Chickens, like humans, are creature of habit. But unlike humans, they
are especially inflexible about their bedtime. When dusk begins to
settle over our yard, Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, abandon
their pen and troop up the ramp and into the coop for the night.
Except, occasionally, when spring fever sets in. For chickens, like humans, respond with bursts of enthusiasm to this time of rebirth and renewal.
During the winter months, Nellie and Hope routinely went to bed a bit early, as if giving up on the day. Now, though, they seem determined to savor every last minute of daylight. So they postpone their nocturnal routine until it finally gets dark enough for instinct to demand that they head inside.
As it began to grow dark one night last week, I could see, looking out from the house, that the pen was empty, supposedly meaning that “the girls” had retired for the night. Heading out to the coop, I prepared to close and latch the door, as I always do at dusk.
But a sudden movement stopped me in my tracks.
Looking every bit like a cartoon character that had sprung to life, Nellie suddenly appeared in the doorway, raced down the ramp at warp speed, and began feverishly pecking away at stray feed pellets on the ground. It reminded me of a child (or maybe an adult, but I won’t name any names) sneaking one last cookie before heading off to bed.
Moments later, Nellie realized it really was too late to be outside, and returned to the coop. My wife, Liz, then had to lift Nellie up to the roost, because it was too dark for her to get up there by herself. Nellie settled in happily next to Hope, and called it a night.
We associate springtime with songbirds, but they aren’t the only winged creatures who appreciate this particular change of seasons.
Except, occasionally, when spring fever sets in. For chickens, like humans, respond with bursts of enthusiasm to this time of rebirth and renewal.
During the winter months, Nellie and Hope routinely went to bed a bit early, as if giving up on the day. Now, though, they seem determined to savor every last minute of daylight. So they postpone their nocturnal routine until it finally gets dark enough for instinct to demand that they head inside.
As it began to grow dark one night last week, I could see, looking out from the house, that the pen was empty, supposedly meaning that “the girls” had retired for the night. Heading out to the coop, I prepared to close and latch the door, as I always do at dusk.
But a sudden movement stopped me in my tracks.
Looking every bit like a cartoon character that had sprung to life, Nellie suddenly appeared in the doorway, raced down the ramp at warp speed, and began feverishly pecking away at stray feed pellets on the ground. It reminded me of a child (or maybe an adult, but I won’t name any names) sneaking one last cookie before heading off to bed.
Moments later, Nellie realized it really was too late to be outside, and returned to the coop. My wife, Liz, then had to lift Nellie up to the roost, because it was too dark for her to get up there by herself. Nellie settled in happily next to Hope, and called it a night.
We associate springtime with songbirds, but they aren’t the only winged creatures who appreciate this particular change of seasons.
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