Julie Gauthier and Rob Ludlow report in their book, Chicken Health For Dummies, that a chicken has between 7,500 and 9,000 feathers. I’ll take their word for it, but lately, it seems like a gross understatement.
Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, began molting two months ago, and they’re still going at it. Countless discarded feathers materialize in the pen every day, and more turn up in the coop every night. The process has waxed and waned since it began in early September, but this annual ritual doesn't come to a complete stop until it’s over. New feathers emerge to replace the old ones in a spotty, unsightly, time-consuming exercise.
Judging by the largely refeathered state of “the girls,” I’d guess their molts will continue for at least another month. Gauthier and Ludlow note that a molt can last anywhere from six weeks to six months, “depending on the bird.” We’ve never seen a six-month molt, but three months or more is not at all uncommon.
The hens seemed put out when their old feathers began to drop. Their appetites took a hit, and they made their rounds gingerly, as if they were, well, walking on eggshells. But they recovered within a couple of weeks, and are now eating well and behaving normally.
We still aren’t handling them, though, because they dislike being picked up while molting. In fact, it can be dangerous to do so. The emerging “pin feathers” poke through the skin encased in temporary shafts that contain blood. Break a pin feather or two before the new feathers open and significant bleeding can result.
In the end, it will have been worth the wait. Nellie and Hope will look fresh and renewed, with a slight alteration in the coloring and patterns of their feathers. Their makeover will leave them better-equipped to cope with the falling temperatures, albeit not as quickly and easily as ordering a new winter coat from L.L. Bean would have done.
Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, began molting two months ago, and they’re still going at it. Countless discarded feathers materialize in the pen every day, and more turn up in the coop every night. The process has waxed and waned since it began in early September, but this annual ritual doesn't come to a complete stop until it’s over. New feathers emerge to replace the old ones in a spotty, unsightly, time-consuming exercise.
Judging by the largely refeathered state of “the girls,” I’d guess their molts will continue for at least another month. Gauthier and Ludlow note that a molt can last anywhere from six weeks to six months, “depending on the bird.” We’ve never seen a six-month molt, but three months or more is not at all uncommon.
The hens seemed put out when their old feathers began to drop. Their appetites took a hit, and they made their rounds gingerly, as if they were, well, walking on eggshells. But they recovered within a couple of weeks, and are now eating well and behaving normally.
We still aren’t handling them, though, because they dislike being picked up while molting. In fact, it can be dangerous to do so. The emerging “pin feathers” poke through the skin encased in temporary shafts that contain blood. Break a pin feather or two before the new feathers open and significant bleeding can result.
In the end, it will have been worth the wait. Nellie and Hope will look fresh and renewed, with a slight alteration in the coloring and patterns of their feathers. Their makeover will leave them better-equipped to cope with the falling temperatures, albeit not as quickly and easily as ordering a new winter coat from L.L. Bean would have done.
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