Chicken Report {crisis at the coop}

I haven’t done a chicken report in a long time, as there really hasn’t been much to report. We’re down to seven chickens and about one egg a day. The girls are getting old (and we think Hollywood is tough), so they’re just not producing eggs like they used to. We love them dearly though, so they still get treated like queens, but we hope to get some new chicks this spring.

The coop was anything but quiet last night. Just as we were all settled in to watch the big game and with 30 minutes to kick off, my neighbor came knocking on the door. He informed us that our chickens were all over the place. They were across the road and down the street. When I looked out at the coop, sure enough, there was a dog sniffing around. We all threw on our boots and immediately went looking for our girls. Before I could even set a plan for triage, my daughter was off, chasing the dog clear across the neighbor’s yard. My husband and another neighbor found two chickens across the street and carried them home to safety. Then my daughter found another one. We had three chickens out of seven. Darkness was falling quick and the game was about to begin, so my husband abandoned the project, saying they’d come home in the morning¬—if they were alive.

I stood there under the almost full moon, waiting by the coop. Like little soldiers, two more appeared in the shadows, quietly assessing to see if the coast was clear. Now we had five. The game was on. I had to quit for the night. We figured the dog must have gotten the other two. This morning, when we opened the coop, six chickens ran out. We were pleasantly surprised to learn that one smart girl must have been hiding pretty well in the coop. We figured the dog must have gotten the last one. After all the mayhem, losing one didn’t seem so bad.

This afternoon I went out for a run, when I was stretching, something caught my eye. The last Rhode Island Red was lingering around the yard by the coop. I opened the door to the run, and she calmly walked in. Most days, that chore doesn’t go so smoothly, but today, she was happy to be home again. Even though the game didn't turn out the way we wanted, we couldn't be more thrilled with the way the crisis at the coop turned out.

chicken report {no. 12}

Note to self: do not wear sparkly flip flops when tending to the chickens...ever!

chicken report {no. 11}

It’s been a long, rough winter for me, and I’m pretty confident my chickens feel the same. Because of all the snow, their run has been diminished to a small patch of freedom in front of the coop. On cold days, they stay nestled inside, and can’t be bothered with the outdoors, save for a few small moments of kicking around for some scraps in the morning. Their sleeping habits are all messed up. We find them sleeping in the nesting boxes, which are metal and cold, rather than on the roost. My husband thinks it’s due to a draft that appears to be blowing in the lath shutters he designed. If I know my husband, he’s already planning a way to provide R4 value insulation to keep his ladies warm.

They’ve still been producing eggs, though not as frequent. We’re down to about 4-5 a day versus eight. Last year, we used a light to trick them into thinking it was spring, so they would produce at their regular pace. My husband didn’t want to stress them, so he gave them a break from the lamp this year.

Yesterday was near 50 degrees and we were all happy chickens. It was nice to see the girls venture outside and play in the dirt. They must be staring at that wall of white stuff that leads to their big run and wondering if it will ever go back to the way it was: lush green grass and warm, sunny days. I know I’m very much looking forward to seeing the grass again. I just can’t wait till I can make my way to the coop without slipping and sliding on the icy, narrow path. Feels like we have miles to go...

chicken report {no. 9}

Sylvester (April 2009-May 11, 2010)

RIP

Well, we finally did it. We put the rooster down. He was such a nasty bugger that it's hard to say I miss him. As you know, the decision did not come easy. Of course, we knew his endless attacks were all based on his natural instincts to protect his girls. But as he got bigger, his attacks were just too aggressive, and I worried about my daughter and her friends, since they're much smaller than me. I must confess, things are so much nicer without Sylvester. It's quieter, and once again, the daily trip to the coop for eggs is a pleasure. I must also confess, that he was quite tasty too. Yes, my husband cleaned him and he was roasted. We also made chicken soup. Nothing has gone to waste. The hens seem to be getting along fine, too. The only thing my husband noted is that things seem a little messier without Sylvester ruling the roost. I had to chuckle at that. I wondered if it was just my husband projecting his own bias there. He's always had a distorted sense that he's tidier than me. I digress. The point is, this chicken thing has it's ups and downs, but for the most part, we love it!

