Chicken Milking

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

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

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

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

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.