Chickens can't count...

One of my laying hens, a lovely White Rock, recently hatched some chicks. They are tiny yellow fluff balls with strident voices.

For 3 days she kept them in the coop, where they were safe and had plenty of food and water. Then she took them out into the world. They scratch around like big chickens, but looking like wee wind up toys. When they get cold or tired they scramble under their mama's ruffled skirts. If anything comes along that looks like a threat, the mama hen calls them, and they rush to her. If a dog gets too close, she puffs up her feathers and goes after them, looking larger than she is and very fierce. She is an excellent mother. Except for one thing.

This shortcoming became apparent to me during the evening after the chicks spent their first day outside. I put a makeshift ramp up so the tiny babies could get in, and 3 of them figured it out immediately. The other two ran laps around the coop, yelling so loudly I could hear them from inside our house. I went out to investigate. Mama hen was in the coop, snuggled into a nest box, feathers fluffed. She was perfectly content because she had some chicks snuggled up with her. She cared not a wit for the babies hollering outside.

And that is why my chickens need me. After some chasing and cussing and handy work with a net the little family was reunited. The hen ignored all the excitement, and left the care of her fragile infants to us. Because chickens can't count.