Scratch and Peck

ART LESSON

2012-01-15T16:18:00.000-05:00

Here's some of the art that was on display at the Northeast Poultry Congress in Springfield MA USA.

I don't recall the titles,

but the artist is Mother Nature.

Her work was elegant,

solid,

delicate,

sweet.

That sweet one really took my breath away.

I visited her a few times during the day and did some sketches to get to know her better.

How did Mother Nature come up with these designs?

And what is it like to wake up every morning in this outfit?

This fella is proudly owned by a sweet little girl.

I hope he didn't hear people calling him "Devil Boy".

This lady scratched in the sawdust as gracefully as a ballerina.

To look at her, one can easily make the link between chicken and dinosaur.

Were dinosaurs graceful?

And did their souls shine this brightly in their eyes?

This cochin hen was just one voluptuous butt with a head on top.

She seemed to have a healthy self-image. Good girl.

Now here's an example of form and pattern explosively combined.

and lovely eyes as punctuation.

I studied eyes.

Could she see me?

Yes, there is a chicken in there.

This prizewinner's eyes have "happy" and "healthy" written all over them.

All through the day, chickens glanced upward. I couldn't figure out what they were looking at. Perhaps the fluorescent lights were flickering?

Eventually I saw what they saw... Sparrows flitting around high up in the rafters of the arena. All of the chickens were aware of them; most of us humans were not.

As the day drew to a close, some birds settled right down.

But others......
well, turn up your sound for this little video clip.

Where's Marky? (December game)

2011-12-12T09:22:00.000-05:00

Enjoying the season's long shadows and warm colors with my favorite hiking buddy.

You won't find Marky in this picture,

or in this one.

He's waiting for me to finish whatever the heck I'm doing, so we can get on with the fun.

Wait a minute little guy.

Just one more.

Oooh - just a sec.

Okay, last one.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Alright let's go...... Where's Marky?

Best little white dog.

(hint: if you cant' find Marky in these pix, click on the image for enlargement.)

Need more fun?

To play the first "Where's Marky" game, click HERE!

Character

2011-12-01T20:33:00.000-05:00

Lucy's toes remind me of this photo by Alfred Stieglitz,

of Georgia O'Keefe's hands.

So much character.

And since "adversity builds character",

I guess that's why Lucy is full of it.

Out in the coop, I was photographing Lucy's twisted toes

when Pigeon scampered over to see what all the fuss was about.

She took a good myopic look,

and then she noticed that Lucy's head was above her own.

This, according to the Official Chicken Rule Book,

is an extreme gesture of insubordination.

In defense of her position as Queen of the Coop, Pigeon raised her hackles and placed her beak beside Lucy's.

Lucy remained calm and still, to assure Pigeon that she had no intention of overthrowing her regime.

Pigeon thought about that for a bit, while Lucy waited politely.

Then Pigeon turned toward me to see if treats might be in order.

Pigeon herself is not without her own adversity... you can see character in her toes, too. She's not in pain, but these bent toes do tell a story of hardship that she endured before she came to live with us.
Those days are forgotten -- but they certainly contributed to her character.

Maybe that's why these two gals share a special bond.

...They're sharing a special dog house, too --
I've made some changes in the chicken yard.
But that's another story!

Chicken Milking

2011-10-02T11:39:00.000-04:00

Some well-meaning friends talked me into trying a Yoga class. They said it was just what I needed.

Gentle music played and incense wafted as the instructor guided our twists, our stretches, our breathing...while I wrote my grocery list in my head and tried to remember if Sarah's orthodontist appointment was tomorrow or next Tuesday.

After about a half-hour I actually began to get into the groove when, balanced on left knee and right hand, I twisted my head to look up at the clock---

Only nine minutes had passed.

Nine Minutes?

Aside from maybe having a molar pulled, this was the longest nine minutes I'd ever endured.

Panicking silently, I tried to come up with an urgent excuse or a graceful exit, but could think of none. I would have to endure the eternal yoga class.

Believe it or not, it eventually ended. With the delightful Corpse pose which I mastered like a master. I rolled up my yoga mat and skittered out the door never to return.

Wikipedia tells me:
"The goal of yoga, or the person practicing yoga, is the attainment of a state of perfect spiritual insight and tranquility."

Heck, I don't need no yoga mat for that.

Because I've got a Chicken-milking stool.

No, I don't milk the chickens on this stool. But if chickens could be milked, this would be the perfect stool for the job.

I got it at Ikea for $7.99.

It lives out in the yard, and it beckons me.

This stool brings me closer to all things awesome.

Like Lucy's face.

Late in the day when the girls free-range, Lucy shuffles over to sit by the stool, knowing I'll eventually be planting myself there. I join the ladies every evening for free-ranging time on account of this:

which has taken up roosting here:

A Red Shouldered hawk. Actually, we've got a whole family of them, and they'd like nothing better than a chicken dinner.

Since Lucy can't get around too well, (click here for Lucy's story), she sits down and joins me on Hawk-Patrol.
Marky also keeps an eye out for hawks. He's a very good little watchdog.

Of course, when he's not scanning the skies,

he's doing his yoga.

Lucy, too... When she's not watching for hawks, she practices the Bharadvaja's Twist.

They take turns, so somebody's always on watch--

which leaves me free to seek a state of spiritual insight from the comfort of my stool.

At my feet is a telltale sign that Lil'White has begun her molt.

I find the rest of her beneath the forsythia,

where she appears to have exploded.

How does she do it?
While all the other molting gals look miserable and disheveled,

(poor little Pigeon, here, sports one pathetic tail feather)

Lil'White loses more than half her plumage and still remains the picture of beauty and poise.

Oh, the perspectives I'd miss

were it not for my chicken-milking stool.

And you know, I'm not the only one who seeks to attain a sense of peace and spirituality through chickens.

