I’ve collaborated with dozen of folks over the last almost five years; some chicken keepers, others not. We’ve done health case studies, profiles of those with chickens or who incorporate poultry into their art. Then there are the folks that are able to spin a funny tale about the ups and downs of keeping chickens. One such talent is Rhonda. She’s been a contributor over the last couple of years and every time I read her work she makes me laugh. If we lived closer we’d be Saturday coffee buddies. Sadly, we don’t; so I, like you, will have to settle for reading her stories right here.
One Little, Two Little, We Got Two Eggs (sung to the tune of One Little, Two Little, Three Little Indians)
Alternate title: How We Kept Two Little Chickens, A Shark, And Had Scrambled Eggs For Breakfast
August 16, a day our whole family had desperately anticipated, had finally arrived.
I do realize this proud house chicken mom moment doesn’t mean much to most, but one of our youngest laid her first egg on August 16th! It’s so tiny.
She’s a petite satin princess anyway, so I expected small eggs from her. And she knows what to do with it – get it under her to hatch. It’s definitely not fertilized, even with her father in the house. I know what you’re thinking because I overthink that one, too. You’re thinking, YUCK! That’s some kind of Deliverance, the movie, kind of stuff right there! Keep reading to find out why I am so certain the egg is not fertilized.
We have one other youngest who most likely won’t be laying an egg any time soon. He crows. We have caught him several times trying to imitate and impress his father.
Famous last words of a house chicken owner, “Crap! It’s a cockerel.”
And not only was it crowing it even had the rooster attitude! Just check out that face.
But… as the sun set on September 5 I found something to crow about.
I was WRONG! And I’m not mad about it! We have all hens! After months of being certain our last little chick was a roo, this little bit surprised me today with this gorgeous little egg in her diaper. So there’s only one loud mouth rooster in the house.
I didn’t just crow about it. I ATE crow with the famous last words of a happy house chicken owner, “She just laid her first egg! Hallelujah! Praise God! I am blessed!”
And after recovering from passing out on the floor in all of the excitement the happy house chicken owner (in this case, me) picks herself up off the floor and the happy house chicken owner asks the family, “Who wants scrambled eggs for breakfast?”
The backstory on these beautiful ladies (and how we were gifted breakfast) goes something like this:
Our family has house chickens: three Silkie hens, affectionately known as ‘The Ladies’, and one frizzle Cochin bantam rooster named Giblet. When he misbehaves, as roosters are apt to do several times a day, Giblet is addressed by his full name “Giblet Shark!” Yes, he is named after poultry parts used in gravy and Baby Shark, our grandson’s favorite. We love Giblet dearly, but one house rooster perching nightly on our sofa and hovering over us three times a day at mealtimes is the most this family can take. I know we are at fault for the hovering, but Giblet relies on us for treats to give to The Ladies to win them over. So every meal he hovers close, practically taking his own seat at the table, in order to look attractive to the females he wants to feed. What can I say? He likes big butts, and I cannot lie.
At some point around the first of this year Giblet experienced the sound of his name loudly and clearly when one of us was startled by his endless typical procreating rooster behavior and yelled out, “GIBLET SHARK!” As a result, approximately 21 days later we were “graced” with chicks. We kept two.
For months, questions swirled around our happy suburban homestead, with the most important being, “Is it a male?” It was a question we questioned whether we wanted an answer to as the answer could bring utter chaos to our serendipitous abode. And that fear brought questions of if the chicks fit the male or female profile for their bred. We could have sent off for DNA testing, but the idea of plucking a feather or getting blood from such a sweet tiny bird made all of us cringe. So we decided to wait it out and try to match either male or female traits typical of their breed or until we heard a crow or saw an egg. The problem with that, however, is that these were chicks whose parents are two different breeds with different traits which had been matched to complement each other.
Our family, through a foundation started by my daughter who lives with mild autism, ADHD, anxiety, and depression, were breeding, hatching, and socializing birds to donate to others who could benefit from having an emotional support house chicken. We had placed around 100 Silkies, but Silkies aren’t the sharpest tool in the shed. So we chose a Cochin, Giblet Shark, for the rooster. Giblet is incredibly intelligent, so we had a perfect mate for our Silkies. He loves all three of The Ladies without ceasing. It can get to be too much and he gets a little alone time during the day. The chicks were turning out so very well with a great hatch rate, great health, and super smart. And as a bonus, Giblet brought the frizzle gene. Around 25% of the chicks would grow the traditional Silkie feathers, 25% would have smooth feathers, and 50% would be frizzles! It was a terrific bonus, as all birds would provide excellent tactile therapy for relaxation as emotional support chickens.
My daughter, husband, and I loved the experience of petting them all and the gifts they brought to different conditions. We all were especially in love with our newfound satin and smooth frizzle feathers. Our daughter started college in September and we knew we needed to wind down her foundation work until the following summer. We ended up placing about 50 more birds, but the last hatch was different.
In the past we had strictly incubated fertilized eggs and never allowed any of The Ladies to hatch their own eggs. Around the time the last of the 50+ birds who were incubated were placed, two of The Ladies had laid about five eggs. Between them three hatched, but one did not survive the first night. So we decided to keep the remaining two and take our chances on whether they would be male or female. At that point, the pen the chickens had inhabited was torn down and Giblet and The Ladies were put in diapers with plastic cups inside to catch waste, and the plastic walls of the pen which had confined them were torn down with the moving blankets and the thick plastic underlay which served to catch waste and food mess were removed.
All of the chickens were allowed to roam our downstairs freely. Diapers are now changed nightly and the cups inside are changed twice each day. But the best part, no matter how many times our neighbors hear us yell, “GIBLET SHARK!” there is nothing Giblet can offer a Lady which can pass through the two plastic cups and two cloth diapers with waterproof lining to create any more chicks.
And just to be clear, these two new beautiful additions to The Ladies known as The Little Ladies have never laid a fertilized egg, and will NOT. After almost four years being a crazy chicken family none of us can entertain the idea of line breeding without loosing our scrambled egg breakfasts. Plus, there’s only one of the new two Little Ladies who would have the best chance of healthy chicks. Look up what makes a “frazzle” and you’ll know exactly which one I am talking about. If we ever purposely take those plastic cups out of their diapers we will need to sequester Giblet and find another rooster for the job. Maybe we’ll start a Spice Girls thing. We have Giblet Shark. What about adding a Gizzard Shark? A Wattles Shark? Or since it can be a fitting description of the behavior of many roosters, especially when they crow loudly at 5:30 a.m. on Saturday mornings, a Cloaca Shark?
Too much? Too far? Yeah, I thought so.
But it kind of has a nice beachy kind of shark-like kind of feel to it… Clo-AKA… c-LO-aka… C-lo-AKA… CLO-aka…
CLO-aka SHARK doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo! CLO-aka SHARK doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo! CLO-aka SHARK!
And now that song has set up residence in your brain. Please accept my apologies.
Just don’t let your toddler hear you singing it. Their preschool teachers, grandparents, and church leaders may question your parenting once they hear that word come out of your child’s mouth put to music.
Many thanks to Rhonda Gable Hammons for sharing her story and photos. She lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia with her husband and four house chickens.
Bitchin' Chickens 
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