Remember when you were 12 or 13, and all that weird stuff just started happening to your body? Your hair was all funky and your feet were too big and you were just gangly and awkward? That’s what’s going on here, only multiplied by 26 chicks:
Feathers are coming in all over the place, making it look like one big bad hair day in the chicken pen. They are so funny now, and I’m seeing their personalities more and more, although I still can’t tell them all apart.
The Rhode Island Reds are all very sweet and quiet and don’t mind being held.
The Barred Rocks are very curious and busy and bossy. They like to jump on the top of the feeder and waterer and just stand there like they are the smartest chickens in the world. The peck peck peck at my hand when I stick it down in their pen, and they want to be picked up, but then they fuss and flap and peck when I do.
The Buff Orpingtons are sweet and mellow. One has a crazy little feather on her wing that sticks out all funny, so I’ve been calling her Curly. She likes to curl up in my hand for a little snooze.
The Silver Laced Wyandottes are a little skittish, but curious. They’ll work their way over to my hand, and look at it suspiciously, but don’t really peck or try to jump up.
The Araucanas, including Fuzzy (aka Penelope Caramel Fuzzy-face), are bold and inquisitive. They jump into my hands whenever they can, especially Fuzzy. She loves to climb all over me. Last night she kept jumping to perch on the top of my head. This made me a little nervous. Chicken poop in my hair is not something I would really appreciate. I had a hard time getting a picture of her (she’s the one in the middle) this morning, because she kept trying to jump off the chair to come over to me. She was happy just to stand on my foot. Silly girl!
And our little mystery chick (in the bottom left corner) is quite the drama queen. She Does Not Like to be held, and screams and chirps and flaps her wings if we do manage to pick her up. Maybe she just didn’t like Mr. Lucy’s joke about her being the first to get cooked in a pot. I guess she can’t appreciate a little sarcasm. We’re not really planning on eating her.