Here my friend Sharon Araujo does a modified Standing Half Forward Bend while Terry Golson of Hencam.com attempts an especially complex yoga position to attain the best chicken-butt photo,

and thus, spiritual insight and tranquility.

Namaste.

Fern's Amazing Rubber Egg

2011-09-21T19:49:00.000-04:00

They say that one nest box is all you need for three or four hens. But when one of your hens is Lil'White, that's another story.

Lil'White hogs the nest box. Always has.

Sometimes she pretends to be broody, like this:

Ouch!

...I swear she's faking it.

Last year I made a new coop for my five gals, with TWO nest boxes.
One for Lil'White, and one for everybody else.

For some reason, everybody preferred Lil'White's nest box, so there was still a line of anxious hens waiting their turn.

Then I had a clever idea.

I placed a rubber egg in the unused nest box to make that box appear desirable.

Instantly, that second nest box was deemed eggworthy by the flock, and we never had a problem with a long queue again.

But another problem did creep up:

Her name is Fern.

Right about the time of the rubber egg, Fern stopped laying.
Until that time, she was laying beautifully --

Her petite blue eggs were regular treasures... maybe three or four a week.

The shutdown of little Fern's internal egg factory was a mystery.

There are several reasons a hen might take a break from laying during the summer -- hot weather, a molt, broodiness, poor health... I didn't see signs of any issues or problems in Fern.

She was still the little whippersnapper she'd always been. Still getting into trouble.

(Closeup: Fern waits for Lil'White to resume pecking her on the head.)

Fern must have had her reasons for not laying eggs, and I supposed she'd get back to laying pretty soon.

Sure enough, after a few weeks, Fern did start marching into the nest box each morning.

She preferred the box with the rubber egg.

Every day, she settled in and hunkered down.

And when she was done, she stepped out onto the upper perch

to formally announce her accomplishment.

The problem:
There WAS no accomplishment.
Fern wasn't laying anything.
No blue eggs. No eggs at all.

She still isn't laying, and it's been FOUR MONTHS.

For four months, she has been going through the motions, daily.

...looks like Daisy's been here already.

Does Fern think she's laying a rubber egg every day?

If that's what's going on in her tiny little head, that's okay with me. But I really am dying to know.

If she never lays a cute blue egg ever again, that's okay too. She won't end up in the stewpot because I still appreciate all the redeeming qualities that make her...well... Fern.

I guess Fern is just a bit unusual...

But, then, aren't we all?

Lil'White Goes Shopping

2011-08-15T15:38:00.000-04:00

A Facebook friend declared August 14 "Take Your Chicken to a Pet Store Day".

So I did!

I took Lil'White.

I'm not sure what she was expecting,

but I don't think she was prepared for all the attention.

She caused lots of double-takes and smiles. We had some nice chats with customers...wandered around... picked up a little toy for Marky.

Lil'White maintained her composure until we arrived at the Budgie cage.

That's when her little toes started quivering and we decided it was time to depart.

Just a little delay at the checkout --

And we were home within the hour.

To Lil'White, it seemed much longer.

I'm glad we went on this little adventure. Lil'White served as a fine ambassador for pet chickens, and in our conversations with amused shoppers, we were able to slip in a little comment here and there about healthy eggs from happy hens -- which is really what it's all about.

Dubious Treat

2011-08-01T17:39:00.001-04:00

I visited my little raised bed veggie garden yesterday and found that several tomato plants had been stripped of their leaves overnight. I knew who did it -- just had to find the culprit:

The EVIL Tomato Hornworm.
Enormous.
Covered in eyeballs.
I kid you not.

I found it right away. Took a deep breath, shook off my heebie-jeebies and plucked the pest off the vine. What a treat for the girls! I took it straight to the coop, eager to watch my little hens chow down on this vile demon.

The ladies were thrilled to see me.

I bring them treats often, in order to perpetuate my delusion that they're thrilled to see me --- I usually bring something like a melon rind or a tomato, which is really what they're thrilled to see.

The girls charged greedily toward my offering, then screeched to a halt. Spunky little Daisy snatched up the hornworm and ran away with it -- she took it to the far end of the yard, put it down, took a good look at it, then picked it up and brought it right back to me.

Other than that, everybody just stood and stared.

I mean, they didn't even take a nibble. I thought they'd be fighting over it - like they would if it were a worm or a slug or a beetle. What was the difference here? The size? The row of eyeballs?

Offended by their lack of enthusiasm for this awesome gift, I left the girls staring at the hornworm and went back inside to post my photo of the ghastly creature on Facebook where I felt sure it would be appreciated for its enormity and beautiful freakiness. Facebook Friends immediately responded, agreeing that it is a terrible menace in the garden.
Another friend, however, explained that it is the larva of a Hummingbird Moth,

which happens to be one of my absolute favorite bugs.

Suddenly, I loved that caterpillar.

I snapped my laptop shut and sprinted back out to the coop, hoping I wasn't too late for a valiant rescue. The ladies were dust bathing in the shade at the far end of the run, and I found the caterpillar right where I'd left it, all its eyeballs still intact and glaring at me.
I picked it up, dusted it off and returned it to the vegetable garden.

This morning I went out to check up on the caterpillar and found it joyfully defoliating another treasured tomato plant, none the worse for its adventure with the girls.

Then I took a melon rind treat to my adoring little hens.

BULLYING -or- The Evil Orpington

2011-07-21T06:51:00.000-04:00

Orpingtons are reputed to be one of the most docile and friendly breeds of chicken.

So why is Lil'White such a sociopath?

She started out as sweet as could be.

Was an inner fury brewing in that fluffy little soul?

You can't blame it on the mother (me). My girls enjoy spacious accommodations--- more good food than they ever can cram into those little crops of theirs--- safe and spacious roosting areas ---- plenty of entertainment and activity.

There's no logical explanation for her brutal behavior.

Not only does she viciously defend her #2 position in the pecking order ...all...day...long, incessantly and unprovoked,

but she brutally attacks ME every chance she gets---

---appearing innocent and curious all the while.

