The call from the central post office here in Augusta, Maine, came in at 11:40 a.m. on Wednesday.
“We have a couple of birds here for you,” a female voice announced matter-of-factly.
Operation Rhode Island Red had begun.
Last week, my wife Liz and I ordered two pullets, to expand our tiny flock from two to four hens. We had three hens when we first got into chicken keeping in April of last year. But one of them, Stella, died unexpectedly in early December, leaving us with Snow, a white Plymouth Rock, and Nala, a Barred Rock.
Our coop and run are large enough to accommodate four hens, and although I was content taking care of two, Liz wanted to get at least one more. Friends who know chickens said it would be better to get two, because a lone new hen might get picked on by the veterans more than two new hens would.
Although Liz and I are both from Massachusetts, Liz has strong ties to Rhode Island, including the fact that she attended college there. Hence, two Rhode Island Reds, which we ordered from a hatchery in Iowa. (Shipping Rhode Island Reds from Iowa to New England . . . yes, I see the irony.)
Heading out to the post office, I collected the hens, who had been mailed overnight in a sturdy but surprisingly small cardboard box layered with bedding. They seemed none the worse for wear when we got home and I opened the container.
The first thing I noticed about the Reds (who remain nameless, so far) was their size. At 16 to 17 weeks old, they’re a lot bigger than chicks, but quite a bit smaller than Snow and Nala. They have bright yellow legs, unlike Snow and Nala, whose legs are more cream-colored. And the Reds are still so young that they lack combs and wattles. (No great photos yet, alas.) Unlike Snow and Nala, who cluck and sometimes cackle, the Reds emit a babyish chirping sound, like overgrown chicks.
I put the Reds in a new, freestanding pen, only inches away from the pen that is attached to the coop. The two pairs of hens eyed one another quietly from their separate quarters, and continued to do so until Liz and I decided to introduce them four hours later.
Figuring neutral territory might be safer than placing the Reds in the pen that Snow and Nala think of as their own, we set up a temporary enclosure for all four hens, using a roll of chicken wire. Nala pecked at the Reds a couple of times. but Snow was well-behaved. (They call it a “pecking order” with good reason.)
Then the real fun began. Both of the Reds escaped and started running around our yard.
The Reds outsmarted us at every turn, walking and running and sprinting and dashing and hopping and flying and jumping and hiding and zigzagging even when we enlisted the help of three neighbors. After five exhausted adults chased two juvenile hens nonstop for 45 minutes, one of the neighbors, who obviously has some chicken wrangling experience, finally corralled a Red. She caught the other one a few minutes later.
The Reds could not spend the night in the freestanding pen. For one thing, it would have left them susceptible to predators. And rain was in the forecast. We knew we had to get all four hens into the coop. With Snow and Nala out in "their" pen, we locked the Reds in the coop about an hour before dusk. Once it was dark out, we let Snow and Nala into the coop as well.
Chickens have a very predictable nighttime routine. They go into the coop on their own, hop onto the roost, settle down and sleep incredibly soundly until first light. Sure enough, the Reds stayed in the coop even after I opened the door. Snow immediately joined them. But Nala was ambivalent, entering and exiting the coop several times while crying loudly. Eventually, it got so dark out that she gave in to her instincts, climbed the ramp into the coop and stayed there. I went out to check on things an hour later and was greeted with . . . dead silence. The hens had nodded off.
When I unlocked the coop yesterday morning, Snow and Nala barreled out into the pen and started chowing down, as per usual. The Reds remained tucked into a back corner of the coop, but there was no sign of any blood or loose feathers inside, so at least things didn't get out of hand while Snow and Nala waited to be released. We ended up separating the newbies from the old-timers late in the morning, though, because they weren't getting along very well.
I’ve read that it can take up to a week or so for chickens to establish a pecking order once newcomers have joined the flock. A week! Here’s hoping Snow and Nala haven’t stumbled across that fact in their own reading.
