Hen Chronicles: Mastering the molt?

Liz and I love all three of our hens, but Hope, a Rhode Island Red, is the only one of them who could accurately be described as sweet.

Hope is at the bottom of the pecking order. She’s the smallest member of the trio. She seems to be constantly on the alert for predators, real or imagined, and she’s the only one of our hens who routinely makes the high-pitched trilling sound of a frightened chicken. Hope is timid and shy, except when someone (i.e., me) is foolish enough to try to move her out of the nest box, a mistake I made only once. (I still recall the pain from the nasty peck she gave my hand that day, way back when.)

Not surprisingly, fearful, skittish Hope seems to take it especially hard when she starts to molt, as she is doing now. Dropping old feathers while new ones poke their way through your skin has to be uncomfortable, at  the very least, for any chicken. But Snow and Nellie, our other hens, take it pretty much in stride, going about their business as if there’s nothing remotely cartoonish about a chicken whose feathers fly off in her wake.

Hope has long been the last one to leave the coop in the morning, but since she started molting, she’s been reluctant to even get out of bed. For the last two weeks or so, while Snow and Nellie were in the pen pecking away at breakfast, I’ve had to nudge Hope by gently tapping her wing, just to get her off the roost and through the door. Once outside, she would hunker down, motionless, with her head pulled into her neck.

Until Monday.

Hope still needed some persuading to get up that morning, but she quickly abandoned her chicken-as-a-statue pose by walking around in the pen and nibbling at the feed. Then, on Tuesday, an even bigger breakthrough. For the first time in weeks, Hope got up on her own at dawn, and eagerly trotted down the ramp to the pen, right on the heels of Snow and Nellie. She even flapped her wings, which I interpret as a combination morning stretch and proclamation: “Here I am, world.”

Perhaps Hope is starting to come to terms with her latest change of clothing. She’s got quite a ways to go yet before the process is complete, but at least she’s off to a better start than she was in 2014. Last year, Hope did not even begin molting until mid January, so she was half-dressed during the coldest part of the winter.

Timing may not be everything, but when it comes to the molt, it counts for a lot. It may even provide — dare I say it? —hope for a sweet little hen who could use a break.