My legs receive most of her abuse, but whenever I squat down to chat with the ladies, she quietly slips around back and pecks mercilessly -- maniacally --

at my butt.

I feel that if she had the appropriate weapon, she'd kill me--drag me to the woods and bury me in a shallow grave behind the compost pile. But all she's got is a little beak and a twisted little mind. She doesn't scare me one bit.

She sure put the fear of chickens into Grandma, though.

Fern and Daisy take most of her abuse,

but they're young and quick so blood loss is rare.

Now I'm wondering if young impressionable Fern has picked up some nasty behavior from Lil'White.

Recently, suddenly, Fern decided that she will be above Daisy in the pecking order. It was kind of sad to watch because Daisy and Fern had been little allies from the start.

Two tykes,

inseparable.

When Fern started attacking her, Daisy clearly had better things to do than to bicker about her social rank. She just got out of the way.

Now Daisy's kind of on her own.

She keeps to the perimeter.

But, because she's an awesome gal, she makes the most of it.

There's more adventure to be had when you're on your own...

like suddenly discovering

The Car.

Bedtime is a stressful time for Daisy. I used to rescue Fern from up in the dark rafters every night, but now I leave her up there alone, rather than let her torment Daisy on the roost.

So Daisy has had only one beak to dodge in the evenings -- Lil'White's.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Last night, however, when I went out to lock up the coop, I came upon a pretty little sight.

All five sitting quietly on the summer roost.

I hope it's a foreshadow of harmony to come.

DAISY'S ASTOUNDING BRAIN

2011-06-22T16:49:00.001-04:00

Honestly.

While the other gals are stampeding willy-nilly through that puddle,

Daisy stands transfixed at the water cascading over the edge.

How many chickens do you know who carefully observe the hunting techniques of a robin?

Okay, I'll just say it.
I think I have a genius in the coop.

Over and over again, Daisy displays phenomenal mental capabilities.

Of course a chicken's brain, no matter how capable, is a little bit skewed in its design.

Daisy is easily distracted. And she has a tendency to panic. Comprehension is pretty weak, too.
But doesn't that sound like the average report card these days anyway?

Minor disabilities are no obstacle for Daisy.
She earnestly perseveres, committed to exploring the farthest reaches of her universe.

The kitchen, for example.

Daisy is obsessed with our living quarters.

While none of the other girls shows even the slightest curiosity about our human lives,

Daisy seizes every chance to stalk around the back deck peering into windows.

That day I left the sliding door open, Daisy cautiously advanced. This was her first opportunity to actually step inside, and she was giddy about it. She carefully absorbed every detail during those precious few moments.

Those precious few moments ended when Marky hopped up onto the deck---

but the excitement of her expedition left Daisy longing to return.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Daisy's next opportunity came just this week.

She had been laying eggs with no shells for several days, and I was pretty concerned.
Daisy wasn't behaving like a sick chicken, but I knew something was wrong.

Then one night as I locked up the coop, I noticed that Daisy was missing.

I hunted around,

and found her asleep in the nestbox.

...not a good sign.

My hens always sleep on the roost. There's plenty of roosting space for them, so the nest boxes stay clean and are used only for egg-laying.

I had to pause and think for a moment about what to do.

I recalled what Terry Golson of Hencam.com once told me... (or did I just think she'd told me....?)

"when in doubt, give'em a bath".

...and if Terry didn't say this, she'd probably agree with me anyway.
It's a pleasant experience for the chicken, and it's a good chance to do a little physical exam. So I took Daisy into the kitchen, filled a tub with warm water and plunked her in.

She had a whole mess of raw egg stuck to her feet and her belly -- so I was glad to get her all cleaned off. As I bathed her, I was able to examine her crop, gizzard, vent, toes.

All those little body parts seemed normal.

She thoroughly enjoyed her blow-dry,

she fluffed up the final feathers herself,

and then suddenly realized

that she was in the.... kitchen.
A sense of awe consumed her.

She became perky and happy, alert and investigative, which made me confident that whatever ailed her was not imminently fatal.

I let her explore briefly and then I scooped her up and ran her out to the coop before she could plop a heinous poo on the kitchen floor.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The next day I began augmenting the ladies' chicken feed with extra calcium, and in a few days Daisy was laying eggs with shells again. I think that the abundant bugs and grubs and grass and clover of this lush season had somehow set her nutrient level out of whack.

Daisy continues to study her world-
I watched her warily approach a dead vole in the coop the other day.

When she snatched it up and gave it a good shake I guessed that it might have been she who was responsible for its condition.

So how can it be that this fearless, plucky, intellectually superior --- and did I mention beautiful--- chicken

has landed at the rock-bottom of the pecking order?

Stay tuned for the next post: BULLYING

Lucy's Helpful Heatwave Hints

2011-06-10T09:07:00.000-04:00

In a shaded patch of clover:

spread every feather and every toe as far as it will go.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

On a hot night: be the first one on the roost

and take all the space you need.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Cool refreshing watermelon:

sink toes in deep and feel your troubles drift away.

farsighted

2011-06-04T20:02:00.000-04:00

A moth died on the window screen,

wings spread to shield her eggs.

Bright green pearls turned to red and

the cycle continued.

Immense energy

in a tiny package

on a big adventure.

TORNADO!

2011-06-02T15:21:00.001-04:00

When the weather report says "TORNADO WARNING" and the TV is beeping an alarm, you grab what's important to you and head for the basement.

Let's see.. daughter, dog, laptop, PopTarts.

We were all hunkered down in the basement when I logged onto Facebook to announce the drama to friends and family. Within seconds, folks from all over were responding, "WHAT ABOUT THE CHICKENS?"

That's exactly what I'd been thinking....

The TV assured us that the tornado was on a direct track to Upton, but wouldn't get here for another 15 minutes.

