tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51817964496321761002024-03-03T06:06:38.284-05:00The Hen Chronicles: life on planet chickenPChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.comBlogger327125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-37955802483004837742023-08-22T10:01:00.009-04:002024-03-03T06:06:04.111-05:00Hen Chronicles: a few thoughts on peacocks . . . and chickens<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8IvV1tLeDbqUdeeGGaO-Zq8dtmDQedIFy1mvaVOpcQeRrwL8_o9xSv1zrIdrr-7zXTdJsaezpvqrLCr-RCQPKz1BdJEBnhASid__grT1kNcT69c968HCVb3gLEqGwXYv1C9cBYApbx8OExGwLaboPB-Vg-pf4GmaHF9sfNl48C-muaDszBq9wSXI_7PBz/s202/chickens%201.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="198" data-original-width="202" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8IvV1tLeDbqUdeeGGaO-Zq8dtmDQedIFy1mvaVOpcQeRrwL8_o9xSv1zrIdrr-7zXTdJsaezpvqrLCr-RCQPKz1BdJEBnhASid__grT1kNcT69c968HCVb3gLEqGwXYv1C9cBYApbx8OExGwLaboPB-Vg-pf4GmaHF9sfNl48C-muaDszBq9wSXI_7PBz/s1600/chickens%201.jpg" width="202" /></a></div><p></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I haven’t posted anything on this blog in close to four years, since November 2019. That’s when we lost the last members of our small flock of hens.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">We haven’t acquired any chickens since then, and although I’d never say never, it’s unlikely that we will. There was joy and pleasure aplenty back then, but too much heartache and anxiety as well. In fact, our coop and pen are long gone now; the ground remains bare where they once stood. </span></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Yet all these years later, I still miss “the girls” very much, and have many heartwarming memories of them. That’s why I so enjoyed a quote from a book by Sean Flynn called “Why Peacocks?” I haven’t read Flynn’s book about his experience owning peacocks and I have no personal experience with those glorious creatures. But the following passage captures my attitude toward hens, based on our time with them during more than seven years of chicken keeping, from April 2012 through most of 2019.</span></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“There is always the potential when dabbling with birds — and this no one tells you beforehand — of becoming enchanted,” Flynn writes, “and it is impossible to understand this until it happens.” Peacocks “have personalities and intelligence and foibles and charms and souls,” he writes, ‘and it all sounds ridiculous but it’s true.”</span></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></span></p>
<p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Flynn may be doing himself a disservice by describing his observations as ridiculous-sounding. If you apply his comments to chickens, for example, he’s certainly correct about the truth of them. In that case, at least, I speak from experience.</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMBc5sUp5qQ2MixHS2Wattl-EhAdh_-C23krgqkICoYq2A5COcoZTs6OdUzQOv2hwPQ9MM9Lxd8_KfAeS9k61g3oobd8Cq_aVxIPX9p2xO1kutIxZCVGqrUfK8eBpWKFkymYt2f_XfiSrkwgPX6q5uIkiaagru4in7bfnZrFSK8CZ07Vm_uk0izvQ2r07/s2132/why-peacocks-9781982101084_hr.