After nearly seven weeks of waiting, I can finally say with confidence: I've got another hen!
The proof? This little one looks exactly like its mother - plumage and all.
Hooray!
After nearly seven weeks of waiting, I can finally say with confidence: I've got another hen!
The proof? This little one looks exactly like its mother - plumage and all.
Hooray!
A few months ago, I stumbled upon a delightful story at NHK Japan. There is a golden Lion statue at a train station in Tokyo that lets out a thunderous roar every time someone slips money into its mouth.The segment followed a gambler who was about to place a bet on a horse race. Before he did, he walked up to the Lion, donated some coins, and listened to it roar. He went off, placed his bet, and watched the race unfold. Next thing I knew, he had won.
Before he left the site, he walked back over to the statue and donated again.
I found this absolutely charming.
A few days later, I couldn't shake the image of that Lion. I found myself wondering: If I perform a charitable deed, does the universe take note?
I am not someone who donates expecting anything in return. I give when I have spare cash, and I try not to think too hard about where that money "goes" afterward.
If I were to take a guess, I think I will be getting a rooster. After all, I think its comb is growing and it is quite prominent now at 4 weeks old. Besides that, it seems more bolder compared to my other hen (ie. its older sister) when it was a chick. My wife do notice that it is more daring and not hide when she walks near the cage to take a peek at it. Also, it always jumps and claw at my hands when I am changing the feeding dish and water cup.
My little hen is all grown up! Four days ago, she laid her very first egg. I was - and still am - a whirlwind of anxious excitement. Since that first surprise, however, she hasn't laid another. I'm trying to be patient.
It's with a heavy heart that I write this post.
Seven days ago, I lost my beloved incubator chick. She was just three days shy of her third-month birthday. Her life was cut short by a cobra bite.
The feeling of devastation is profound. For the last four months, I have poured effort, hope, and care into raising her. From the delicate incubation process to the first cheeps, and watching her grow into a healthy young hen... it feels like all that work has come to naught. The frustration and disappointment are a lot to bear.
The last couple of days have been tense.
My 2 month old chick, in a curious peck, snagged a thread from the rafia string securing its feeding box. A thin piece had become entangled around the base of its tongue.
My heart sank. All I could do was carefully snip the thread and hope for the best.
The big question when raising chicks is always: will they be hens or roosters? While I am no expert, I'm thrilled to report that judging by their plumage, both of my young chicks are looking like hens. Their feathers are a identical to their mother's. This is exactly the outcome I was hoping for when I started this incubator journey.
The triumphant chirp of a new chick is a sound that never gets old. This time, I was lucky enough to hear it twice.
As of today, my flock has grown by two tiny, peeping bantam chicks. One fought its way out of the incubator; the other was delivered under the expert care of a broody hen. This fourth hatch attempt was a rollercoaster of expectation, science, and a little bit of old-fashioned luck - and I learned more than ever before.
Let's address the elephant in the room: my incubator. It has a curious habit of producing one, and only one, perfect chick per hatch. My first, third, and now this fourth attempt have all followed this pattern.
This time, four other eggs showed promising signs during candling - a red glow with a dark shadow indicating development - but they never pipped. By day 24, I had to accept they weren't going to make it. It's a frustrating puzzle. The lone chick that did hatch is now a thriving 29-day-old ball of fluff and energy, which tells me the basics are right, but the fine-tuning is off. Moving the incubator away from drafts (a lesson from hatch #3) seems to have helped the overall environment, but the mystery of the singleton continues. The investigation is still very much open.
I'm now into my third month of incubating bantam chicken eggs, and I just started my fourth attempt. I've already written about my first hatch. My second and third attempts didn't go as planned. Here's what happened and the hard-earned lessons I've picked up along the way.
Out of four eggs, none were fertile - which shocked me, given that my roosters outnumber hens two to one. Was it poor mating, improper egg storage, or just bad luck? I'm still not sure, but it was a frustrating setback. These eggs were place under a table in the hall at Malaysian room temperature, by the way. Ceiling fan was running for 8+ hours everyday.
This time, I set seven eggs. Only one hatched - a tiny triumph - but the chick died after a week due to my mistakes. Three other eggs showed early development but stalled around day 14.
Here's what I learned:
This is an update on my first try with a new egg incubator - and honestly, it didn't go as well as I'd hoped.
Out of the three eggs I placed in the incubator: