Tillie's Update

 

Mean Millie, Rosie, Miss Tillie & Little Reba. Oh yeah, mustn't forget Rocky Rooster. That's the extent of my little flock this summer. 

 

Here's a little more of Tillie's motherhood story. 

 

Little black Tillie is a hybrid Sex Link I got from my neighbor. One morning I found her in the nest; oh, how cute, I thought, she's laying an egg. Come evening, she was still on the nest. A happy thought pierced my surprise. Maybe she's broody!! It's been years since I've had a hen who wanted to be a mama. Next morning, sure enough, there she was again. Joy!! 

 

I excitedly numbered six eggs (she's a small hen) with a marker and ever so gently put them under Tillie. She grumped a little, adjusted her feathers to cover all eggs, then settled in for the three-week sojourn to motherhood.

 

 

Here's an example of numbering eggs--these are not Tillie's clutch--she was only big enough to cover 6.

 

I moved food and water closer to the clutch of nests. Hens get off their "mother nest" very little, and Tillie proved a dedicated mom. She rarely got off her nest to eat or drink. In fact, she's the most dedicated hen I've ever had. Her feathers dulled, her comb paled, but she remained diligent.

 

I daily checked her eggs and removed any eggs the other hens had laid in Tillie's nest. Ignoring the multiple empty nests, they daily chose to hop in with Tillie and contribute to the baby cause. Having been through this process many times, I had marked Tillie's eggs so I could tell Tillie's eggs from the others. If you do not remove the renegade eggs, come day 21, you will have some eggs in different stages of development, and that's not a happy situation. 

 

The days roll by...15, 16, 17...by day 18, Tillie is looking pretty ragged. I'm growing concerned. She stays glued to that nest, committed to motherhood. Day 19, 20. At last, day 21. I go out early. Maybe I will find tiny little holes in the eggs--LIFE!--where the chick has begun its journey to life on the farm.

 

Tillie's cranky hen voice doesn't like my inspection. No holes in the eggs. No sign of life.

 

Day 22, no change.

 

Day 23, still no sign of baby chicks. Poor bedraggled Tillie. She looks like she's been walking in the desert for three weeks. I'm so disappointed. She's disappointed. I can't stand that look in her eye.

 

I jump in the car and race to the farm store in our town; it's about 25 miles round trip. As I enter the store, I hear the familiar peep-peep of little feathered babies. I choose four: two Rhode Island Reds and two Welsummers. I've never had Welsummers, so thought I'd give it a go.

 

I waited until dark, then removed the unhatched eggs and replaced them with the four live chicks. As I left the chicken house, Tillie clucked her mama voice. I knew all would be well.

 

Occasionally, a hen will not accept "store-bought" chicks, but before dawn the next morning, I went to move Tillie and company to the special section of the hen complex I use for new chicks or convalescing chickens. She was talking mother-talk to her new babies, and they were responding with those tiny peep-sounds that only new chicks can make. Not quite a full peep. Little noises Tillie recognized and accepted. The orphan corporate chicks had a home.

 

I was sad for a moment thinking of how new chicks recognize their mother from hearing her in the days before they hatch. These chicks had not had that opportunity, but they were devoted to their new mommie anyway. 

 

I settled the little family in their new home, and when I came back after daylight to check on them, it was the cutest thing. Little yellow heads peeking out from black mama feathers. Beautiful!!

 

As days flew by, Tillie began looking like her old self: rich red comb, shiny feathers, confident stride. The chicks were loving farm life. However, farm life has its perils. Now there is only one chick left. She's gloriously red, so I call her Little Reba. 

 

 

I moved food and water closer to the clutch of nests. Hens get off their "mother nest" very little, and Tillie proved a dedicated mom. She rarely got off her nest to eat or drink. In fact, she's the most dedicated hen I've ever had. Her feathers dulled, her comb paled, but she remained diligent.

 

I daily checked her eggs and removed any eggs the other hens had laid in Tillie's nest. Ignoring the multiple empty nests, they daily chose to hop in with Tillie and contribute to the baby cause. Having been through this process many times, I had marked Tillie's eggs so I could tell Tillie's eggs from the others. If you do not remove the renegade eggs, come day 21, you will have some eggs in different stages of development, and that's not a happy situation. 

 

The days roll by...15, 16, 17...by day 18, Tillie is looking pretty ragged. I'm growing concerned. She stays glued to that nest, committed to motherhood. Day 19, 20. At last, day 21. I go out early. Maybe I will find tiny little holes in the eggs--LIFE!--where the chick has begun its journey to life on the farm.

 

Tillie's cranky hen voice doesn't like my inspection. No holes in the eggs. No sign of life.

 

Day 22, no change.

 

Day 23, still no sign of baby chicks. Poor bedraggled Tillie. She looks like she's been walking in the desert for three weeks. I'm so disappointed. She's disappointed. I can't stand that look in her eye.

 

I jump in the car and race to the farm store in our town; it's about 25 miles round trip. As I enter the store, I hear the familiar peep-peep of little feathered babies. I choose four: two Rhode Island Reds and two Welsummers. I've never had Welsummers, so thought I'd give it a go.

 

I waited until dark, then removed the unhatched eggs and replaced them with the four live chicks. As I left the chicken house, Tillie clucked her mama voice. I knew all would be well.

 

Occasionally, a hen will not accept "store-bought" chicks, but before dawn the next morning, I went to move Tillie and company to the special section of the hen complex I use for new chicks or convalescing chickens. She was talking mother-talk to her new babies, and they were responding with those tiny peep-sounds that only new chicks can make. Not quite a full peep. Little noises Tillie recognized and accepted. The orphan corporate chicks had a home.

 

I was sad for a moment thinking of how new chicks recognize their mother from hearing her in the days before they hatch. These chicks had not had that opportunity, but they were devoted to their new mommie anyway. 

 

I settled the little family in their new home, and when I came back after daylight to check on them, it was the cutest thing. Little yellow heads peeking out from black mama feathers. Beautiful!!

 

As days flew by, Tillie began looking like her old self: rich red comb, shiny feathers, confident stride. The chicks were loving farm life. However, farm life has its perils. Now there is only one chick left. She's gloriously red, so I call her Little Reba. 

 

Tillie was more than ready to join the flock and was determined to sleep in the chicken house. I wasn't sure Little Reba would fly up on the roost, so when night settled on the farm, I took my flashlight and peeked in. Sure enough, Little Miss Reba was sitting right beside her mom on the roost like a big girl.

 

Rocky Rooster showing by crowing who's boss. 

He flies in and out of the chicken yard at will. 

Tillie was happy.

 

Little Reba was happy. 

 

Farmgirl was happy. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Miss Tillie & Little Reba

looking for bugs. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My little flock grazing under Alice, the willow.

Mean Millie, Rosie, Miss Tillie, Little Reba & Rocky.