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2132" data-original-width="1400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMBc5sUp5qQ2MixHS2Wattl-EhAdh_-C23krgqkICoYq2A5COcoZTs6OdUzQOv2hwPQ9MM9Lxd8_KfAeS9k61g3oobd8Cq_aVxIPX9p2xO1kutIxZCVGqrUfK8eBpWKFkymYt2f_XfiSrkwgPX6q5uIkiaagru4in7bfnZrFSK8CZ07Vm_uk0izvQ2r07/s320/why-peacocks-9781982101084_hr.jpg" width="210" /></a> </div><p></p></div>PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-65835939145015179552019-11-24T03:14:00.007-05:002023-08-21T12:56:23.985-04:00Hen Chronicles: Saying goodbye<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje6OitFjD1DSYPhL2HB6pahoLchyphenhyphenDCHZUlOTU9bPmb830fAVSFJ43weWfmDloruSfWzbifgpZmCEqLpaKKze-GT05jgKu5niNLhEadvLZTp5jELua6SOkwujxrwCq8COS6dqn0Ua_40U8f/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje6OitFjD1DSYPhL2HB6pahoLchyphenhyphenDCHZUlOTU9bPmb830fAVSFJ43weWfmDloruSfWzbifgpZmCEqLpaKKze-GT05jgKu5niNLhEadvLZTp5jELua6SOkwujxrwCq8COS6dqn0Ua_40U8f/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span>It’s been quite an adventure, full of joy and mishap, wonder and heartache, contentment and aggravation.<br /><br />And now it’s over.<br /><br />After we joined the ranks of backyard chicken keepers back in April 2012, our tiny flock shrunk and grew and shrunk again, eventually leaving us with Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds.<br /><br />Hope, who had been ill for some time, died overnight Friday or Saturday. I found her in the coop at dawn Saturday, when I went out to feed "the girls." Nellie, who always talked up a storm when she saw or heard me approach with breakfast, sat silently beside Hope’s body. For reasons which I don't need to go into, we eventually decided in the difficult hours following Hope’s death that we could not keep or save Nellie, who was euthanized later that day.</span></span><br />
<span><span><br /></span></span>
<span><span>The coop is empty.<br /><br />My wife Liz and I learned a lot about chickens during this chapter in our lives, but we always strove to learn more about this underappreciated species. It was an educational journey that continued until the end. We loved our hens and cherished their company, even when one or another of them slashed her comb in a freak accident that splattered blood all over the place, or became egg bound, or suffered a prolapsed oviduct (don't ask!), or grew a rooster-like leg spur that had to be filed down weekly, or needed to have a beak trimmed or a toenail clipped or a fanny washed.<br /><br />We enjoyed their antics. We took pleasure in their chatter. We marveled at their beauty and intelligence, the uniqueness of their personalities, the complexity of their relationships, the mysteries of their physiology, and their ability to do something as simply magical as laying an egg.</span></span><br />
<span><span><br /></span></span>
<span><span>And over the years, we grieved their loss.<br /><br />Snow and Nala and Stella, our original threesome, have been gone for some time. And now Nellie and Hope, who joined us as pullets in May 2013 when they arrived together in a cardboard box via USPS, are gone as well. As Thanksgiving draws near, we are very grateful to have shared all of their lives.</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Opp8_51YMrDsk1UGZF6Z_mI5f4leFKk0MYzZlcHKfoy0s56Z7P4whyphenhyphenHrUnudI2fhMaAi5g-MfVUGcxE7zGKrlUcrRkJodOSG2j4zjX2PAiXJh11uyPrKbVlt2B-grKiLhDb3a1R81O6s/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Opp8_51YMrDsk1UGZF6Z_mI5f4leFKk0MYzZlcHKfoy0s56Z7P4whyphenhyphenHrUnudI2fhMaAi5g-MfVUGcxE7zGKrlUcrRkJodOSG2j4zjX2PAiXJh11uyPrKbVlt2B-grKiLhDb3a1R81O6s/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
