Hen Chronicles: First come the sounds of life, then the sights

Before I see them, I hear them.

When I hauled myself out to the henhouse at dawn today, there was no visible sign of life. The pen was empty, because “the girls” were still locked in the coop. The screened window above the door was open (for nighttime ventilation, which is essential for chickens, even in winter), but no one was peeking out.

All was silent in the poultry palace. I muttered my customary greeting: “Good morning, girls." And that’s when the coop came to life.

Snow, Nellie and Hope began clucking softly, and I knew they were still on the roost, where they spend the night. Then they started pulling themselves out of bed.

The roost is an elevated bar that runs from the front of the coop to the back, about two feet or so above floor. While I tossed handfuls of feed into the pen, I heard a thud inside the coop, followed moments later by another one. I couldn’t see what was going on in there, but I knew Snow and Nellie had just hopped down to the floor, and were waiting for me to unlatch the door.

When I did, the two hens came bounding down the ramp and into the pen, where their clucking grew louder and more animated at the sight of feed on the ground. Hope, our third hen, remained on the roost for a bit. She was making plaintive sounds by then because she was alone, having been abandoned by Snow and Nellie. 

Eventually she too emerged, and joined her chattering pals at the breakfast “table.”