Peeps!

One of the best parts of farming, I think, is baby chicks. We raised two batches of broilers in suburban Boulder (did the processing ourselves, too!). We enjoyed those tasty birds, but we are ready for some layers. We enjoyed some egg layers in Boulder (courtesy of our friend Shelly), but we have never been fully egg self-sufficient. It is nothing for us to eat 18 eggs for breakfast (good protein lovers here), so, in hopes that we would have enough for both breakfast and any other meals, we opted to go with 50 egg layers. I don’t know that we will be able to eat 50 eggs every day, but I also rather doubt that all 50 will manage to live to adulthood.

If you need only one or two chicks, you can try your luck at the local feed store. The one in Highlands Ranch sold out quickly—sometimes within an hour or two of arrival, all the chicks would be gone.

If you have the space and inclination, though, you can order 25 chicks (or more) by mail. Delivered to your local post office, an incredibly small cheeping box is there for pick up. The post office calls as soon as the box arrives (7:30am the call came through today; in Boulder, it was 6am). How magical, to pick up a shoebox of little chicks, each about the size of a Peep you can buy at Easter, and carry the throbbing, noisy box to the car, and then to your home.

How can this transport be ethical? Incredibly, chicks can survive about 72 hours after hatching without food or water, living off the stores from their egg yolk. The minimum of 25 chicks ensures that their collective body heat will protect them in colder weather. (It doesn’t work perfectly, though; one of our batches of broilers arrived on a cold, wet day, and not all the chicks made it. THAT is depressing—dead baby chicks in a box. Ugh!) On arrival, they do eagerly drink and eat. I find it amazing, though, that such transport doesn’t (usually) harm them. (Imagine trying to transport a mammalian baby in such manner!)

I had the joyful task of picking up the chicks. This order was double any previous orders. Phil woke up mildly ill, without the line needed to electrify the heat lamp in the barn, so we set up a very temporary box in the bedroom.

The hatchery wisely sends a few extra chicks, in case any die in transit. Today, I unloaded 52 tiny Rhode Island Red chicks (guaranteed to be at least 90% female!), and one freebie “exotic,” which Isaiah promptly dubbed “Strangey.” I think Strangey will be Isaiah’s pet—all day long he begged to hold it.

I try to prevent eager children from holding chicks too much. They are SO tempting, little balls of fluff, so light and soft. While I’ve never had one die from a drop from child’s waist height, I have heard that such falls can damage the chick’s legs, if not kill them, but somehow a couple of the chicks always do fall.


Abigail, Isaiah, and Abraham held their chicks carefully; Jadon could hardly handle holding one—the teeny legs, trying to stand, tickled him and weirded him out. Jonadab went from chick to chick, with a huge grin on his face, trying to stroke, occasionally poking one in the eye.

Abigail and Isaiah soon tried to use their chicks to act out a story, at which point, they had to put theirs back. Abraham held on to his, seriously, calmly: “I like holding this chick, Mama!” After perhaps twenty minutes, I made him put the chick back, wet all over from the sweat of his nervous, earnest hands.

In order to gain space to sleep, Phil constructed a pen at the back of the barn: chicken wire, with cardboard inside it, pine shavings on the floor, heat lamp above.

Chicks need about 95 degree heat for the first week of their life; after that, the heat declines. It is fun to watch the signs whether a heat lamp is too low: all the chicks scatter to the edges of the box to avoid the glare. If the heat lamp is too high, the chicks huddle underneath. Adorable.

From previous experience, I know that the adorable stage won’t last long, a few days at most. Already, some of the chicks have little feathers starting on the ends of their wings. Within three or four weeks, the chicks will be awkward teenager birds, with motley feathers and scrawny bodies. Eventually they will be full-bodied, fully-feathered adults, majestic yet completely other, with cold, reptilian eyes.

If you are curious about chickens, or other fowl, I suggest you order a free copy of the Murray McMurray Hatchery catalog. Filled with amazing illustrations, I was very pleased with the quality of their birds, and the apparent vigor these chicks have. Enjoy!