</div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-35741044819053381172019-11-03T04:14:00.005-05:002023-08-21T12:55:53.415-04:00Hen Chronicles: The joy of scratch<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC1u27aAkqJ7br1EHbshPxS0tRITadokXDXM2IahExlYtl2U2GrK4l1qDPm4x3qn0tgq6-BI-fTD8JUbySllLBxKclrBMlEesVfxTs6xtW4cJoQ9cgclO96ywcoLMYoJ-IGHDz4wJyDpiT/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC1u27aAkqJ7br1EHbshPxS0tRITadokXDXM2IahExlYtl2U2GrK4l1qDPm4x3qn0tgq6-BI-fTD8JUbySllLBxKclrBMlEesVfxTs6xtW4cJoQ9cgclO96ywcoLMYoJ-IGHDz4wJyDpiT/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Chickens are talkative critters. Not only do they talk a lot, but they have many different things to say. In recent decades, researchers have documented more than two dozen distinct chicken vocalizations. Anyone who owns chickens is familiar with their various warning sounds, their contented clucking, and the ear-splitting squawks announcing that someone in their midst has just laid an egg.<br /><br />Our two Rhode Island Reds, Nellie and Hope, aren’t quite as talkative as they once were. For one thing, they’re getting up there, so “the girls” are slowing down in various ways. If they’re still with us come January, they’ll be seven years old by then, which is a far bigger deal for a hen than it would be for a dog or a cat.<br /><br />No one familiar with chickens would, upon meeting Nellie and Hope, mistake them for the proverbial spring chickens.<br /><br />Still, Nellie remains more talkative than Hope, and there’s one sound, in particular, that Nellie only makes in one situation. The girls love scratch, which is a mixture of grains that are yummy but apparently not very nutritious. Processing scratch can increase a chicken’s body heat, so some experts recommend forgoing scratch in the summer, when it’s important to protect chickens from overheating.<br /><br />For these reasons, I only give our hens scratch in small amounts and in cold weather, to help them warm up. So I mixed in some scratch with their regular feed first thing this morning, as I did yesterday as well. The hens must be able to smell scratch from a distance, because on both days Nellie emitted staccato, high-pitched chirps even before I unlatched the coop door to release the girls into the pen.<br /><br />Nellie always “speaks” this way for scratch, but never for any other reason. Which makes me wonder what else, after all these years, I haven’t heard her say because she didn’t have just the right reason to say it.</span></span><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_QV1y5ipOYFz61xnNGub-hJcXzkA2a0VxqlPxOk0eeRSUlgtowcSVvUgPhbghFYuKnWoElFpfwoPpgx__r0eQRWU4MQ2P0APqAE7E5GXIFX6s9rECcpV4jTBKgqdFXDCs4oeYI8CcdHx/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_QV1y5ipOYFz61xnNGub-hJcXzkA2a0VxqlPxOk0eeRSUlgtowcSVvUgPhbghFYuKnWoElFpfwoPpgx__r0eQRWU4MQ2P0APqAE7E5GXIFX6s9rECcpV4jTBKgqdFXDCs4oeYI8CcdHx/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
</div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-3195487509463135322019-09-12T11:20:00.006-04:002023-08-21T12:55:19.616-04:00Hen Chronicles: Enjoying their companionship, while it lasts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhALuBSCziPok_ZmX6Vbm7ky9MwogHnijMF6rpHBOG2EHLjQuhqiDh1RURbqEIL9gmqWm-UjgAsRq1J8I5wXbiNSaplEoGw94Z4_E0AA7q8STtQ6rFV01JGVrckvCK9sO1dzWDQ8-lESYs5/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhALuBSCziPok_ZmX6Vbm7ky9MwogHnijMF6rpHBOG2EHLjQuhqiDh1RURbqEIL9gmqWm-UjgAsRq1J8I5wXbiNSaplEoGw94Z4_E0AA7q8STtQ6rFV01JGVrckvCK9sO1dzWDQ8-lESYs5/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Keeping chickens brings its share of aggravation and heartache, perhaps even more if it involves a small flock whose members you treat as pets.<br /><br />Since my wife Liz and I first acquired hens back in 2012, we have lost two chickens to disease and a third to problems stemming from age. That last death was especially difficult because it involved Snow, a boisterous Plymouth Rock who oozed personality. When I brought her to the vet to be euthanized two years ago, I held her in my arms as Snow — once so bossy and exuberant — quietly slipped away.