They're Heeeeeeere!

     About a month and a half ago we ordered 15 rare heritage cross breed poults from a farm in Illinois that has exciting mixes like chocolate palm and sweetgrass turkeys. What did we get? I have no idea. We ordered the cross breed mix that were supposed to have a paper with them to give us an idea of what they might be but there was no paper. Oh well, small potatoes! Because the most important thing is that even though they threw and extra poult in in case of death by shipping all of them arrived at our local post office this morning peppy and peeping!
   That was the easy part. At the beginning of July we cleaned out and chicken wired off a juvenile pen for them so the big turkeys don't squish them or spread diseases too easily. Well.... that didn't work. They squeezed through chicken wire, fell out of unknown holes in the hutch, and were just generally running around in peeping chaos.
  Ok, thought I, maybe Blucy would be cool with them. After all we had given her those three commercial poults to mother when she was still trying in vain to hatch out the rest of her now defunct eggs. So I brought a cute speckled fellow over to her nest.

BIG MISTAKE.

    Letting out a hiss that could rival the orneriest Canadian goose Blucinda savagely pecked at the hapless little thing. As is hightailed it out of the nest out came Blucinda with wings unfurled and beak agape like some sort of guardian to the gates of hell itself. Even Arpee ran out of the pen in the face of her fury. Scooping up the poult, I ran like the coward I am back into the juvenile pen and enlisted the only help I had (a toddler and a bouncy six year old) to keep the poults out of the adult pen while I figured out what to do.

   We had wrapped an old metal picnic table frame with a double layer of chicken wire months ago thinking to use it for incubated chicks' outside playtime. Our incubator really soiled the sheets this year so it stood abandoned by the garden. Perfect! I rolled it into the baby pen and my kids practiced counting as they scooped the floofs into their crib. I added the bottom half of a broken pet crate turned upside down for a rain and sun shelter with a paving stone on top to keep the wind from taking it, a little waterer, and a dog dish of poult starter feed. Patting myself on the back for my quick thinking, I borrowed the other old plastic picnic table from the pheasants and used that as a lid. But I hit another snag.
  The poults huddled in a corner looking dejected and miserable. Even though I'd dipped beaks in water like I was told no one seemed to have the slightest interest in food or water.
   Hmmmm.....
  Aha!! We've been having issues with one of the quails, Honey. She has taken to eating six eggs a day. Well I had the perfect job for her royal chubness! Sixteen new babies to look after. I put her in with the poults and they immediately decided she was just the ticket and mobbed her for snuggles. This did not thrill her, but never one to pass up a free meal she set to on the dish of poult starter. Six of poults followed suit. Then, apparently thirsty from the excitement she quail scuttled over to the waterer and helped herself followed by seven of the little peepers. After that she decided she had enough fun and started cricket chirping the quail distress call. I scooped her out and put her back in the quail pen and then returned to the happy sight of poults pecking the food, scratching at the grass, and sipping the water.
  So that's our excitement for the day! Now excuse me while I scurry out to the bird yard every ten minutes to check on the new arrivals like the crazy poultry lady I've become.

 A very displeased nanny quail.

Big sibling Thanksgiving and daddy Arpee come take a peek before being shooed into their own area.