Today I discovered some old photos on my camera taken from just over a year ago. It is strange to think back on just how much has really happened in this last year and I find it almost scary to ponder the degree to which it really was just beyond my imagination most of the time. You know when you look back and wonder if you would have opted to play if you had any inkling that it was going to be that rough and crazy?! I've picked out eleven photos from six different periods, and I'll write a little bit about each one, in chronological order. So here goes the first part.
The whole journey began with my final months of the masters in forced migration studies at Wits – that took up the first two months of 2011. Even though I would not instinctively think of that “academic” period as the tough part it was a little rough too, to be honest. I had to complete my thesis and that process sure is a pretty strong deterrent for never getting into post-graduate studies again. Anyone who says that its fun writing a thesis of approximately 144 pages is lying. It sucks. I spent weeks holed up in my house, sleeping a couple of hours during the day, then working through the night, eating badly, body constantly aching from sitting in front of the laptop for too long. Seriously, that is some torturous stuff, especially if you have ADHD like I do. A small distraction that did actually help me through this period were the offspring of Lois that literally hatched on the 1st of January 2011. The first group of photos that I discovered were of the day-old chicks, huddled together in the box I had fitted-out for them below my writing desk in the study.
There were four little ones – I later found out that they comprised of three hens and one rooster. He later became known as Humphrey Junior after his dad, the original Humphrey – and I picked them up on a rainy and surprisingly cold day, on the 2nd of January 2011.
A little history first: These little ones were hatched from the eggs of Lois, my first hen who died tragically about a month before that when she was mortally wounded after being savaged by a husky who had temporarily lost his mind. On that strange day the weather had turned nasty in the space of a few minutes. The sky turned orange, almost brown, and violent thunder and lightning had us all jittery as we contemplated the size of the impending storm. As the first few drops started to fall I saw the husky – my brother's dog Lincoln who is normally the picture of serenity and who really had few problems with the chickens up to that point – suddenly bolting from the house. I knew something was wrong and as I watched him making for the open chicken coop I feared for the worst. I could see he wasn't himself, as if the bloody Tundra had just awoken inside him. He ran straight into the coop and disappeared from sight, as I simultaneously started shouting from inside the house in a futile attempt to stop him. I sprinted outside as fast as I could, but by the time I got there the damage had been done and the dog skulked out of the coup with a clump of feathers still protruding from his mouth. I had to finish the job, tears streaming down my face, as she flapped feebly in front of me, bitten various times and obviously suffering. I wrung her neck to stop what suffering I could, and I remember how the feathers stuck to my hands as I held the now limp, but still warm, body. I crumpled into a heap in front of the hen house, in shock, the rain coming down hard by then, thinking about what to do with this loss. She was my only hen I possessed and I was hoping that she was going to produce some chicks in the near future. Anyone who knew me at that stage was also aware of just how attached I was to my chickens. I looked around and saw that she had laid exactly seven eggs – which I also assumed were fertilized thanks to Humphrey's work of course - that were snuggled together in the nesting box. I carefully picked them up and put them in a smaller box with bits of tissue paper to keep them from cracking. I used the rest of that day and the following read up about incubating eggs and I found out that it was really quite tough unless you had a proper machine to do it. Eggs need just the right amount of heat and moisture for the baby chicks to properly develop, and eventually hatch. They also need to be turned frequently, something which the mother hen does almost daily. A new incubator was frightfully expensive so I contacted the lady who I had bought some six week-old chicks from before. I knew she bred chickens on a large scale and I had an interesting chat with her the day I picked them up – Lois was one of these chicks. When I phoned her she didn't hesitate to offer her assistance. I met her on the road one day and she said she would give me a call when the eggs hatched, approximately three weeks later. 5 chicks hatched successfully and one died immediately afterwards. I was on my way to pick up the four remaining ones.
I had to travel to the BP gas station on Beyers Naude where the lady who had incubated the eggs for me agreed to meet – she had to travel all the way from Krugersdorp. She arrived with a medium sized cardboard box with some crudely poked holes in it – she said that some of them were as a result of the rat problem she had back on the farm. I peaked inside and my heart started racing when I saw the small chicks inside, all groggy-looking, frightfully fragile, predominantly covered in black down with little yellow flecks on their faces and a lighter underbelly. They had little pink feet and I remember thinking that they looked almost rubbery. The lady was with her children and they wanted a milkshake for coming along on this trip, so I joined her for a cup of coffee hoping to also glean some important information from her about taking care of the chicks. They apparently needed special feed, and constant warmth because the down feathers have to be replaced by normal feathers before they are able to retain their own body heat. I was also advised to use a red paper plate to put their food into as the chicks are attracted to anything red. She also told me that upon arrival at home I had to gently stick their beaks into the water container – which had to be shallow enough for them not to drown in – in order to help them “discover” the water: a task which the mother hen usually fulfils.
I was anxious to get back but nevertheless stuck around for about twenty minutes before I finally got away. I raced home and almost had several accidents as I tried in vain to check on the chicks. When I did get home and managed to open the box I was horrified to find the chicks shivering, lying on their backs and looking just about dead. Their eyes were closed and I could not even tell if they were all breathing. The cold was obviously too much for them and I rushed inside, calling Tari to come and help me inside. I ran into the small study where I was writing my thesis and gathered every lamp – about four of them – and heater – two electric oil heaters – I could find in the house and gathered them all around the box in an effort to create some sort of a warm cocoon. Tari looked at the chicks and shook her head. I acted like I didn't notice and poured every little bit of will-power into warming them up while Tari started hunting for a larger box for their home. Little Rashie looked on, confused and bewildered as she could sense my anxiety. She asked Tari a couple of questions in Shona and Tari responded soothingly, making sure that she stayed back from the operation taking place in the middle of the room. I spoke encouragingly to the small chicks, gently prodded them, as if to stop them from falling asleep, and looked for any sign of revival. To my amazement first just one, but eventually – and I'm talking of more than an hour later - all of them slowly managed to open their eyes, sit up and then, as if it was an incredible effort, started to move again. I was overjoyed. Tari remained sceptical. Their recovery continued for several hours more, but there was not doubting the fact that they were gradually becoming stronger. Once I was sure they were out of immediate danger, I left Tari with them and rushed out for red paper plates and a shallow water container. I stripped a lamp to just the chord and the light-bulb and found an old half broomstick to twist the chord around which I used to suspend the light from the top of the box. I put some newspaper in the bottom of the box and filled a layer on top with saw-dust. I then checked the temperature carefully – too hot and they will cower in the corners of the box, too cold and they will huddle together underneath the light – before gently placing the chicks into the box. I squeezed the box under the table and against the wall where I was seated with all my research papers, laptop and writing paraphernalia and made sure that I could keep an eye on them at all times. The first couple of nights after that I would wake every two hours to check on them. I certainly felt like a dad as I spent almost a month and a half of my waking hours taking care of these little ones, watching them grow into quirky, and often times exceedingly silly birds that played and whined and ate and slept on top of each other, frequently in their own food! They're all still around today – making constant marankas in my garden - and they have even produced a further 4 chicks! This photo was taken on that first evening when they had just escaped death, and discovered a new home under my writing desk.
 |
| Hello daddy - cheep, cheep |
No comments:
Post a Comment