<br /><br />We have only two hens now: Nellie and Hope, Rhode Island Reds who hatched in January 2013. They, too, have seen their share of problems lately.<br /><br />Hope has had a growth in her chest for several months. A veterinarian who examined her in May suspected it might be a tumor that is likely to claim her life before this coming winter is done and gone. And now we’re combating an infestation of mites that probably were introduced to ”the girls” by wild birds or other critters making their rounds in the backyard, where our coop and pen are located. We seem to be winning that battle, though.<br /><br />Maybe it’s because of such problems, not despite them, that I enjoy dealing with the hens as much as I do. Nellie and Hope still love life. They’re still up to the challenge. By the time I get out to the coop at dawn, they’re at the large window on the east side, anxiously waiting for me to release them into the pen.<br /><br />Both hens eagerly dig into their breakfast. Later in the day, they dance in anticipation when they see me approaching with mealworms or dandelion greens or kale or berries. Nellie has been laying eggs regularly again this year, which is somewhat unusual for a hen her age.<br /><br />Whether by choice or infirmity,”the girls” don’t hop up to the roost to sleep anymore, but snuggle together in a nest box that’s really only big enough for one hen, yet somehow accommodates two. The lives of animals, like the lives of humans, are fragile, troubled and transitory. So we savor their presence, while we can.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9z5YsV97fiy_8RztJZnnNcTPgHXfUi1_5F6f-7gLqWo0vQxVRn85FcDJAtwuAytXiHouBC-nswj_g3_glkjnhpnQM8Ii8FiWpkL8Lj8RAtTDyhIAp0sllRawHvuqj8Bzbjs0sLO2xNEa/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX9z5YsV97fiy_8RztJZnnNcTPgHXfUi1_5F6f-7gLqWo0vQxVRn85FcDJAtwuAytXiHouBC-nswj_g3_glkjnhpnQM8Ii8FiWpkL8Lj8RAtTDyhIAp0sllRawHvuqj8Bzbjs0sLO2xNEa/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-8128625826758266752019-07-28T04:14:00.005-04:002023-08-21T12:54:48.300-04:00Hen Chronicles: Hot town, summer in the city . . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXAcu0JFfSj3QEQVgElEtJajBhrWq5HcUW2TzW4EXukNnXOtC84Ka-GO5uiy-qdPhXglLokUUvdnnGRcUvOrTGn4Cu6GoMq5c3WJBk6JnZZcEflCEMAgyp10htYl2pFnHRTZSIiIWAVMQs/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXAcu0JFfSj3QEQVgElEtJajBhrWq5HcUW2TzW4EXukNnXOtC84Ka-GO5uiy-qdPhXglLokUUvdnnGRcUvOrTGn4Cu6GoMq5c3WJBk6JnZZcEflCEMAgyp10htYl2pFnHRTZSIiIWAVMQs/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span>We don’t tend to get dangerously hot summer weather here in northern New England. Ninety degrees is “wicked hot” by our standards; when the temperature rises higher than that, we really take notice.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span><span><span>So
when temps here in central Maine hit 95 degrees one day last weekend,
with a heat index of 101, I got nervous. Not about myself, but about
“the girls,” Nellie and Hope, our six-year-old Rhode Island Reds. Six
isn’t exactly elderly for hens, but our duo aren’t spring chickens
anymore either.</span></span> </span></span><br />
