Maybe we didn’t raise them properly.
Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, are almost five years old. They’re full-grown. They’ve survived several winters, including sub-zero temperatures. Hope even has a spur on the back of her left leg, something that is much more common in roosters than hens.
So these two shouldn’t be terrified of the snow. But they are.
I’ve seen photos online of free-range chickens braving snow-covered yards. often in single file as they venture forth. But our hens are not free-range. We live in an urban area, and only part of our yard is fenced, so roaming chickens would soon become dead chickens.
In addition to their coop, which is elevated (providing open space for them underneath), Nellie and Hope also have an attached, wire-covered pen. That's where I place their food and water bowls, and where they spend most of their daylight hours unless the weather fails to cooperate. It's not a walk-in pen, so there's no easy way to remove snow from it. As a result, I always keep an eagle eye on the forecast, so I can cover the pen with a tarp (or tarps, if need be) when snow is in the offing.
Last night’s forecast said nothing about snow, so I left the pen uncovered overnight. When I went out to release and feed the hens at dawn, I found a dusting of snow in the pen. Yes, it was only a dusting, but I knew from past experience how “the girls” would react. Short version: not well.
Even though I brushed off the ramp leading from the coop to the pen, Nellie and Hope refused to come out. I postponed my morning ritual of cleaning the coop, went back to the house, and had breakfast. Thirty minutes later, the hens remained in the coop, which I was now determined to clean, hens or no hens.
Our coop has a hinged roof, which I prop open with a long stick for the daily poop scooping. So there was a theoretical risk that “the girls” might fly out if I cleaned the coop while they were still inside. (Yes, chickens can fly. No, not very well.) I figured the sight of snow would keep the hens grounded.
Sure enough, when I lifted the roof and leaned into the coop to scoop poop, Nellie and Hope watched me as I talked to them. But they showed no interest in either flying out into the yard or walking out into their pen. My chores complete, I lowered the roof and resisted the temptation to move the food and water bowls from the pen to the coop.
But here’s something else I’ve learned from experience. If Nellie and Hope are still holed up by mid-morning, I’ll cave in. Guaranteed.
Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, are almost five years old. They’re full-grown. They’ve survived several winters, including sub-zero temperatures. Hope even has a spur on the back of her left leg, something that is much more common in roosters than hens.
So these two shouldn’t be terrified of the snow. But they are.
I’ve seen photos online of free-range chickens braving snow-covered yards. often in single file as they venture forth. But our hens are not free-range. We live in an urban area, and only part of our yard is fenced, so roaming chickens would soon become dead chickens.
In addition to their coop, which is elevated (providing open space for them underneath), Nellie and Hope also have an attached, wire-covered pen. That's where I place their food and water bowls, and where they spend most of their daylight hours unless the weather fails to cooperate. It's not a walk-in pen, so there's no easy way to remove snow from it. As a result, I always keep an eagle eye on the forecast, so I can cover the pen with a tarp (or tarps, if need be) when snow is in the offing.
Last night’s forecast said nothing about snow, so I left the pen uncovered overnight. When I went out to release and feed the hens at dawn, I found a dusting of snow in the pen. Yes, it was only a dusting, but I knew from past experience how “the girls” would react. Short version: not well.
Even though I brushed off the ramp leading from the coop to the pen, Nellie and Hope refused to come out. I postponed my morning ritual of cleaning the coop, went back to the house, and had breakfast. Thirty minutes later, the hens remained in the coop, which I was now determined to clean, hens or no hens.
Our coop has a hinged roof, which I prop open with a long stick for the daily poop scooping. So there was a theoretical risk that “the girls” might fly out if I cleaned the coop while they were still inside. (Yes, chickens can fly. No, not very well.) I figured the sight of snow would keep the hens grounded.
Sure enough, when I lifted the roof and leaned into the coop to scoop poop, Nellie and Hope watched me as I talked to them. But they showed no interest in either flying out into the yard or walking out into their pen. My chores complete, I lowered the roof and resisted the temptation to move the food and water bowls from the pen to the coop.
But here’s something else I’ve learned from experience. If Nellie and Hope are still holed up by mid-morning, I’ll cave in. Guaranteed.
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