Plenty of time.

"Auntie Em! Auntie Em!" played in my head as I sprinted across the yard to rescue the girls.

When I got there, they fussed and asked me for treats. I guess that living-in-the-moment gives a chicken no inkling of impending disaster. I needed to move quickly, so I decided to leave the girls in the coop and prop the door open so they could escape if a tree fell on it. But Lucy can barely walk, and would be smooshed under that tree. So I snatched her up in a football hold and bolted back across the yard.

Safe in the basement, Sarah texted, Marky paced, and Lucy kept her opinions to herself.

We ate Pop Tarts and watched the Weather Channel.

We were shocked to learn that this massive tornado made it all the way to Sturbridge before it petered out, leaving a big mess of property damage, and taking at least four human lives.

We were fortunate to be a safe distance to the east.

So-- danger had passed for us and we could see from the kitchen window that all was well in the back yard.

But rain and lightning kept me from returning Lucy to the coop.

She seemed okay with that.

I set her on a little stool.

Marky tried to make her feel welcome by sniffing her butt, in polite doggy manner.

Lucy tried to act as if she didn't mind.

Marky likes Lucy because she's calm and doesn't make any quick moves.

He was careful to keep from offending her by averting his eyes and maintaining an appropriate distance. I think Lucy appreciated that.

To protect my little stool from chicken-poo, I carefully slipped a medical bill under Lucy's rear end.

I showed Lucy the sign I'd made recently.

Again, she kept her opinions to herself.

The skies eventually cleared and I returned Lucy to the coop where the ladies waited eagerly, fussing and asking me for treats.

Sarah and I feel very sad for the people and animals harmed by the tornado....and
so so happy to have things back to normal in Upton.

WHERE'S MARKY ?

2011-05-24T16:13:00.000-04:00

He's not a chicken, but I love him just the same.

Marky.

Hunting-dude.

Master-o' Camouflage.

So get out your binoculars and your magnifying glass, and...

find Marky!

Build a Coop in THREE HOURS?

2011-04-08T06:51:00.000-04:00

Heck, why not?

Terry Golson and I thought we'd give it a shot.

She recently ordered a batch of fresh new chicks, and is hoping their delivery will coincide with one of her hens going broody.

She needed a little coop to house the chicks and their new mom.

We only had three free hours to get the job done.

I was up for the challenge.

Marky and I tumbled into Terry's back yard with our big bag of power tools, and everyone got down to business.

Lily ran circles around Marky, Terry brewed a big pot o' joe, and I sketched a coop plan on paper, based on the materials Terry had to work with.

Ingredients:

2 steaming cups coffee,

1 busted old go-cart,

1 slightly rusty bunny cage,

2 cups assorted drywall screws.

_____________________________

With saber saw on medium speed,

chop go-cart into manageable pieces

and random chunks.

Using any means imaginable,

affix go-cart pieces to rabbit cage,

and sprinkle generously with drywall screws.

Stand back and sip coffee liberally.

. . . . . . . . . .

Terry and I performed our coop-creating feat before a large audience:

Lily, Scooter and Marky feigned interest until they each nodded off and tipped over on the warm sunny lawn.

Candy and her flock lined up to observe.. but what really captivated them was the grass seed that Terry had sown on the opposite side of their fence, just out of reach.

The goats, Pip and Caper, were mesmerized by the entire performance. Man, those boys are easily thrilled.

. . . . . . . .

The result of our labors:

a little broody coop in 3 hours!

....and with a bit of paint,

anything

possible.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

But wait-- there's more!

Click here to go to the blog at HENCAM.COM ,

where TERRY is telling this very same story,

in HER own special style.
(and see her critters, in real-time)

Enjoy!

EVENING RITUAL

2011-03-30T08:12:00.001-04:00

As the sun dips low in the evening sky I step into my muck-boots and take some treats out to the girls.
I swear this is what happens every single night:

Daisy is the first to catch sight of me and sprints over to Lucy's side. She's a clever girl, Daisy.

She knows I hand-feed Lucy on account of Lucy's being

virtually unable to walk anymore --- and Daisy wants what Lucy's gettin'.

Lucy gets her treat despite pesky little Daisy.

Then Pigeon curses and swears at me until I fill a little cup with feed and place it in front of her.

Inside her own private cup, she settles down to pecking and nibbling and talking to herself.

Then Lucy totters toward me and bumps into my boot. That's her way of saying, "Pick me up."

So I do.

She is capable of climbing the ramp into the henhouse, but why should she go to the trouble when there's a red sleeve that will take her up there?

....I always get a little thrill when Lucy perches trustfully on my arm.

Sometimes I fancy myself a Falconer--- the fearsome Barred-Rock clenching my gauntlet with mighty talons of death....

...so then I deposit Lucy at the top of the ramp, and she perches in the doorway for a bit.

Lucy fills the entire doorway with her tremendous girth, and she sits there until she's good and ready to move on.

A traffic jam forms. The girls desperately try to squeeze past her this way and that way, but Lucy's titanic magnitude is impassable.
Eventually Lucy moves on in, followed by Pigeon, Lil'White and Daisy, in exactly that order.

Fern is the last one in. She dillydallies outside, oblivious.

She's busy eating dirt.
Yes, dirt.
No, I have no idea why.
When Fern eventually discovers that she's alone, she turns and scurries right up the ramp -

-- but she stops abruptly near the top....

for this little chicken knows

that somewhere inside....

lurks Lil'White.

With empty eyes and a cold dark soul, Lil'White makes it her business to torment Fern in this way every night.
She's good at it.
Patiently she waits in the darkness.

Fern fidgets.
She panics a little.
She paces.

I leave Fern out there, terrified and terrorized, and trudge back to my house.
...but that's not the end of our evening ritual.
. . . . . .
A few hours later, teeth brushed and ready for bed, I go to the coop one more time in my muck-boots and pajamas.
"Ferr-rn," I call gently.
"Br-br-br?," comes a lonely whisper from the shadows.

