It's dark and wet, and egg production is down. For our own breakfasts, we have been alternating eggs with steel-cut oats. (FYI, Bob's Red Mill - you know, the guy who turned his company over to his employees when he retired? - sells gluten-free oats.)
Turns out chickens LOVE oatmeal. With raisins. Or dates.
On a more general note, I find I have no guilt about the thickness of the apple peelings, or the number of pumpkin seeds that do or do not make it to the roasting pan. How does the nursery rhyme go?
Holy, holy bretheren, think it not a sin
When ye peel potatoes, to throw away the skin
For skin feeds [chicky], and [chicky] feeds me
Holy, holy bretheren, what think ye?
The Chickens Have Landed
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Educating the neighbors
Neighbor child, about eight, is fascinated by our chickens; she often hangs around our front gate, waiting for us – or particularly John – to come out so she can beg to come in and see the chickens.
Last week John did let her help him collect eggs. She was intrigued and horrified.
She: What do you do with the eggs?
John: We eat them.
She: You eat eggs that come out of a chicken’s butt?!
John: Where do your eggs come from?
This floored her.
She came back a few days later, demanding that John give her an egg. He did. And another egg. He did. And another egg. He refused. She accepted this, but could not reliably count how many eggs she had
We may have taught her where eggs come from, but it appears we must keep working on her counting skills.
Last week John did let her help him collect eggs. She was intrigued and horrified.
She: What do you do with the eggs?
John: We eat them.
She: You eat eggs that come out of a chicken’s butt?!
John: Where do your eggs come from?
This floored her.
She came back a few days later, demanding that John give her an egg. He did. And another egg. He did. And another egg. He refused. She accepted this, but could not reliably count how many eggs she had
We may have taught her where eggs come from, but it appears we must keep working on her counting skills.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Chicken stampede!
Fall is here. I harvested the potatoes, and we turned the chickens loose in the fenced garden. Much excitement. Not only are all 10 together again - with no apparent need to peck one an other to death - but the vast array of greens and bugs and worms kept things (literally) hopping for several days.
The old 6x6' cage is now covered with tarps for shelter; the old house is used mostly for roosting at night and for nesting underneath.
John has discovered a new game for his play dates with Drake: "someone" leaves the gate open, and ALL the chickens escape. (This actually takes a fair amount of effort on John's part: several of them are reluctant to leave the garden...) Then an emergency call summons Drake to help herd them back into their garden. A good time is had by all.
Unintended consequence: the ladies have discovered what fun it is out in the big yard: fresh grass. With only a 4' fence around the garden, escapes have become a daily - sometimes hourly - occurrence.
- Addendum to last post -
While spreading old chicken bedding in the new garden boxes for next year (now that the chickens have the garden) I found another egg. I buried it.
The old 6x6' cage is now covered with tarps for shelter; the old house is used mostly for roosting at night and for nesting underneath.
John has discovered a new game for his play dates with Drake: "someone" leaves the gate open, and ALL the chickens escape. (This actually takes a fair amount of effort on John's part: several of them are reluctant to leave the garden...) Then an emergency call summons Drake to help herd them back into their garden. A good time is had by all.
Unintended consequence: the ladies have discovered what fun it is out in the big yard: fresh grass. With only a 4' fence around the garden, escapes have become a daily - sometimes hourly - occurrence.
- Addendum to last post -
While spreading old chicken bedding in the new garden boxes for next year (now that the chickens have the garden) I found another egg. I buried it.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Egg counts
The white chickens – the ones who actually have a chicken coop, with laying baskets – have been short-changing us lately, laying only one every other day or so.
Yesterday I’m changing the straw in the coop, including turning the cardboard liners in the baskets. Whaddaya know, there’s a charming nest on the ground underneath the lower basket, with several eggs in it.
I (carefully) rake the trash pile out from underneath the coop. 13 eggs! I remember from my sailing days that you can test the freshness of eggs by floating them in water. Thank you, Google for the refresher lesson. All of them appear to be edible, although we’re cracking them carefully.
So the whites’ egg count is back to normal. But what the ? I thought chickens preferred up, not down?
Today I finished digging the potatoes, and turned the whites loose in the garden. The browns are quite sure they are missing out. And they’re right!
