It was a tough choice, but in the end, I erred on the side of safety.
The temperature hit 90 degrees here in Augusta, Maine, on Saturday, not the hottest weather we've had since we began keeping chickens four years ago, but hot enough.
Snow, Nellie and Hope fared well during the day. A patio umbrella shields their pen from the sun. We put ice cubes in their drinking water. And they escape the heat by hiding out in relative coolness under the elevated coop. It's a shady spot.
The problem occurred Saturday night, when "the girls" trooped into the coop at dusk, as they always do, and hopped up to their roost. The temperature dropped very slowly once the sun went down, so that by 8 p.m. it remained above 80 degrees outside. The coop is small, and I'm sure it's warm and stuffy in there on days and nights like these.
I normally lock things up for the night at 8 p.m. by latching the coop door and closing the large screen window on the east side of the hen house. (Two small windows on the north and south sides remain open all night at this time of year.) But last night I put things off, to leave the door and the big screen open until the temperature dropped a bit more.
When the time finally came to batten down the hatches, though, it was obvious that the hens were uncomfortable. Their beaks were open slightly (chickens pant when they're hot) and they were holding their wings away from their bodies, which they do to try to cool themselves.
I normally lock things up for the night at 8 p.m. by latching the coop door and closing the large screen window on the east side of the hen house. (Two small windows on the north and south sides remain open all night at this time of year.) But last night I put things off, to leave the door and the big screen open until the temperature dropped a bit more.
When the time finally came to batten down the hatches, though, it was obvious that the hens were uncomfortable. Their beaks were open slightly (chickens pant when they're hot) and they were holding their wings away from their bodies, which they do to try to cool themselves.
Seeing their discomfort, I was sorely tempted to leave everything open overnight. After all, the window is screened with hardware cloth, which is a heavier gauge than chicken wire, and therefore more secure. And no predator could enter the coop through the open door without first breaking into the pen, which is a large wooden frame covered in chicken wire.
But then I remembered the hefty raccoon Liz spotted on our deck a while back, standing on its hind legs and peering into the house. Raccoons are clever. They're notorious for getting into things they shouldn't be able to get into. And they love chicken.
I closed the door and the east-side screen. Better warm than dead. Better safe than sorry. Come morning, the hens were none the worse for last night's discomfort. And they remained very much alive.
But then I remembered the hefty raccoon Liz spotted on our deck a while back, standing on its hind legs and peering into the house. Raccoons are clever. They're notorious for getting into things they shouldn't be able to get into. And they love chicken.
I closed the door and the east-side screen. Better warm than dead. Better safe than sorry. Come morning, the hens were none the worse for last night's discomfort. And they remained very much alive.
