Latin chicks

A couple of months ago I was in contact with a woman who wanted to buy a couple of baby chicks so her children could enjoy raising them for a bit but then needed a place for them to live permanently. It seemed like a good deal to me. We have fewer chickens than we used to and not having to brood chicks was an actual plus in my book. Remember, I said I would never brood chicks (or ducks) in the house ever again. 

Now, when someone says they are going to raise chicks past the cute stage, to me that says when the chicks arrive here, they will be at that awkward and unattractive teenage chicken phase where they are big enough to be outside with a little extra care. That was totally without our capabilities. The chicks were due to arrive today, so yesterday, while I was at my weaving class, J. spent a chunk of the afternoon getting some living quarters ready for them. 

The chicks arrived while I was teaching a riding lesson, so when I was done, I wandered over to see our newest farm acquisition. I started to head for the new chicken quarters when J. told me they weren't there, but in the box on the porch. I look to see one little cardboard box. "That box? The little one?" I asked because that little box could never hold two teenage chickens.

"Yes, that one. They're kind of little," was his reply. I wander over to look in the box.

These are not awkward adolescent chickens. These are little kindergarten chickens who still have their downy fluff on their heads. When I hold one, it can still fit in the palm of my hand. (They are fantastically well-socialized chicks, by the way.) I looked at the little tiny chicks, at the big chicken quarters which were prepared for them, then back to the little tiny chicks. Then I looked at the weather which is far from being above sixty degrees at night. 

Guess where the chickens are? Yep, in the house. J. dug out an old guinea pig cage and fitted it out for chicks. They are currently bunking in H. and R.'s room because it has a door that shuts and no cat that expects to live in it. I prepped you all for this by reminding you that I said I would never brood chicks in the house again remember. The plus side is that there are only two of them and we have a place all ready for them once they get some more adult feathers.

L. has fallen in love with them and named them... Argentum and Aurum... which I'm informed means silver and gold in Latin. It's hard to argue with children who want to give chickens Latin names. Personally, I am going to call them Chicken and Chicken because I am a firm believer in not naming poultry. I have learned the hard way that it is tantamount to handing a crew member a red shirt in a Star Trek episode. 

It could be a long couple of weeks. Every forty-five minutes or so R. needs to come and tell us that the chicks are peeping in case that means they are in distress. If you've ever raised baby chicks, you know they peep nearly constantly.