Too frightened to go inside, Fern has chosen to launch herself into the rafters above. There she waits to be rescued from terrible dark aloneness.
Fern grips my fingers with her little blue-black toes, and ducks her head as she rides my hand through the doorway and gets deposited on a roost inside.
There's no attack from Lil'White this time because in the dark of night Lil'White can't see her victim.
I withdraw my hand and listen to a little fluttering and shuffling in there, and then... the best part...

I peek in at my little flock.

KIDS AND CHICKENS

2011-02-11T08:37:00.000-05:00

Every kid...so totally unique.

Abby, here, passionately embraces Nature.
From the tiniest, creepiest --

-- to the hugest enormousest.

In my back yard, Abby has her own personal mission:

to rearrange the chickens.

Pigeon goes here...

Not sure where Lil'White should go...

Because she's speedy and deliberate, Abby's the only one of us who's able to catch fleet-footed Daisy.
. . . . . . . .

George, however, is so patient that Daisy steps right onto his hand.

. . . . . . . . . .

At my friend Trish's house, while she and I chatted on the lawn,

her son Chris perched a rooster on his head and ran loops around the yard.

Chris is a teenager now, and will be horrified to read this, but... sorry, Chris -- that joyous image is forever etched in my memory.
. . . . . . . . . .

Lil'White has been Sarah's favorite from the beginning.

Sarah tenderly scoops her up,

and gazes lovingly into those vapid little eyes.
. . . . . . . . . .

Amanda came to visit, expressly to meet the chickens.
Pigeon seemed very curious, and followed Amanda all around.

So Amanda stopped and offered Pigeon some grass. The two of them had a long, long conversation....

I wonder if it was Amanda's polka-dotty swimsuit that intrigued Pigeon so...

. . . . . . . . . . . .

I've been doing some chicken-talks lately, and have come to look forward to chatting with the older folks at these events. They're so happy to tell me of their favorite childhood chickens. One woman told me she dressed hers up in a bonnet and wheeled it around in a baby carriage.
Another lady innocently explained how she and her siblings made pull-toys out of their beloved hens:
you just tie a string around a bit of bread, and then feed it....

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

chicken socks

2011-01-30T19:30:00.000-05:00

I would if I could, but I'm not the knittin' type. So instead, I put some straw, leaves, pine bedding down on the snow and in the run, to protect those delicate little toes.

More ideas :

Winter can get pretty dull for your darling ladies.
While some folks have mentioned the cabbage-on-a-string treat,
my gals turn up their beaks at cabbage.
They prefer:

kale-on-a-string... see that little S-hook?
You can make 'em yourself:

Always good to have a handful of S-hooks around, to hang that kale on the side of the run,

Apple-on-a-string has become a winter favorite of Lucy and Pigeon (make some little slices in the apple, and sink the twine into them, to hold it tight)...Hanging keeps it out of the dirt and poo.

You'll need your handy S-hooks for these cups:

I use these soda-bottle-cups for extra water and food. Easy to take away the dirty ones and put out clean ones. Chickens need extra water in winter, and having it in several locations ensures that they stay hydrated.

Got some firewood lying about?
Nothing's more exciting than a new log in the coop!

Molting birds especially benefit from a little extra protein:
Freeze-dried mealworms, cheese, black oil sunflower seeds, cooked oatmeal (all healthy in moderation)

So treat your flock, and watch them adore you even more!

(Got a good idea to promote chicken-happiness? Please share!)

Okay. Now back to writing "Kids and Chickens"....coming soon-

PIGEON RULES

2011-01-22T21:25:00.000-05:00

What are some important leadership qualities ?

Hm.

Here's Pigeon, the leader of the flock, the day I met her.

Upside down.

Skinny, bloody... far from healthy.
(click here to read more about Pigeon's beginnings)

After a few weeks of tender rehab, she did seem much healthier.
She joined the flock and slipped herself right into the lead position vacated by our dear-departed-Hatsy.

But Pigeon, our new little leader, followed Lucy around like a puppy.

As it turns out, Pigeon is extremely nearsighted.

In fact, she's darn near blind.

This explains why she's always underfoot.

I've nearly stepped on her several times,

and have to be careful not to chop off her little head

when I'm working in the garden.

I offer her a tomato, and she pecks to the left of it.

Even when I toss her a wiggling worm,

she has a tough time finding it...

she's pecking to the left again.

...but that's okay.

There's still Bravery and Smarts, right?

O.K.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

At the beginning, Pigeon was afraid of everything.

She was afraid of worms.

She was afraid of the sky.

She's still scared of Marky, but tries not to show it.

So. Maybe health and bravery aren't that important after all.

As for. . . . . . . . . . .

Well, she's not the brightest bulb in the coop.
She's got a pretty average little pea-brain beneath that comb.
I'd rank Daisy and Lucy as the smartest gals...

But hey, we've known leaders who have made it to the top despite even catastrophic stupidity.

So what is Pigeon's strength?

Compassion?

In a chicken?

Yep.

She shows it in so many ways.

She is very considerate of Lucy's challenges.

Lucy's an older lady who's had some really tough times. And this year Lucy chose to molt in January....not the best time to be half-naked in New England.

So Pigeon stands beside her and keeps her warm while they nap.

And from her very first encounter with little Fern and Daisy, Pigeon has shown only kindness.

Here she stands near them and preens -- which, in chicken-talk, means "hi there- I'm not going to kill you"... of course, the chicks don't understand that yet. They're cowering in the corner, awaiting a painful death.

But there's one particular moment of sensitivity that really struck me.....
It was last Fall.
I was offering a piece of clover to Pigeon and the little ones.

Pigeon looked up and saw Lil'White running toward the babies in order to murder them.
While Pigeon had nothing to fear, she knew that the babies did.
She warned them of impending doom, and little Fern and Daisy fled to the forsythia in the nick of time.

