I’ve said it once before, but it’s worth saying again: Chicken math is real! When Snow-vid ’21 hit, we had 52 feathered friends, but after the two weeks of Elsa’s temper-tantrum, predators were hungry. Our number dropped to 25. Last spring, we had one successful hatch – a handsome cockerel we’ve named Prince Ali. He is now happily strutting his stuff around the chicken yard, especially since he’s figured out what girls are.
But three roosters and 22 hens is bad math. Each roo needs at least 10 hens, so when my local farm goods store received their first batch of chicks… Well, let’s just say there was no need to ask where I went right after work on the day they arrived.
Just like eight was the magic number when we started, eight was the goal of the day.
But those baby faces are just so darn cute! As their peeps echoed throughout the store, I could hear myself saying, “Eight. Only get eight! Eight makes 30 hens. 30 hens and three roosters is plenty.” Man! I should really listen to my own advice.
That first day, I came home with ten. Two more than I had allowed. Five Rhode Island Reds – great layers with even temperament. Heat and cold hardy. And five Speckled Sussex. A breed I’ve never raised before, but beautiful. You would think that would be plenty for any normal person.
Ya’ll… I am anything but normal!
A colleague at work mentioned another farm store that I don’t frequent… They have other breeds, he said. Now why did he have to go and say that? Darn it! And just like that, chicken math hit.
This time, I came home with twelve. Six Olive Eggers and six White Leghorn (the daffiest of breeds – great layers, but without a pea-sized brain in their noodle!).
Our number is now at 22 little baby chicks peeping away in the brooder in our garage. TWENTY-TWO. A directly proportional number to the amount of hens fluffing their feathers in the coop.
It deserves to be said again: Chicken math is real. And babies are so stinkin’ cute!
What's up, Mother Cluckers? 