Hen Chronicles: Recalling the old days

It’s been more than 13 years now since we started keeping chickens at the far end of our backyard here in Augusta, Maine, and almost six years since we stopped doing so, in November 2019.

Keeping chickens was fun, but also frustrating. From time to time, we had an assortment of problems with one hen or another, which goes with the territory. In our experience, chickens are hardy (in terms of coping with the weather, for example) but delicate as well.

A hen might become sick or die unexpectedly; or an egg would become “bound,” preventing a hen from laying it until we intervened; or pesky mites would turn up in the coop; or part of a hen’s oviduct would turn inside out and protrude from her body, forcing us to push it back into place. (Yes, that’s a thing.) We coped with several types of problems over the years, usually successfully, but sometimes not. My wife and I are not veterinarians, after all. And even our wonderful, chicken-owning vets could not work miracles.

Yet despite all of the heartache and stress that a backyard flock can cause, I still miss our “girls” all these years later. I remember all of their names. Their distinctive personalities and antics still bring a smile to my face. And I recall, without checking records, the year in which each of them passed on.

I don’t regret our decision to “fly the coop,” so to speak. It was time. But I do have fond memories of what was. That’s especially true when I catch a glimpse of the bare spot in our yard that once held a coop, a pen, and a small flock of beautiful, bouncing, squawking, wing-flapping, snack-loving comics.

Hen Chronicles: Who let the chicken cross the road?

Several times in the last few years, while I was driving on a rural road in a nearby town, chickens crossed the street right in front of me, always at the same location. While I waited patiently, they meandered by ever so slowly, obviously unperturbed by the sight of a stopped car mere feet from them. (No, I never ran over any of them because I learned where to anticipate them, and slowed down accordingly.)

I assume the owners of these chickens no longer have them or have smartened up about caring for them, because I don’t see free-ranging hens on that road anymore. Did these folks lose one too many chickens to one too many speed demons, so they got rid of their flock? Or did they do the sensible thing and decide to shield their chickens from passing traffic? Back when we had chickens, in the 2010s, they were confined to a coop and an attached pen. The coop and pen were relatively small, but large enough for the few chickens we had. They were comfortable and happy there. They laid plenty of eggs. Most importantly, they were safe.

Keeping backyard chickens remains a popular pastime, as I was reminded recently when my wife and I drove down a narrow street in a congested section of our city. Liz nearly shrieked when she caught sight of chickens and ducks walking along the edge of the street. Sure enough, when I glanced at the rearview mirror I saw a chicken, closely followed by a duck!

What is it that causes some people to be irresponsible with their animals? Whether it’s loose poultry, unleashed dogs that are not under voice control, or outdoor cats (which can kill birds or be killed themselves), the risks are obvious. Or should be. Of course, all sorts of people have all sorts of bad habits involving all sorts of things. It’s unfortunate that, sometimes, those habits victimize innocent animals who deserve better.

They're known as backyard chickens for a reason.

 

Hen Chronicles: a few thoughts on peacocks . . . and chickens

I haven’t posted anything on this blog in close to four years, since November 2019. That’s when we lost the last members of our small flock of hens.

We haven’t acquired any chickens since then, and although I’d never say never, it’s unlikely that we will. There was joy and pleasure aplenty back then, but too much heartache and anxiety as well. In fact, our coop and pen are long gone now; the ground remains bare where they once stood. 

Yet all these years later, I still miss “the girls” very much, and have many heartwarming memories of them. That’s why I so enjoyed a quote from a book by Sean Flynn called “Why Peacocks?” I haven’t read Flynn’s book about his experience owning peacocks and I have no personal experience with those glorious creatures. But the following passage captures my attitude toward hens, based on our time with them during more than seven years of chicken keeping, from April 2012 through most of 2019.

“There is always the potential when dabbling with birds — and this no one tells you beforehand — of becoming enchanted,” Flynn writes, “and it is impossible to understand this until it happens.” Peacocks “have personalities and intelligence and foibles and charms and souls,” he writes, ‘and it all sounds ridiculous but it’s true.”

Flynn may be doing himself a disservice by describing his observations as ridiculous-sounding. If you apply his comments to chickens, for example, he’s certainly correct about the truth of them. In that case, at least, I speak from experience.

 

Hen Chronicles: Saying goodbye

It’s been quite an adventure, full of joy and mishap, wonder and heartache, contentment and aggravation.

And now it’s over.

After we joined the ranks of backyard chicken keepers back in April 2012, our tiny flock shrunk and grew and shrunk again, eventually leaving us with Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds.

Hope, who had been ill for some time, died overnight Friday or Saturday. I found her in the coop at dawn Saturday, when I went out to feed "the girls." Nellie, who always talked up a storm when she saw or heard me approach with breakfast, sat silently beside Hope’s body. For reasons which I don't need to go into, we eventually decided in the difficult hours following Hope’s death that we could not keep or save Nellie, who was euthanized later that day.

The coop is empty.

My wife Liz and I learned a lot about chickens during this chapter in our lives, but we always strove to learn more about this underappreciated species. It was an educational journey that continued until the end. We loved our hens and cherished their company, even when one or another of them slashed her comb in a freak accident that splattered blood all over the place, or became egg bound, or suffered a prolapsed oviduct (don't ask!), or grew a rooster-like leg spur that had to be filed down weekly, or needed to have a beak trimmed or a toenail clipped or a fanny washed.

We enjoyed their antics. We took pleasure in their chatter. We marveled at their beauty and intelligence, the uniqueness of their personalities, the complexity of their relationships, the mysteries of their physiology, and their ability to do something as simply magical as laying an egg.

And over the years, we grieved their loss.

Snow and Nala and Stella, our original threesome, have been gone for some time. And now Nellie and Hope, who joined us as pullets in May 2013 when they arrived together in a cardboard box via USPS, are gone as well. As Thanksgiving draws near, we are very grateful to have shared all of their lives.

Hen Chronicles: The joy of scratch

Chickens are talkative critters. Not only do they talk a lot, but they have many different things to say. In recent decades, researchers have documented more than two dozen distinct chicken vocalizations. Anyone who owns chickens is familiar with their various warning sounds, their contented clucking, and the ear-splitting squawks announcing that someone in their midst has just laid an egg.

Our two Rhode Island Reds, Nellie and Hope, aren’t quite as talkative as they once were. For one thing, they’re getting up there, so “the girls” are slowing down in various ways. If they’re still with us come January, they’ll be seven years old by then, which is a far bigger deal for a hen than it would be for a dog or a cat.

No one familiar with chickens would, upon meeting Nellie and Hope, mistake them for the proverbial spring chickens.

Still, Nellie remains more talkative than Hope, and there’s one sound, in particular, that Nellie only makes in one situation. The girls love scratch, which is a mixture of grains that are yummy but apparently not very nutritious. Processing scratch can increase a chicken’s body heat, so some experts recommend forgoing scratch in the summer, when it’s important to protect chickens from overheating.

For these reasons, I only give our hens scratch in small amounts and in cold weather, to help them warm up. So I mixed in some scratch with their regular feed first thing this morning, as I did yesterday as well. The hens must be able to smell scratch from a distance, because on both days Nellie emitted staccato, high-pitched chirps even before I unlatched the coop door to release the girls into the pen.

Nellie always “speaks” this way for scratch, but never for any other reason. Which makes me wonder what else, after all these years, I haven’t heard her say because she didn’t have just the right reason to say it.