chicken report {no. 8}

Let's see.... Things have been relatively calm around the coop these days. The sick chicken, the one that was being pecked apart by the others, was nursed back to health, and her re-integration with the others was smooth as could be. Our strategy was simple: she inadvertently got out of her cage and basically begged to go back in the coop, so we opened the door and voila! We then went away for the weekend to avoid our tendency to over-mother the situation. When we came home, everyone seemed to be getting along just fine. Phew! The rooster.... Well, he's still an issue that we have mindfully procrastinated. You may recall, he's been known to attack all of us from time to time. Trouble is, I'm still in love with the big lummox even though he can be a real jerky-head. My husband and daughter have no fear, and they just tend to the coop chores with a tennis racket in-hand. I basically wait till he's sleeping to go in there. But, my husband will be going away for a few days, and I have to be able to tend to them. All I can say is that I'm still not ready to eat him or anything. I'm more likely to don my ski pants again (even in 80 degree heat), pick up the tennis racket and pray that the jerky-head leaves me alone.

chicken report {no.7}

Girls can be mean to each other, but in the chicken world, they’re downright vicious. The drama that plays out in our hen house rivals that of any high school. I mentioned briefly the other day that we have a sick chicken. A week ago or so, I noticed she was missing a few feathers and her comb looked shriveled and pale compared to the others. Every time I went to visit them, she was alone, sitting on the roost while the others played outside, or lying in a patch of shade away from the group. I didn’t make much of it. Bringing them food scraps one day, she sprang to her feet to enjoy the heaps of lettuce and onions along with the others. One by one the hens pecked at her, barring her from the treats. She’d scoot off but try to make another attempt. They pecked and pecked until she finally went inside and sat on the roost again. I watched throughout the day. She was excluded from the food and water and from any of the reindeer games. The next morning my husband found her with blood on her breast along with a gaping wound. They were still pecking at her when he walked in. These girls weren't messing around, and we knew we had to get her out of there.

We promptly made a shelter from an old dog cage. When we first put her in I could tell she was devastated as she looked over at the others with absolute panic. She wanted to be with them even though they were abusing her. Sadly, it’s what she knows. It’s what she’s comfortable with. We put a tarp around her cage, so she couldn’t see them, and she finally settled down. Quickly, she grasped how good life was for her in her new home, mainly because she had endless, uninterrupted access to the food and water. A few days passed, but she never laid an egg.

Then the rains came and we had to scurry to fix her shelter. Standing out in the cold rain, trying to make a proper home for this sick bird, I couldn’t help but ask myself if we were making too much of this. The farmers around here would just put her down; after all, she wasn’t even producing eggs anymore. But my husband and I have not really taken to this rough and tumble approach.

Though I had my doubts, and the endless rain put more stress on the situation, I am very proud to report that she laid her first egg two days ago and another yesterday. Her comb looks pinker too. Now we’re on to the next challenge: having her hold her own when we put her back in the hen house. This should be interesting. I hope those mean girls prove me wrong and show a little compassion. Am I asking too much from animals with brains the size of a peanut?

Chicken Report {no. 3}

Yahoo! Hooray! Today was the day! We have our first egg! I can't tell you how giddy this makes me. Our daughter came running in the house before school to tell us the news. My husband and I just smiled at each other with that look that says, "it doesn't get any better than this." It's these little moments in time that will leave the biggest impressions--on us and our daughter. Life is good. Happy Friday!

chicken report {no. 2}

For months I've been watching our birds grow from precious little chicks, to gangly teenagers, to lovely ladies. All the while I've been suspicious of this one. It was different from the start. The bright red comb and wattle developed much quicker than all the other birds. Could it be a rooster? No. No biggie, I thought. It must be older than the others. Then I started hearing funny noises, but it was not even close to a full on crow, so I assumed they were being playful and chatting. In terms of the pecking order, this one was surely more aggressive and very bossy with the others. How amusing and charming, right? A few days ago, I noticed the tail feathers were much more pronounced and magnificent than any of the hens. I'm no chicken expert, and I find denial can be comforting, so I blew it off and attributed it to the age thing. Then, last night, I'm swimming in the pool, and I hear an awkward little cock-a-doodle-doo. I looked at my daughter. Then it came again--not a strong, boisterous crow, but clearly the beginnings of what is soon to be our new alarm clock. Hmmm... Now what? Stay tuned and have a wonderful weekend.