White Rock Eggs

My Chickens: White Rock Eggs

White Rock Eggs. That is the name of my egg business. I started it when I was nine years old. The business started from my wish to self-publish the book I had written, “Ollie’s Troublemaking Adventures”. I could go on for a while about this book, but that’s not what this article is about.

White Rock Eggs started with a group of seven Cinnamon Queen chickens: Bumblebee, Butterball, Bolt, and I can’t remember the other names. I had the theme of the letter ‘B’. Why I skipped ‘A’ is something only my nine-year-old self knows.

These chickens grew up from little fluffballs to teenage chickens in a baby pool in the garage, carefully supplied with a heat lamp, cardboard walls, bedding, a long feeder, and a waterer. We changed the bedding every week and the food and water every day. I would sit there for ages, reading (sometimes to them but sometimes just to myself), talking to them, or just watching and cooing about how cute they were.

When it was almost time for them to move out of this makeshift brooder, Nana and Viper (Erin and Rusty Cabot, my grandparents) refurbished a dog house, adding in a latching door with nesting boxes, a sliding bottom so it would be easier to clean, and adding extra bumps to the ramp to make it easier for the chickens to climb.

Oh, and I helped paint it. Bright pink, of course.

When they finally moved in, they were over at my Nana’s house, in an enclosed area. For the first few nights, if they hadn’t managed to get in the coop, we would have to chase them around and pick them up to set them in. We continued to change bedding every week and food and water every day.

Then they started laying eggs. I was so excited. I loved them when they were chicks and all, but now I could love them and they made me money. It was a win-win! I cleaned eggs, used Wikipedia to figure out what size they were, and then sorted them appropriately.

After maybe half a year, I can’t remember, we moved the group to the pasture just outside my house. I remember I sat next to the cage we kept them in while my grandparents set up the coop, and I would whisper, “You’re okay. You’re okay.” over and over to them. It had to have been scary, to suddenly be uprooted from your home and then have to relocate.

The next year we got another set (this time of 10), and this time I had the theme of-no, not another letter- royal titles. We had Princess, Queenie, Empress, and several other names that I have, again, since forgotten. The only ones I can currently recognize is Princess and Queenie (More on Queenie in a bit).

They had maybe a slightly better upbringing, since we knew more now that we had already gotten a set. But nothing that notable.

Viper built a new, bigger coop for the new chickens and the older chickens. When we moved them all in, they had to settle a new pecking order. Nana and I would try to stop their fights for the spot of leader if they got too vicious, but sometimes they just had to happen. It was their way of life, their culture.

Now! Queenie! Queenie was…not the first, but the most consistent, about flying out of the fence. Because of that, she got used to us picking her up and petting her. If she’s been out for a while and is bored, she’ll run to us and crouch to be picked up. If she’s only been out for a short bit, she will go no, I can walk, I have legs. She is very smart, especially for a chicken. Queenie will ‘clean our boots’, or pick off the things that she can eat. The funny thing is, if she pecks our leg and not our book, we scold her and she crouches to be petted. Because of all this, she has earned the spot of my favorite chicken.

Now, the most recent ‘litter’ of chickens I have were originally given princess-royalty-y names, but then just nicknames. We have Xena, (warrior princess-a!), Acrobat, Dark One, White-tail, and Fluffy (who was very fluffy when she was a young adult but not so much anymore).

These chickens had a special brooder, which, as if by magic, can also be a chicken-quarantine area! When they grew old enough to go outside, they got the original coop as theirs. They had a fence around them at first, to keep the older chickens from accidentally harming them too much in a pecking order dispute, but soon we were able to remove it.

The current chickens I have are sadly, only two of the Originals, Bolt and Butterball; Princess, Queenie, and several Nameless Ones whose names have been forgotten over time; and all five of the youngest girls.

Some chickens have died, most from a pair of mated red-tailed hawks who live on the farm, but one from a weasel I think it was, one from my family’s dog who actually did nothing but pull a few tail feathers out, but since we didn’t know about chickens and shock we left her alone, so she died of shock. The most recent death was of a mysterious illness which I do not know what it was. But, all these chickens were mourned for and buried appropriately.

To sum it all up, I think I’ve done a pretty good job with my chicken business. I have earned enough money to publish my book, which I will soon. I have cared and loved my chickens, a lot. And I always will love them, though they aren’t quite pets.

I hope you have a nice day, good bye!