<span><span><br />I learned years ago that keeping chickens cool in the summer can be more difficult than keeping them warm in the winter. Within reasonable limits, they do a pretty good job of coping with the cold, what with all those feathers, but they have a tougher time dealing with the heat.<br /><br />Thanks to some tall vegetation east of the hens' pen, it remain<span>ed</span> shaded until late morning on July 20, the day in question. At t<span>hat point</span>, I raised an old patio umbrella over the pen, to shield it from the midday sun. As the day wore on and the temperature soared ever higher, Nellie seemed to be fine, but Hope began to show signs of discomfort, and possible distress. She panted, as overheated chickens do, and hid under the raised coop. Eventually, she all but stopped moving around,<span> for extended periods of time</span>. I wouldn’t say she was listless, but it was quite clear she was having a very bad day.<br /><br />My wife Liz and I considered moving the hens into a small backup coop that we keep in the somewhat cooler garage as a sort of intensive care unit when a hen is sick or injured and needs to be isolated. But we decided that relocation might just exacerbate Hope’s problems, by creating more anxiety.<br /><br />Instead, I tried various cooling tricks, such as hosing down the pen several times, and misting the hens with a spray bottle. I placed ice in their water bowl, covered portions of the pen with plywood, emptied a large bag of ice cubes in the pen, and gave the hens chunks of watermelon (which they like), to help keep them hydrated.<br /><br />As 6 p.m. rolled around, Hope remained stationary and visibly uncomfortable, and we again considered moving the hens into the garage. But suddenly, almost as if someone had flipped a switch, Hope bounced back. Her behavior returned to normal and the crisis, if that’s what it was, passed. The weather has been more seasonable since then, and she has not shown renewed signs of stress from the heat.<br /><br />But what of the future? As climate change worsens and our weather becomes ever more extreme and erratic, the human race won’t be the only affected species. <span>We'd have to be blind not to realize that t</span>he denizens of the animal kingdom, including our pets and livestock, will suffer as well.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2-LipsbhqDuYXswa_luPAfvkREG8w2GTLth0-rNkKJRB6MBYkMSd7LClT7CB7IsGksbPq6eJ_SU1038PAg1UaPcY4JZA2OjkNIK__JNzJXU-1dzWpCI9zALUcaGoEQlLZyvmWw3qCqgYm/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2-LipsbhqDuYXswa_luPAfvkREG8w2GTLth0-rNkKJRB6MBYkMSd7LClT7CB7IsGksbPq6eJ_SU1038PAg1UaPcY4JZA2OjkNIK__JNzJXU-1dzWpCI9zALUcaGoEQlLZyvmWw3qCqgYm/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-86866350790818462712019-07-03T04:14:00.005-04:002023-08-21T12:54:17.951-04:00Hen Chronicles: Coping with challenges<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTb_5Gk_Ydac30RJ5UNb_0RK-HvOTR-01UZl6Zbpnr1QbgHunNe15Q9RMQ-59ZNiDDdMrt04z6zrs2LS5bVGVZ0ihSZdEZH0XAHICE2HBL5YEZxjiLPhqoN4utt4yioo9hpsdsxKPzjt9D/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTb_5Gk_Ydac30RJ5UNb_0RK-HvOTR-01UZl6Zbpnr1QbgHunNe15Q9RMQ-59ZNiDDdMrt04z6zrs2LS5bVGVZ0ihSZdEZH0XAHICE2HBL5YEZxjiLPhqoN4utt4yioo9hpsdsxKPzjt9D/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">During our seven years of keeping chickens, I’ve found it to be a rewarding and entertaining hobby, thanks to the beauty, intelligence and quirks of our feathered pets. (Plus the fresh eggs, of course.) But life becomes a bit more complicated when things go wrong.<br /><br />More than a month ago, one of our two Rhode Island Reds — Hope — developed a deformity. Her chest expanded, becoming more pronounced than normal. I took her to a veterinarian who not only treats chickens but has some of her own.<br /><br />As is often the case when chickens take ill, there was no simple, obvious explanation for Hope’s condition. The vet speculated that Hope might have an obstruction because of something she ate, or she might have a tumor, which could be either benign or cancerous. We returned home with instructions to change Hope’s diet for several weeks, to see if that made any difference. But the long-term prognosis was not encouraging. Hope and Nellie are both more than six years old, which the vet described as the upper end of middle age. She stated matter of factly that, even if Hope survives her current dilemma, she probably won’t make it through another winter.