So, let’s just back up a bit. Remember when I followed the chicken tracks to the back of the farm supply store and found my own personal chicken nirvana? If you don’t, you missed an episode (pssst…go read it). Well, I was a little sweaty and overwhelmed, as you recall. Partially because I was still somewhat shocked and incredulous that my husband was letting me get chickens and partially because I was slipping into coma from all the cuteness. When the jaded kid working in the chick area asked me which ones I wanted, I sort of panicked and I said “oh…uh..three black ones and uh…three of those chipmunky ones”. Let’s just say I was not well versed in the finer points of chicken varieties.
When we got them home and I wasn’t feeling woozy from purchasing six chicks, I finally looked them all over to try to figure out what I’d bought. I think it was Tom who asked me what kind they were. Huh. What kind. I had NO idea. I had very little criteria when it came to selecting chickens. They couldn’t be white. That was it. No white chickens. I can’t figure out WHY that was the criteria, but I’ll bet at some point I had a rational reason. Oh…and they needed to be girls…they only sold girls at the store, right? I hadn’t paid ANY attention to the tiny print on the sign that said “Straight Run”. When I realized the gravity of those two words in reference to my chicks, I suddenly knew that Karma was going to get me for something dumb I did or said and I was going to end up with 6 roosters. I KNEW it.
So when I went back to the farm supply store the next time to pick out the next six chicks, I made SURE I checked the side of the bin to see what sex I was choosing. Wonderful. Picked six from a pullet bin. Perfect.
Except that two of them are roosters. FAIL, Farm Supply Store…FAIL!!! Two little Buff Orpington chicks, that are so full of adrenaline or testosterone or what ever chemical makes male chicks crazy, that they rocket around the run like cannon balls only stopping to threaten another unsuspecting run-mate or each other or maybe a rock that happens to be in their path. They’re insane.
So now it’s time to play “Let’s Count Chris’ Roosters”! In that first batch that I paid NO attention to what I was buying, 1 for sure rooster, 1 possible rooster, from the second batch, 2 freaking roosters. FOUR. FOUR ROOSTERS (Insert laugh like The Count from Sesame Street HERE.) UGH.
You know what else I paid no attention to? The name of the breed on the side of the bin. Didn’t even look at it. I’m telling you that section of the store with the chicks just sucks the brain right out of my head. I didn’t expect the store to sell CHICKENS, let alone have specific breeds of chickens. I just thought they got a bunch of so-cute-you-can’t-resist-them generic chicks.
So I ended up with quite the chick salad. One Barred Rock, three Golden Lace Wyandotte, two Black Sex Link, three Easter Eggers and three Buff Orpingtons…heck, I might as well keep going and try to collect all the breeds?
Wait…I learned something else…you can ORDER chickens and have them SENT to you! And you don’t have to worry that the farm supply store kid dumped the wrong chickens in the wrong bin or mixed up the breed or sex information. You tell them what chickens you want, they box ’em up and BAM. Chickens at your door. Gosh, America is fabulous!
Once I get these two Buff Orpington boys rehomed, I’m going to approach the subject of replacing them. Don’t worry…there’ll be a blog post on that, I’m certain. When I finally do get the green light (and I will…bwahaha), I will order my very own box of downy joy and tell them the sex and the breed I want and it’s going to be AWESOME.
Annnnnd….I just got a little too excited about that.