Yesterday I’m changing the straw in the coop, including turning the cardboard liners in the baskets. Whaddaya know, there’s a charming nest on the ground underneath the lower basket, with several eggs in it.
I (carefully) rake the trash pile out from underneath the coop. 13 eggs! I remember from my sailing days that you can test the freshness of eggs by floating them in water. Thank you, Google for the refresher lesson. All of them appear to be edible, although we’re cracking them carefully.
So the whites’ egg count is back to normal. But what the ? I thought chickens preferred up, not down?
Today I finished digging the potatoes, and turned the whites loose in the garden. The browns are quite sure they are missing out. And they’re right!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Accepted into the flock
The question was, "I go in there?" Like, I really want to, but I'm afraid you'll say "No."
One of his favorite games is "Chicken in the butt." He (or John) picks a bunch of grass and then he throws it at a chicken.
When you hit a chicken in the butt with a bunch of grass, she squawks and flutters around most impressively. And then you get to yell," Chicken in the butt!"
One of his favorite games is "Chicken in the butt." He (or John) picks a bunch of grass and then he throws it at a chicken.
When you hit a chicken in the butt with a bunch of grass, she squawks and flutters around most impressively. And then you get to yell," Chicken in the butt!"
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Laying
6 eggs yesterday! All 5 White Orpingtons are laying. One of the others, but I've no idea which. John's opinion is we could make a mint selling them as giant quail eggs.
On Friday I mucked out one pen, let those girls roam the yard. The Black Australorp walked over to the tractor and nosed at the the Whites through the fence, so I thought, put her in with them, see what happens.
The 4 Whites immediately started a dominance routine, chasing the poor black from corner to corner, pecking at here mercilessly.
So now we've put all 5 White Orpingtons back in one pen, and the other 5 are happily passive together.
When the garden is done this fall, I think I'll move the chickens into that fenced area (about 20' x 25'), along with the compost pile. The chickens will get more room to roam, and I'll have less garden to weed.
On Friday I mucked out one pen, let those girls roam the yard. The Black Australorp walked over to the tractor and nosed at the the Whites through the fence, so I thought, put her in with them, see what happens.
The 4 Whites immediately started a dominance routine, chasing the poor black from corner to corner, pecking at here mercilessly.
So now we've put all 5 White Orpingtons back in one pen, and the other 5 are happily passive together.
When the garden is done this fall, I think I'll move the chickens into that fenced area (about 20' x 25'), along with the compost pile. The chickens will get more room to roam, and I'll have less garden to weed.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
New digs
This morning there was a great squawking out back, and when we went to investigate we found 4 of the 10 hens outside the fence. That settled the question of when we would move some of them (and which ones) into the 4x4 ft pen we got from our neighbor last weekend. (He recently built his chickens the Taj Mahal of coops, and they run free in his yard, there being no toddlers there to compete for poop-free territory.)
So, 2 of the While Orpingtons and 2 of the Buffs are now in residence in the new pen, with a dog-house turned pigeon coop repurposed once again for their nesting box. This was a bit of a challenge, as once out, these chickens want desperately to get back in, but the way out is too close quarters for humans to help, and they can’t figure out how to do it on their own. So we scoot them out of that corner with the leaf rake, then kind of sweep them towards a corner of the yard , hoping they will stick their necks through a hole in the chain link fence. This slows them down enough that we can grab them. (Our neighbors birds are more domesticated: he can just reach down and pick them up.)
As I returned from the feed store with new feeders and a composter, I startled the other 6 in the tractor sufficiently that the Dark Cornish (the one with no tail feathers, you recall) popped over the low spot in the fence. Turns out she is the only one who, having inadvertently escaped, is actually able to return from whence she came. Interesting, the different aspects of survival. If you can’t fend for yourself, like the bullying, first-to-the-treat Whites, at least you can retreat to, not safety exactly, but familiarity.
…later, same day
After a little consideration (it didn’t take much) we have segregated the chickens based on color. (Does separate but equal work with chickens?) Mostly we want to see a) how the Dark Cornish does without the White Orpingtons to gang up on her, and b) what the dynamic will be among the Whites with no one to pick on.