<br /><br />So, for the past month we’ve been keeping a close eye on Hope. The obstruction or growth or whatever it is hasn’t shrunk, but neither has it grown any larger. Perhaps more importantly, Hope still has a good quality of life. She has a voracious appetite and gets around perfectly well. She is alert and bright-eyed and interested in her surroundings.<br /><br />I suppose Hope could die tomorrow. Or she may deteriorate so badly that she has to be euthanized. Yet I feel relief, even a momentary burst of joy, when I go out to the coop at dawn and watch her flap her wings as she heads down the ramp from the coop to the pen. Instead of obsessing over what the future may bring, I’m grateful for the sight that greeted me this morning: a ravenous Hope taking a quick break from her breakfast to lift her head and stare at me for a moment, her beak slathered with mash.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcutH1g_U3KRC8JjYK41AyfrKpwh8S4IMKpqwBclWY5ZcnOcQreWF0kD8Qhn2aYYRAAmWCcJgbj2JGd-5BwIilNsJLg2tWRLz1vJPtM8KySK1rAjJ1CfvHle6m916xWukaBVIFAeV3pSG4/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcutH1g_U3KRC8JjYK41AyfrKpwh8S4IMKpqwBclWY5ZcnOcQreWF0kD8Qhn2aYYRAAmWCcJgbj2JGd-5BwIilNsJLg2tWRLz1vJPtM8KySK1rAjJ1CfvHle6m916xWukaBVIFAeV3pSG4/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-46489533907818737932019-05-21T06:25:00.004-04:002023-08-21T12:53:48.813-04:00Hen Chronicles: Putting the break back in breakfast?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh95nxnNL8HWLhdHoAvMZMw3kCGfSI6e9R3iRSIWn6m0x3s_4_1o_KOTSLxdWn1x4qIXZkVOYGvb2GZLfb9R8z_LSLn5aUFxQDd9jq_1grOTyx-qEsww9jc2hGbHrx4RQd3K7Y-Nxtw8TJO/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh95nxnNL8HWLhdHoAvMZMw3kCGfSI6e9R3iRSIWn6m0x3s_4_1o_KOTSLxdWn1x4qIXZkVOYGvb2GZLfb9R8z_LSLn5aUFxQDd9jq_1grOTyx-qEsww9jc2hGbHrx4RQd3K7Y-Nxtw8TJO/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Our two hens decided this morning that it was time to kick things up a notch as far as their breakfast<span> offerings <span>we</span>re</span> concerned. <span>Apparent<span>ly, t</span></span>heir <span>diet of pellets and th<span>e occasional snack</span> just wasn't cutting it</span>.<br /><br />So they ate an egg.<br /><br />When I opened the coop door at dawn to let Nellie and Hope out into the pen, yolk coated their beaks as they busily pecked away at the bedding on the coop’s floor, to find every last yummy bit.<br /><br />From time to time over the years, our hens have broken<span> an</span> egg on purpose, but that probably wasn’t the case this time around. Nestled in the bedding were the remains of a very soft, thin, rubbery shell. So the egg may well have broken as soon as it was laid, providing a culinary temptation that was too strong for our Rhode Island Reds to resist.<br /><br />A rubbery shell may stem from a calcium deficiency, but I’ve been giving the hens crushed oyster shells as a dietary supplement, to prevent that. Nellie has been laying normal eggs regularly<span><span>. A</span>s recently as yesterday, in fact. B</span>ut Hope rarely, if ever, lays nowadays. Perhaps Hope is getting back into the game and is still tuning up the mechanism?<br /><br />The hens aren’t talking, at least not to me. Maybe it’s time for a coop cam.