tempus fugit

By ceridwen

There's always one isn't there?

The chicks are two weeks old and maturing fast. Their wing feathers have begun to emerge and seem to grow a few more millimeters each day, looking like little golden angel wings. I set up this low branch against the wall of the shed so that they could start perching. Spending time with them is the best way to observe their development so each time I feed them I crouch down on the straw to watch them. I've been giving them a mixture of boiled sweetcorn, peas, bread and table scraps, put through the mincer, several times a day, and they also have dry chick meal to pick at. Although when they hatch they have 36 hours worth of fuel on board they need feeding frequently after that as unlike a mammal, the mother hen can't provide her own nourishment for them. However I noticed that their first attempts to eat were through picking fragments of food from mother's beak, then they started pecking exactly where she pecked having watched her closely and refraining from trying anything that she had not. Thus they learn to distinguish what's edible. When she wipes her beak by rubbing it from side to side in the straw the chicks perform the exact same manoeuvre in unison. Now they are learning to preen and clean their feathers exactly as she does although they sometimes topple over in the attempt.

Here they are settling down for a post-prandial nap with one claiming the penthouse view.

I am finding it hard to get much bliptime at present owing to catering duties and general tiredness. Apologies for not visiting your journals as often as I would like.

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