So far, the Whites are huddled together in the old pen, wondering where all the fun went; the rest of them are seeming to notice things on the ground for the first time, hopping up on the roosts, pulling bits of green stuff through the wire. Getting downright playful. Even Ringo, our English Spaniel who was once chased out of the living room by an earthworm, thinks these girls might not get him.
So, 2 of the While Orpingtons and 2 of the Buffs are now in residence in the new pen, with a dog-house turned pigeon coop repurposed once again for their nesting box. This was a bit of a challenge, as once out, these chickens want desperately to get back in, but the way out is too close quarters for humans to help, and they can’t figure out how to do it on their own. So we scoot them out of that corner with the leaf rake, then kind of sweep them towards a corner of the yard , hoping they will stick their necks through a hole in the chain link fence. This slows them down enough that we can grab them. (Our neighbors birds are more domesticated: he can just reach down and pick them up.)
As I returned from the feed store with new feeders and a composter, I startled the other 6 in the tractor sufficiently that the Dark Cornish (the one with no tail feathers, you recall) popped over the low spot in the fence. Turns out she is the only one who, having inadvertently escaped, is actually able to return from whence she came. Interesting, the different aspects of survival. If you can’t fend for yourself, like the bullying, first-to-the-treat Whites, at least you can retreat to, not safety exactly, but familiarity.
…later, same day
After a little consideration (it didn’t take much) we have segregated the chickens based on color. (Does separate but equal work with chickens?) Mostly we want to see a) how the Dark Cornish does without the White Orpingtons to gang up on her, and b) what the dynamic will be among the Whites with no one to pick on.
So far, the Whites are huddled together in the old pen, wondering where all the fun went; the rest of them are seeming to notice things on the ground for the first time, hopping up on the roosts, pulling bits of green stuff through the wire. Getting downright playful. Even Ringo, our English Spaniel who was once chased out of the living room by an earthworm, thinks these girls might not get him.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Bullies and victims
Yesterday, at last, I succeeded in dropping a worm at the feet of the bullied Dark Cornish hen. She looked right at it and walked away, as if eating it would get her into worse trouble. I begin to have more sympathy with the aggressors.
The White Orpingtons recognize food, or at least to potential for food, critical seconds before any of the others. They are learning that when I approach the tractor, something tasty is in the offing and by the time I toss in whatever it is, they are already in position. Whatever lands, is in their beaks while the Buffs are still looking at it deciding if it's edible or not. The difference between survival instinct and bullying is blurred with chickens.
The White Orpingtons recognize food, or at least to potential for food, critical seconds before any of the others. They are learning that when I approach the tractor, something tasty is in the offing and by the time I toss in whatever it is, they are already in position. Whatever lands, is in their beaks while the Buffs are still looking at it deciding if it's edible or not. The difference between survival instinct and bullying is blurred with chickens.
Mr. Peepers
Mr. Peepers as (presumably) she came to be known, was quite a hit with both John (50) & Drake (2-1/2). John cleaned up one of the Rubbermaid totes that started life as worm bins (we’ve failed twice at vermiculture, but that’s another story), and were re-purposed (I love that word) as compost haulers (3 of them fit perfectly in the back of my Jetta wagon, and I’ve been making frequent trips to pick up TAGRO for the garden, free if you shovel it yourself). It became one of Drake’s agenda items when he came to visit: to feed & water and admire Mr. Peepers with John. Also a lesson for Drake in not beating your smaller, weaker friends over the head, regardless of how entertainingly they react.
Mr. Peepers has now gone to live with the fellow who bought our fish pond (another thing that does not mix with toddlers) for his ducks. His chickens are younger than ours and there was a better chance of him fitting in with that crowd.
Mr. Peepers has now gone to live with the fellow who bought our fish pond (another thing that does not mix with toddlers) for his ducks. His chickens are younger than ours and there was a better chance of him fitting in with that crowd.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Newbie
A neighbor knocked on the door last night, with a young chick in hand. “A feeder,” he said, by which we assumed he meant he bought it for his snake who turned it down. But then I thought, this is the kid who oohed and aahed over our chickens last week, was amazed to learn that you can buy baby chicks, and whose father vowed that if he brings home any chickens it will be my fault and they will be mine.
