A gender-reveal party for Pete’s chickens
We keep half a dozen hens in our back garden. Normally henlife is calm and uneventful: they enjoy scratching around our garden, and we appreciate the freshly laid eggs that they give us in return. But this summer, the usual calm was disrupted.
The saga started when a large speckledy black and white hen called Motherclucker went broody. When this happens, a hen decides that she wants to incubate a batch of eggs. So instead of laying her morning egg in the nest box and then heading out for her daily scratch around the garden like the rest of the hens, Motherclucker remained in the nest box, telling us with her actions that she wanted to incubate a nest of eggs. It didn’t matter to her that we don’t have a rooster, so there is no possibility at all that any of our hens’ eggs could be fertile (barring an immaculate conception). Motherclucker’s hormones were telling her that it was about time that she hatched a batch of chicks, and there was no arguing with this. She remained firmly in the nest box, day in, day out.
This has happened in previous years. There are ways of breaking this broodiness, and helping her to eventually lose her maternal urge, returning to normal daily hen business. But this year, Mrs W felt that she deserved to have her broody urge fulfilled.
As it happened, I helped out a friend with some advice about his pets, and when he said “well, how much do I owe you for that?” I was going to say “nothing, not a problem”, but then had a thought: “How about half a dozen fertilised eggs?” He had his own back yard flock of hens, complete with a few roosters, so it would be a simple case of selecting a few eggs from his morning collection. I asked him for a variety of eggs, from different hens.
A few days later, he handed me a cardboard egg box, containing six very special eggs, not to be eaten. Some were large and white, one was smaller and grey-green, and the others were mid-sized and brown. We took them out of the box, slipped them beneath Motherclucker in her nest box, and made a note on the calendar. Hen eggs take around 21 days from the start of incubation to hatch.
We kept a close eye on the eggs as time passed, occasionally carrying out the traditional “candling” process (shining a bright light through each egg) to work out if chicks were growing inside them.
It’s rare for all eggs to hatch: there is a natural attrition rate, with a percentage of eggs failing.
Two of the eggs were weeded out, as it was obvious that they were duds, but as we approached hatching day, Motherclucker was still sitting on four eggs.
On a Sunday morning, day 22, when we went to let the hens out of their run, there were two newly hatched chickens cheeping away underneath Motherclucker. One was a larger, yellowish chick, and the other was smaller, with greyish fluff. They were both strong and noisy, delighted to be out in the world after weeks of being confined within a shell. Sadly, there was no sign of life in the remaining two eggs. but we were delighted with our two healthy young fluffy chickens.
Now that the eggs had hatched, Motherclucker’s broody urge disappeared. She strutted around the garden, scraping and pecking like the other hens, with her chicks huddled beneath her, hidden from view, and only cheeping loudly if she moved too quickly for them to keep up with her.
As the chickens grew rapidly, their individual characters became clearer. The little grey one, called Peep, stayed small, with a loud and shrill cheep. We worked out that it was a Aracauna cross-breed, and it would remain raven-sized forever. The larger one was named Carpet Slippers because of its unusually feathery feet, an unusual trait in hens, but typical of its Brahma breed.
A big question remained: were the chicks male or female? The difference between roosters and hens only becomes apparent as chicks mature, but we needed to know. We cannot keep roosters in our garden: their early morning high decibel crowing would upset the neighbours. So, as much as we had quickly grown to adore Peep and Carpet Slippers, if they turned out to be male, we would have to say goodbye.
When they were three months old, Mrs W did some internet research. When I returned from work one day, she told me that she knew what gender Peep was, from the shape and size of certain feathers. She didn’t want to tell me at once: this was a big occasion.
In keeping with contemporary trends, we decided to have a Gender Reveal Party, mainly to irritate our daughters, it has to be said. Mrs W baked a chocolate cake, but she was the only one who knew the colour of the icing inside: it would be blue for a rooster, and pink for a hen.
We set up a zoom party with our daughters, creating the mood with some “fowl” music (the Birdie Song featured). Aas the clock hit the designated hour, I sliced the cake open.
To our delight, the icing was pink: Peep is definitely a girl, so we can keep her.
Carpet Slippers is still gender-neutral: the characteristics of rooster or hen have not yet become clear, although he/she is a giant compared to little Peep. We will soon know, and a second cake will be baked. We will all be cheering for more pink icing!