I was pleasantly surprised on Friday when the homecenter called to let me know that some of my chickens had arrived a week earlier than expected. Not a problem. I rushed over after work and chose two Boris Browns and 1 Silkie from two different boxes. My chicken-picking skills leave something to desired though. The Silkie I chose refused to eat and just stood unsteadily in one place crying. My zoo-keeping-bird-expert neighbor came over Saturday morning and gave us some pointers on how to try keeping the chick alive, but wasn’t too optimistic. After a call to the homecenter I went in and exchanged the ailing chick for a healthier one.
Getting these chickens a week early is fantastic, but I also learned the other two chickens I ordered, 2 Okazaki Ouhan, will be delayed until the middle of May. That might make things a little tricky raising two sets of chicks that are several weeks apart in age, but I think once they are all adults it should be fine.
I feel like you need to be careful when it comes to naming chickens. There are a lot of big time cliches, and I want to be able to address my chicken with pride. I planned on letting my children come up with names, but then my wife decided she wanted to name one, too. I’m reserving naming rights for at least one of the Okazai Ouhans, focusing on which Boston sports hero is most deserving of being the namesake of my chicken. But that’s conversation for another day. Without further ado, the three chickens, whose names I had nothing to do with.
Boris Brown #1 — ‘Sparkle,’ named by my son Ray.
Silkie — ‘Kinuko-chan,’ named by my wife, who, in a shocking turn of events, now spends most of the day hovering over the box of baby chickens muttering ‘kawaii.’ Kinu means silk in Japanese. Clever!
Boris Brown #2 — ‘Mia,’ named by my son Leo, after a Power Ranger.
So begins life with birds.