John has found her a cardboard box, a couple of jar lids for food & water, and intends to take her to the feed store tomorrow in hopes they will take her. We don’t fancy introducing a baby to our lot; they have already trampled two of their sisters (this was before we got them). But I am skeptical of the feed store being willing to take an unknown bird. We’ll see. John is still traumatized over crushing the head of the baby bird he found on the sidewalk under our cherry tree 3 days ago.
John has found her a cardboard box, a couple of jar lids for food & water, and intends to take her to the feed store tomorrow in hopes they will take her. We don’t fancy introducing a baby to our lot; they have already trampled two of their sisters (this was before we got them). But I am skeptical of the feed store being willing to take an unknown bird. We’ll see. John is still traumatized over crushing the head of the baby bird he found on the sidewalk under our cherry tree 3 days ago.
Chicken tractors
Glowing descriptions by Michael Pollan of Polyface Farm, and recommendations of other chicken farmers notwithstanding; consider carefully the mix of chickens' inexhaustible excrement (see previous post) and toddler play area.
The idyllic model of the mobile chicken run that gives the chickens access to a continuously replenished source of bugs and little green sprouts, while simultaneously fertilizing next year’s garden or pasture does not compute on a 3,000 square foot city lot.
We are now considering dog-kennel fence panels which, while more permanent than the wheeled tractor, still will not require the sinking of new fence posts. It will, however require the transplanting of one rose bush and a ton of deep purple iris, and reassessment of what gets planted on the other side of the portion of fence that will be shared with the garden. I WAS planning on using that fence for the peas to climb on…
Oh, and should I mention money? $5/dozen for the free-range organic eggs at the farm stand no longer seems quite so extravagant. But consider it the price of an education.
The idyllic model of the mobile chicken run that gives the chickens access to a continuously replenished source of bugs and little green sprouts, while simultaneously fertilizing next year’s garden or pasture does not compute on a 3,000 square foot city lot.
We are now considering dog-kennel fence panels which, while more permanent than the wheeled tractor, still will not require the sinking of new fence posts. It will, however require the transplanting of one rose bush and a ton of deep purple iris, and reassessment of what gets planted on the other side of the portion of fence that will be shared with the garden. I WAS planning on using that fence for the peas to climb on…
Oh, and should I mention money? $5/dozen for the free-range organic eggs at the farm stand no longer seems quite so extravagant. But consider it the price of an education.
About Chickens
Turns out every idiom involving chickens is true:
Chicken s**t (it never ends!), Chicken-hearted, Chicken feed (they are quite happy with the dregs: weeds and cores and peels), Chicken out (although not with the same meaning that we use it), and of course, like a headless chicken...
We bought a mix of brown layers. We wound up with (I'm guessing, they're still young) 5 aggressive White Orpingtons, 3 very sweet Buff Orpingtons, a gorgeous Black Australorp and a hen-pecked (see what I mean?!) Dark Cornish. I keep trying to give extra treats to the Cornish, but she skitters into the crowd, and one of the Whites invariably gets it.
Today I dropped one of our extraordinary (i.e. huge) nightcrawlers at the feet of the Black and a Buff. They hesitantly pecked at it, but shied away when it moved. "It smells like worm, and it tastes like worm, but it looks like snake." A white finally took over. "If you're not going to eat it, I will!"
Chicken s**t (it never ends!), Chicken-hearted, Chicken feed (they are quite happy with the dregs: weeds and cores and peels), Chicken out (although not with the same meaning that we use it), and of course, like a headless chicken...
We bought a mix of brown layers. We wound up with (I'm guessing, they're still young) 5 aggressive White Orpingtons, 3 very sweet Buff Orpingtons, a gorgeous Black Australorp and a hen-pecked (see what I mean?!) Dark Cornish. I keep trying to give extra treats to the Cornish, but she skitters into the crowd, and one of the Whites invariably gets it.
Today I dropped one of our extraordinary (i.e. huge) nightcrawlers at the feet of the Black and a Buff. They hesitantly pecked at it, but shied away when it moved. "It smells like worm, and it tastes like worm, but it looks like snake." A white finally took over. "If you're not going to eat it, I will!"
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