Yesterday I arrived home from a whirlwind trip to California, checked for the Saturday mail which was still in the mailbox, and my heart plummeted. Our order of 25 chickens (plus bonus exotic chick, sex unknown) arrived at our local post office on Saturday, the note from the post office attempting delivery was there in our mailbox. I had been gone, Dave had been out all day at college and then teaching a class and the poor chicks had no one to pick them up.
We looked at each other in dread and wondered how many will still be alive after over three days in transit? I felt sick. How could I plan on picking up these little guys first thing on Monday with Emily in tow, only to find out most if not all had perished? It cast a dark cloud over our otherwise happy return.
This morning Dave was out the door at 8:15, planning to be the first one in the door when the post office opened at 8:30. When the box came out, so did several people, including one of the warehouse workers who looked apprehensive, “I hope you don’t mind but I took them home and put them in my brooder. I figured it was either leave them here or break the law and keep them alive.”
Dave thanked him profusely. He dashed home with the box and when we opened it we discovered all 26, alive and well, peeping away. They seem willing to peck at food, although we haven’t seen any drink water yet. They are currently in a Rubbermaid storage container, down in our basement, with a heater and heat lamp close by. It turns out that Dave has already identified our lone exotic chick. It is a Belgian Mille Fleur Bantam and has feathers on its feet!
Here is Emily, still sleepy, holding one of the chicks…
Now that’s something to cluck about!