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmnXlQ_7lQXvmy6KBMV4qCdKmGEsxzZIjyXQ19eRsUoq1uBDMIjUYFVjL9ullHDVfkq5Vt5LPMlj5D2Rr85U8O9dMQY9a_JXDg_slx7qTXypsU4fsdeJ6Ht_sHhw5240TW2jOiT6fFDr-z/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmnXlQ_7lQXvmy6KBMV4qCdKmGEsxzZIjyXQ19eRsUoq1uBDMIjUYFVjL9ullHDVfkq5Vt5LPMlj5D2Rr85U8O9dMQY9a_JXDg_slx7qTXypsU4fsdeJ6Ht_sHhw5240TW2jOiT6fFDr-z/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-65163128493950433862019-05-11T04:14:00.004-04:002023-08-21T12:53:10.625-04:00Hen Chronicles: Looking into a hen's eye, and what I saw there<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTgmRg4JN-wW0wcydBDZxuQXzjmhq7tS7_I1IoYN_C_z01DkTlxvAhihyphenhyphenN2n1e9JRSoe1TPY-T5jqj1y3dD4rtDC2eyETIPtJGCp2nqwnpxXCO8E22JVZxf0j0oytAQDbWHJnjMjMdsJ_/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTgmRg4JN-wW0wcydBDZxuQXzjmhq7tS7_I1IoYN_C_z01DkTlxvAhihyphenhyphenN2n1e9JRSoe1TPY-T5jqj1y3dD4rtDC2eyETIPtJGCp2nqwnpxXCO8E22JVZxf0j0oytAQDbWHJnjMjMdsJ_/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Our
small chicken coop stands on four wooden legs which elevate the coop a
foot or so off the ground. The area beneath the coop is accessible to
our two Rhode Island Red hens, Nellie and Hope, who like to hang out
there to escape the sun on hot summer days. That under-the-coop opening
is framed with chicken wire, to prevent us from having to ask why the
chicken crossed the road.<br /><br />A few days ago, I found myself on my
knees right outside the coop as I patched up breaks in the wiring that
runs along that opening. At the time, Nellie was in the coop, going
about the business of laying an egg. But Hope, who seems to have retired
from the laying game, was under the coop, paying close attention to
what I was doing. Hope stood no more than a foot from my face, because I
was working so low to the ground. She didn't "speak"<span> </span>or fidget or peck about in <span>search <span>of</span> edible b<span>ugs<span>, but stood perfectly still, staring at me. </span></span></span>Hope and I were eye to eye, separated only by chicken wire.<br /><br />Hope
didn’t take her eye off me for quite some time, and I was reminded of
something I’ve noticed many times over the years while in close
proximity to a chicken. Although I had no idea what Hope was thinking
during this intense and focused exercise in surveillance, I knew beyond a
shadow of a doubt that I was looking into the eye of a sentient being, a
some<span>times baffling</span> but <span>obviously</span> intelligent creature.<br /><br /><span>I</span>n <i>The Outermost House: A Year of Life on the Great Beach
of Cape Cod </i>(1928),<i> </i>Henry Beston wrote: “We need another and a wiser and perhaps a more mystical
concept of animals . . . . For the animal shall not be measured by man.
In a world older and more complete than ours, they move finished and
complete, gifted with the extension of the senses we have lost or never
attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren,
they are not underlings: they are other nations, caught with ourselves
in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and
travail of the earth.” </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLbBrxEBiV8IxknKXH97usfhvkgPSHRZG5kBDcHgSGYjMYaaMLrDpe9LGfYydzgyAddyW6VDuSV311j0WXcxsg89wCXF0Cf5hqzjMhbTy03MG0A61vfBbHUnzLPJfCbMHirkaDx9yUpnS/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrLbBrxEBiV8IxknKXH97usfhvkgPSHRZG5kBDcHgSGYjMYaaMLrDpe9LGfYydzgyAddyW6VDuSV311j0WXcxsg89wCXF0Cf5hqzjMhbTy03MG0A61vfBbHUnzLPJfCbMHirkaDx9yUpnS/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-38554130809143564832019-04-02T12:27:00.004-04:002023-08-21T12:52:31.743-04:00Hen Chronicles: Another chicken-keeping first under our