It was a simple gesture.
But a true gesture of compassion.

I haven't seen sensitivity like that among dogs, or cats....
or in hundreds of hours of nature shows.
But here it is -- in Pigeon.

Pigeon, honey, you rock.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Now, I don't know whether it's compassion or curiosity or trust --
but Pigeon tends to be the favorite of all the kids who come to visit.

And that's a story for the next post!

.....Next post: Kids and Chickens

WHITEOUT

2010-12-29T10:20:00.000-05:00

Blizzard 2010

Marky squinted with joy -- he's a certified snow-dog.

Lil'White watched as I shoveled the path. But she knows all about snow and how it feels on her little pink toes. Once the door was opened, she retreated to the dry leafy depths of the coop.

Pigeon and Daisy paused a moment to take in the wonder of it all.
In a burst of excitement, Daisy launched herself across the yard,

and was stranded.

Fern seemed confused.

Pigeon went exploring for a bit.

But Lil'White and Lucy fluffed themselves up and mustered their patience. They know it's a long way til Spring.

PLUCKED! - Fern

2010-12-17T11:41:00.000-05:00

Fern.
She's an Ameraucana. Puffy cheek-feathers, little pea-comb.
She and Daisy were born this spring.
Daisy started laying eggs four months ago, but Fern
has shown no sign of ever laying any stupid ol' eggs,
thank-you-very-much.

Fern's just too busy to grow up.

She's always on her toes.

Fern is quick to warn the flock of danger,
using the universal chicken-alarm that is reserved for hawk sightings, foxes and other very scary things:

She's a vigilant little chicken, on guard for any threat.

Yep, always on the lookout for danger.

. . . . . . . . .

Fern's at the very bottom of the pecking order.
Normally you'd expect a hen in that position to be timid and to keep out of everyone's way.

But Fern -- she breaks all the rules of chicken-etiquette.

...like: Never charge full-speed at your superiors.

This always results in a good plucking.

Also:

Never fly over the dog.

She's had some close calls with that one.

And this---
If you're unfamiliar with chicken-etiquette, this may look like a cute little dance.
But let me tell you.

This is Fern challenging Pigeon, the TOP CHICKEN, to a duel.
This is so totally rude. I mean you just don't do this if you want to live.
But Pigeon's not offended. She's amused.
Pigeon adores Fern.

So she gives her a swift little tail-plucking and sends her on her way..

Here Fern's coming back for more.
. . . . . . . . . .

With all this plucking going on, I've managed to collect some nice samples of her plumage billowing around the yard:

And here's how those feathers looked when they were still attached to Fern:

Another endearing little visual:

Fern's butt-feathers are in the shape of a heart.
. . . . . . . . . . .

I let the girls out for some free-range time every day.
And every day Fern sprints from the forsythia to the bird feeder and back again - over and over and over.
It's an adorable sight.
Took me a while to see exactly what she is doing:

She's chasing birds.

Chickadees, Nuthatches...

What is going through her tiny little chicken-head?
Is she racing them?
Does she think she's a chickadee?

She's a free-wheelin' little mystery, Fern.

And Pigeon is a mystery to me too --
that she understands Fern's playful taunting.
Her sensitivity to all the individuals in her flock is uncanny.

....next post: PIGEON: Blind Wisdom

N E W C O O P !

2010-11-20T22:43:00.001-05:00

I think this is the design my chickens were hoping for:

But this is the design I chose :

--and they love it.

It's a lot like the old coop, but twice as big, and I gave it all sorts of nifty updates... two nest boxes instead of one, lots of ventilation for hot nights, little doors all over the place for filling the feeder, for changing the water, for the girls coming and going..

I would be tearing down the old coop completely, but not until the new one was finished.

The mini-coop was staying put.

It was a handy first-home for little Fern and Daisy, and I'm sure I'll be using it again.
Also,

the mini-coop was a nice place to grow Heavenly-blue Morning Glories, my favorite.

Wow -- when I look at these photos, I think the construction looks kind of impressive.
Honestly, I pretty much eyeballed the whole thing. There are no right angles.
But with a couple of power tools and a million drywall screws, anything's possible.

These here building inspectors gave me the go-ahead, so

here it is! the new coop. And the old dog house, and the little coop.
That little piece of string supports bird-netting that covers their whole yard and keeps out hawks, who sit in the trees all day, watching the hens and licking their lips.

The ladies are thrilled with their big new coop.
Why is Marky dressed like a pumpkin, you ask?
I made him a blaze-orange vest so he won't get shot while bounding through the woods.

See, now he doesn't look so much like a bunny.

The little dog house in the chicken-yard used to be Marky's,

but he fancies himself a rugged outdoorsman, and refused to go inside it,

so Pigeon and Lucy took it over.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Autumn is molting season.
This year it was Lil'White and Pigeon who decided to molt.

They each have their own molting styles.

Lil'White drops all her golden feathers in about a day.
The coop looks like a chicken exploded,
but Lil'White still looks as voluptuous as ever.

Pigeon's feathers fall out one by one. She started two months ago, and there's no end in sight.

Wherever Pigeon goes, she leaves a little stripey trail.

Little Fern's feathers are all over the yard, too, but not because of a molt.

Next post :
PLUCKED !

A Compact Life

2010-09-07T20:56:00.000-04:00

In early September, in the house we call Greenestone,

a baby mouse tumbled out of a crack in the ceiling.

It bounced off the stove,
and landed on the kitchen floor.

...rather horrifying to witness.

There was really nothing we could do for the little thing.
It was very young -- its eyes weren't even open.

We gently removed it and placed it outside in the bushes.

A few minutes later
another mouse baby fell.

Then another--

and another --

When it finally stopped raining mouses, we were very much relieved.

The next morning I found one of those little critters crawling on the path.

I picked it up.

Its body was cold,
but in my hands it soon warmed up.

