The Chickens Have Landed
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!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)