If you think the Tiger Forest is a bit chaotic, you clearly haven’t visited the henhouse at Pippingham Palace lately.
Because chaos there has reached entirely new, unimaginable heights – we’re talking full-blown maternity alert.
Status update: Chick bonanza.
Five hens have been brooding – and four have already hatched, and here’s where we stand:
Brunhild adopted 7–8 chicks two weeks ago. (Honestly, we’ve lost count.) When the whole flock squeezes under that little hen, it looks like a fluffy monster with eight heads. She really should stay in the cradle – good luck with that.
Snefrid got two chicks – and a third just hatched, barely an hour before this report was written. She had to be forcibly relocated into the camo bag to find a bit of peace.
Pitbullsvarta is furious, has three chicks, and flat-out refuses to leave the nest box. We barely got permission to place a box underneath her. Fingers crossed she doesn’t change her mind.
Magda Skjettbruna has four chicks and lives farthest away in her own box. So far, they’re enjoying the quiet and are perfectly happy with the extra space.
One young unnamed hen is still sitting on four unhatched eggs.
But with 16–17 chicks already… maybe that’s quite enough for the moment – especially for these frazzled feathery mothers!
Additionally, we can report:
Rooster TrønderÅge is in shock.
Kasper doesn’t dare go inside.
Tåppen is silent and dismayed.
Haltepilka and the three curly ones have run off.
Thought things had calmed down?
So did we.
For about a day and a half.
Then Brunhild, mother of eight fast-moving chicks, decided to take a stroll to “greet” the other new mums – or, let’s be honest: to hunt for treats.
The reception? Let’s just say… frosty. Very frosty.
It quickly turned into a full-on feather-fight – like a down-filled prison episode, with pecking, screeching, and baby chicks witnessing their mothers' behavior with wide eyes and open beaks.
Trønder-Åge, our young and gentle new rooster, was utterly shocked by the antics in the maternity ward of Pippingham Palace.
Totally confused and in full crisis mode, he hasn’t made a sound since. Frankly, there’s been more than enough madness.
After an emergency leadership meeting – hastily convened on the front steps – it was clear: urgent action was needed.
Since we don’t have a standing National Guard, Mom was deployed.
Brunhild and her gang got to stay in the main henhouse.
Snefrid was moved to the hallway.
Magda Skjettbruna and Pitbullsvarta were sent to the old barn – they are “best friends,” at least as long as no one steals each other’s chicks.
And just for the record:
The bathroom is already occupied – it currently houses seven tiny quail chicks.
So at this point, only the garage hasn’t been turned into a maternity ward.
Eventually, things calmed down, the clucking subsided, and peace (well, almost) settled over Tiger Forest and Pippingham Palace.
Around 11:00 p.m., we did one final check – luckily!
Because Pitbullsvarta had decided she no longer wanted the white chicks. Instead, she had stolen the black chicks from Magda Skjettbruna, who – as always – just nodded and said, “Alright then.”
A rare peace dove in the palace.
But in the middle of the floor lay a tiny white chick.
Forgotten.
Cold.
Silent.
Lifeless.
Mom picked it up.
It was barely breathing. A tiny beak opening ever so slowly, just a few times. Maybe its last breaths?
But on this farm, we don’t give up that easily.
Mom took it in, tucked inside her sweater. It was coming inside.
A comfy bed was made in an old shoebox with hot water bottles and a towel.
Through the night it was massaged, kept warm, and fed tiny drops of sugar water.
And little by little – life returned.
Head up. Eyes open. Tiny peeps. Small hopes. Then, standing on its feet.
And at 4:00 a.m. – it was suddenly stumbling around the box. Pip-pip!
At 6:00, it had breakfast on the nightstand, drank some water – and curled up in a hand.
There it fell asleep.
Warm and safe, with tiny black chick eyes saying:
“I’m not giving up.”
Two cats, a dog, and Mom just sat and stared.
Because this was not just a chick – it was a tiny miracle.
Later that morning, the miracle chick moved in with Snow White, who already had a white and a grey chick.
Snow White doesn’t care about colors – only feathers, warmth, and love.
There, the little one was welcomed with open wings.
Safe. Sound. Home.