I didn't have the means or ability to care for a baby mouse, but this little thing had survived the loss of its mother, a fall from the attic, and a cold night in the bushes.

I couldn't just leave it there.

One drop of cream on the end of a matchstick was the beginning.

The next drop filled her right up, and then she slept.

We didn't name her Dandelion.

We didn't name her Earl.

We didn't want to grow attached--- her survival seemed so unlikely.

We only called her "mouse baby".

Feeding got easier once she learned to lick.

But you know how messy toddlers can be---

a bath became a necessity.

The warmth of my hand put her right to sleep.

Caring for so delicate a creature was a real challenge.

To keep her warm, I made her a little pouch to sleep in,
and tucked it into the front of my shirt.

Sometimes she'd climb out and go exploring.
I'd look down and find her clinging to my shirt like a little brooch.

She had some adventuresome encounters with small fruits,

but really she preferred

simple warmth and safety.

When her teeth emerged, I became hopeful.
I thought that if I could keep her healthy
until she started eating solid foods,
she would then nourish herself, and live a long mouse-life.

But one day she got a little sore spot on the bottom of this pretty little foot.

And the next day an infection set in.

Neither the care I could give her

nor her powerful will

were enough.

The next day Mouse Baby died in my hand.

In the eight magical days that she spent with us,

she taught us

about strength and fragility,

about hope, about comfort.

Thank you, Mouse Baby.

Mystery of the tiny egg

2010-08-08T21:59:00.001-04:00

continued from the previous post, Critters

Nobody fessed up to laying that goofy little tiny egg.

It had to be either Lucy, Lil'White or Pigeon, because the two young'uns aren't old enough to lay eggs.

I knew it wasn't Lucy. Her eggs are perfect and pointy and pink, every time.

Lil'White's eggs are cute as a button.
She decorates each one with little white speckles.

And then there's Pigeon:

Pigeon is a... creative egg-layer.

I showed Pigeon that little nugget and asked her, point-blank. She sucked on a piece of grass and stared vacantly.

Guilty!

It was a "fart-egg", to quote Matt (of Foothills Poultry blog)--
...he's a guy who adores these little rarities so much, he collects them.
(see, I'm not any nuttier than the rest of you!)

I couldn't save this little treasure. I just had to know what was inside.

Inside that shell was a perfect tiny egg. The contents fit into a teaspoon.

I fried it up in the most gigantic of pans in order to emphasize its cuteness.

With a pinch of salt,

I savored it in one delicious bite.

Thank you, Pigeon!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Fern and Daisy will soon be laying their first eggs,
and I've only got one nest box.
One nest box is good enough for three hens, but not enough for five.

So. I could add another nest box....

Or I could seize this opportunity to
***build a whole new COOP!***

Not just a plain ol' coop this time.

My girls deserve something more.

perhaps the Moderne look:

Tudor?....

the Monsoon style....

... Italian Farmhouse..?

....... they love Swiss cheese...

Of course, I could build them a respectable, practical, functional coop...

But this design does not begin to reflect their personalities.

What they'd really like is something like this:

but I think it's against the building code in my town.

So after I raid the scrap pile at the local lumber yard, I'll begin building the perfect coop for my gals.

hmm... marble, mahogany, stained glass...central air...

Critters

2010-07-07T20:03:00.003-04:00

Continued from: Becoming a Chicken

This post is dedicated to the memory of our little Cobbie,

who lived his entire life with this expression on his face.

He was six years old when he died -- a little old man.

We'll miss your little pink lips, Cobbie, your loving personality, and your chubby little obesity.

So again I wipe away a tear and move on... to the circus in my backyard.

. . . . . . . . . . .

News alert!

Fern and Daisy are definitely girls. I just know they are. Look at these little figures --- how they hold their little tails high. No doubt. They're girls. Girls.

Fern and Daisy are inseparable. They're like one four-legged chicken.

They come when I call, because I often have treats. So now they consider me the most amazing human of all time, which is of course my plan.

Lil'White continues to terrorize the young'uns,

but in the brutal heat of recent weeks, she has been just too hot to viciously pursue Fern and Daisy.

She pants. She swoons. She drags her wings and carries on.

So Fern and Daisy get a break.

. . . . . . . . . .

Here's the current setup:

With a 14 foot play-yard between the hens' coop and the babies' coop, there's a good amount of free space for them to be together during the day. Hawks circle overhead and foxes lurk in the woods, but as long as Marky's around, the girls are safe behind the flimsy fencing and bird netting.

Marky's been spending a lot of time milling about the coop lately,

as he's discovered a dense city of mice and voles just beneath the surface. Spilled chicken-feed has lured the little vermin... I can only imagine the size of their stash. Their sounds and smells are driving Marky Mad.

To prevent spillage, you're supposed to raise the feed bin up to the level of the chickens' backs,

which I did.

But shoveling food onto the ground is Pigeon's favorite thing to do, and raising the feeder was no deterrent.

So Mouse City continues to grow, well-nourished.

And Marky continues to spend his summer days standing in the coop, staring at the ground.

. . . . . . . . .

Okay.

After three years and 1,800 eggs, here's a first:

Somebody laid an egg the size of a grape.

And I think I know who did it.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

THE MYSTERY OF THE TEENY EGGS

BECOMING A CHICKEN

2010-06-18T21:21:00.003-04:00

continued from previous post: The Same Only Different

Ahhh - hot summer days -

The ladies recently helped me add a back room to their coop. I got creative and made it with bits and pieces of wood and fencing that I already had, so it technically cost me nothing. -- which technically makes up for the cost of the original coop, which technically cost quite a bit.

Now that their coop is twice as big, do you think they'd enjoy it more?

No.

They still hurl themselves indignantly against the door every time I pass by, expecting me to come let them out of their prison.

They do get plenty of free-range time.

When I let the girls out, Lil'White heads straight to the garden to hunt for her favorite treats:

plastic vegetable tags.

