beggars can’t be choosers). At night, their cheeping soothes me to sleep; I love tip-toeing past as they nestle together in a feathery clump.
When I go to scoop them out for cuddling they scatter and jump, avoiding my hands and sending my little visitors into fits of laughter. Every skip and peep and flutter inspires smiles and sweet words. They are a joy.
As you can see, the bantams grow slower than the standard hens.
And I’m afraid Rosy is going to keep the nickname ‘Sasquatch’ with her gargantuan feathered feet.
Poor Florence is entering the awkward stage– don’t make fun of her; we’ve all been there.
Lucy continues to be eggstremely interested in all things feathered (but she’s had a few opportunities to eat them and has restrained herself. We’re very proud of our kitty.).