I really hate the molt. I know it’s an annual ritual for chickens, allowing them to shed their old, dirty, worn out feathers and make way for new ones. But it isn’t pleasant to watch. And it can't be much fun to experience either.
Snow, our Plymouth Rock, began a soft molt in mid July, and it isn’t done yet. In a soft molt, a chicken loses feathers slowly over a long period of time. It can take up to four months, in fact. So although Snow is now in her third month of dropping feathers and producing new ones, she hasn’t developed any bald spots.
Hope, on the other hand, began a hard molt about a week ago. A hard molt doesn’t take as long, because the feathers fall fast and furious. Hope is a Rhode Island Red, so every day, I find dozens of dark red feathers in the coop and dozens more out in the pen. Any movement on her part sends feathers flying. The skin on her neck is now exposed, although it bristles with pin feathers. These are new feathers that initially resemble fat pins because they poke through the skin all rolled up. The poor thing looks like a well-used pincushion.
It’s hard to say, from observation, how much this process bothers a hen. In my experience, molting hens continue to go about their business, although they stop laying and may suffer some loss of appetite. They shy away from being touched, either by humans or other chickens, which is perfectly understandable.
It’s obviously not a process to be envied. Yes, the end result is impressive because the chicken gradually dons a new set of fresh, spiffy duds. But you and I can change clothes in a matter of minutes. If we had to disassemble our pants in order to remove them, and then stitch together a new pair as we pulled them on, would we even bother?
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