Today was a gloriously beautiful Colorado day filled with clear blue skies and a perfect view of the entire Front Range. Those of us who are lucky enough to live here know that we can see from Pikes Peak to Longs Peak. In between the two, there is a gentle curvature of mountains and foothills protecting the high plains from all sorts of crazy weather. Except, of course, when weather sneaks in from the south or north and wraps itself into the belly of the foothills. That’s when we get serious snow.
But that wasn’t today. We packed up Dolores and Olive into a large kennel and filled the car with compressed straw, food, some anti-bacterial spray, and a nice bin. The girls chortled their confusion until they fell asleep to the sounds of I-25.
Forty-five minutes later, we arrived at their new home. We were greeted by Bonnie, the mom of the operation, who was busy preparing food for the nine rescue horses. Twenty+ chickens were meandering around the trailer-coop. Roosters were crowing from their quarantine. The peeping sounds of newly hatched caught our immediate attention. And we received a generous, wiggly welcome from the two dogs, the Frenchie and the Cattle Dog.
The handover was easy. We took the kennel into the coop and opened the door. Olive popped out first, Dolores warily followed. They looked around. There were no other chickens in the coop as Tiffany and Bonnie wanted them to understand that’s the place of return at night. Later in the day Tiffany will erect an enclosure so Olive and Dolores can meet the other hens from safety. In a day or two, Olive and Dolores will go outside and begin to take their places within the pecking order. I’m hoping the other hens realize the grandeur of my two girls and take instruction from them, rather than meting out an inglorious welcome.
Bonnie and I stayed in the coup for about ten minutes talking about the future which, happily, include rescue operations for roosters. I like that so much simply because when our Henry, the chick hatched and raised by MoDonna, grew to rooster-hood, we had to rehome him. City laws. Henry went to the Urban Farm where he lorded over twenty hens. He was a happy guy. But most roosters don’t have a fate in common with Henry. Most are cruelly and inhumanely slaughtered at birth. Those allowed to survive are surgically or chemically castrated and end their brief lives as capons.
I know you think I’ve digressed here, but I haven’t. Olive hunches down whenever I walk by her. That’s because she wants to mate. She’ll be happy to meet a rooster. I just hope he’s reasonably gentle with her because chicken love is, well, not all that kind. Dolores might not be interested at all, but I do know she’s been known to go broody, so she just might like sitting on eggs to the logical end.
In short, my girls are in a good place where they’ll have plenty of room to roam, other chickens for company, maybe a rooster for mating, and, most important, maybe some eggs for hatching!
Bonnie and I left Olive and Dolores eating and I pointed out how smart they are to have discovered breakfast so quickly. Bonnie, clearly a kind soul, agreed.
We spent a few more minutes chatting with Bonnie, Tiffany, and another daughter who is planning to move back to Colorado from South Dakota. I asked Bonnie if she had considered applying for a tax-exempt status so she could raise money to support the rescue horses and, of course, the chickens and whatever other species might end up on the 25+ acre property. She said she was planning on just that after her house was delivered. I offered to help her out.
After all, my fifty-year’s experience in the nonprofit sector shouldn’t go to waste. Come on. Did you expect anything less?
Air. 
Leave a comment