If she could swallow them whole, she would.

On these hot days, Lucy heads for the densest shade to lie down.

I have to listen very carefully to find her.

Fern and Daisy aren't big enough yet to wander the yard.

But a few days ago, they had their first supervised playdate with the big gals.

There is no tried-and-true method for introducing new chicks to a flock.

My method: I rolled out some fencing, put everyone together, and sat on a stool in the center of things.

It all began pleasantly.

But things soured quickly.

Lil'White attacked, babies screamed... it was ugly there for a minute.

I scooped the babies away from Lil'White and let them chill out in the corner.

Just when they were beginning to calm down,

along came Pigeon, the queen bee.

I felt sorry for the little ones, but knew they'd have to learn to protect themselves eventually, so I waited and watched as Pigeon sauntered slowly in their direction.

Little Fern and Daisy cowered in the corner.

They hid their heads and squealed in terror as Pigeon craned her neck and.....

took a good close look at Fern's beautiful plumage.

Then Pigeon turned and walked away.

So you just never know...

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Something else you just never know about until it's too late:

Are these chicks going to one day lay eggs, or are they going to crow?

I've been burned once by Mother Nature----

She gave me this:

which turned into this:

...so what's with this tail on little Daisy?

....and these little black neck-feathers?

...and how about this tail of Fern's:

???

Am I paranoid?

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

Next post: Critters

THE SAME, ONLY DIFFERENT

2010-05-29T16:00:00.003-04:00

continued from the previous post: SPRING ROBINS

People ask me how we can tell Lucy and Pigeon apart.

Well, their feathers are the same, but the rest is totally different.

Pigeon's got a goofy expression on her face.

And you'll never see her just walking.

Lucy is slow as molasses.

Their conversations :

Pigeon ends every word with an exclamation point, while Lucy moans and laments.

I guess if I had 50 Barred Rocks, I wouldn't be able to tell them apart, let alone know them as individuals.

But with only two, the differences are like night and day.

In Sy Montgomery's new book, Birdology,

she talks about a study that was conducted to see how chickens tell each other apart.

Scientists took a flock of chickens of a single breed and painted their feathers different colors, and the chickens still recognized their friends and flockmates.

But then they put little hats over their combs, and the chickens couldn't figure out who was who.

Interesting.

When my husband hangs out with the hens on weekend mornings, they all look up at his face, recognizing him as The Raisin Man.

..or The Breadcrust Man, or The Leftover Corn Man.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

The little gals, Daisy and Fern, are beginning to recognize me.

Until recently, I was just THE HAND to them.

Now Fern sees me as a comforting caretaker.

Daisy still has a bit of trouble with that concept.

Daisy also has trouble understanding that those beautiful hens sauntering around the yard just might want to kill her.

. . . . . . .Next post: BECOMING A CHICKEN

SPRING ROBINS

2010-05-28T09:30:00.001-04:00

Continued from the previous post: GASP

We interrupt this chicken-blog to bring you

this robin

who bashed herself against this window

day in and day out

for two weeks.

During brief breaks, she built this scruffy nest in a bush nearby.

She met herself a fella who liked her quirky ways, and in four days they had four eggs.

She tucked them in and sat on them.

Three hairy pink babies hatched on a cold morning, and the fourth hatched that afternoon.

Both parents cared for them tirelessly.

In a few days they started to look like birds.

Babies grew huge as days grew warm.

In two short weeks they were done.

Alert and ready, they literally popped out of the nest.

They each spent a day in the bushes around the yard while the parents continued to feed them.

And now they're part of the world.

NEXT BLOGPOST: SAME, ONLY DIFFERENT

GASP

2010-05-15T08:16:00.005-04:00

. . . . continued from the previous post: SILENT MORNING

Lil'White has a passive-aggressive streak.

Here's what she does to annoy the gals:

She hogs the nest-box.

She doesn't necessarily lay an egg...sometimes she sits there all puffed up and serious-like, and never lays anything.
Lucy and Pigeon walk in and look at her, walk out, walk in again, impatiently waiting their turn.

This just makes Lil'White sit there longer.

She's not broody. The sound of a little chicken-scratch being tossed on the ground is all it takes to rouse her from the nest, and she forgets all about brooding.

But on a recent hot sunny day as I worked in the studio, I looked out the window and noticed Lil'White hadn't come out... for hours. I went to check on her.

When I opened the lid of the nestbox,

she looked up at me with her beak wide open, gasping.

It was really hot in there.

I lifted her out and placed her on the grass, offered her some water but she could barely stand up, let alone drink.

So I whisked her across the yard to Marky's brand-new supersized water bowl and I plunked her feet in the cool water.

Marky wasn't sure he liked that.

I put her back on the lawn but she still wouldn't drink - she just kept gasping.

So I lifted her golden wings and patted water in her armpits.

Although I was concerned for her, I did enjoy this rare moment communing with my beautiful stand-offish Orpington... She'd never tolerate such attention when she's feeling well.

After about 20 minutes Lil'White took a drink and began to perk up a bit, so I took her to a shady place where Lucy and Pigeon were grazing.

Lil'White just stood where I'd placed her.

Now, Lucy and Lil'White have never been close. They are flock-mates, they're cordial, but it's not a friendship, and they do not gravitate toward each other.

So I watched with interest when, as soon as I placed Lil'White on the lawn, Lucy limped slowly over to her and sat down beside her. It was clear that Lucy understood what had happened to Lil'White, and was showing concern for her.

Lil'White, oblivious to Lucy's gesture, turned and walked away.

And that was o.k. because that was Lil'White.

I think Lucy is just.... different.

I have never met another animal, nor many other people, as sensitive, compassionate and dignified as Lucy is.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As for the hot henhouse, I solved the problem right away. I cut a new window for some cross-ventilation, and it's much cooler in there now.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Next blog post: SPRING ROBINS