belts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCw9imlR756vnnMMXp6k95JQwu1DRxYcAYA5KFhxE1q8cSaAWrOhFP8-6wB69Tn0jE3ek2yxlLZRS_9T8TnwDZ0TjQzq-ans9EuTqgIRUVOj0zmqgOPorQQhFs3cJfxlILqfzm7U1ZRCs/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGCw9imlR756vnnMMXp6k95JQwu1DRxYcAYA5KFhxE1q8cSaAWrOhFP8-6wB69Tn0jE3ek2yxlLZRS_9T8TnwDZ0TjQzq-ans9EuTqgIRUVOj0zmqgOPorQQhFs3cJfxlILqfzm7U1ZRCs/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span>Keeping chickens encourages self-reliance, at least to a degree. My wife Liz and I have learned how to deal with various problems since we got started in 2012, including bloody accidents. But we reached another milestone today when Hope, one of our two Rhode Island Reds, needed to have her beak trimmed.</span><br />
<span><br /></span>
<span>One of the many things about which I was blissfully ignorant when we first acquired hens is that, sometimes, part of a chicken’s beak will start growing, and continue to do so until it gets so long that it threatens the bird’s ability to peck and eat. </span><span>Some time ago, the upper portion of Hope’s beak began to get longer. At first, it struck me as a harmless oddity. But over time, it got longer and longer, eventually reaching a point at which it began to curve downward. A bit of research revealed that this is not all that unusual. Intervention was recommended, while Hope was still able to eat normally.</span><br />
<span><br /></span>
<span>We could have tried trimming the beak with a nail file, but Hope’s condition seemed to call for something more. Digging out the clippers that we occasionally use to trim the hens’ nails, Liz and I headed out to the coop first thing this morning to set things right. I’d watched an online video of what looked like a stressed and agitated chicken getting a beak trim, so I feared the worst. But we couldn’t see making a 17-mile drive to the vet’s office for what the experts describe as a simple procedure. The key is not to cut far enough into the beak to cause injury, pain and bleeding.</span><br />
<span><br /></span>
<span>I removed Hope from the coop and held her securely. Liz took hold of Hope’s head to keep it stable, raised the clippers to Hope’s beak, took aim, and snipped the tip. Much to my surprise, Hope did not flinch or squirm or squawk or show any distress. In fact, she didn't even close her eyes. She sat quietly in my arms before and during the procedure. As soon as I put her back in the coop, she ran out into the pen and dug into her breakfast.</span><br />
<span><br /></span>
<span>Liz and I both came away with the impression that Hope seemed to appreciate the trim, as if she somehow understood it was being done for her benefit. But that can’t be true. Comprehension and gratitude from a hen? Impossible! After all, as dismissive people like to say about poultry, “they’re only chickens.”</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJlwZm-FFNgk1SJ1qyPfZjx9OxkDiyfNNvuJGVipcKQv2i5A-wbKfDTqWKYZFYcp-jHe5qmelE8rQK1oPfRZJQcO3lHpNY-mrMLhTvfA1MwulMWHizzAJvRiSpQ2ewzBIKD4jWmL090sB/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJlwZm-FFNgk1SJ1qyPfZjx9OxkDiyfNNvuJGVipcKQv2i5A-wbKfDTqWKYZFYcp-jHe5qmelE8rQK1oPfRZJQcO3lHpNY-mrMLhTvfA1MwulMWHizzAJvRiSpQ2ewzBIKD4jWmL090sB/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-87145632580188836212019-03-30T08:21:00.005-04:002023-08-21T12:51:59.746-04:00Hen Chronicles: Fun with chickens (he said facetiously)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMSxEOBK3EXipXer4Alpg_5jWGxCsVqViSc7nZP5xhzdIMj3sIosIl6LVNNp0GMOniBo7lTC_uWlkyKvXxh51UWZITiLjbqxq7rAcBtGSoXK27Pmr1WxFjcWzxLQk2lsIAcgDKLAu7gUM/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBMSxEOBK3EXipXer4Alpg_5jWGxCsVqViSc7nZP5xhzdIMj3sIosIl6LVNNp0GMOniBo7lTC_uWlkyKvXxh51UWZITiLjbqxq7rAcBtGSoXK27Pmr1WxFjcWzxLQk2lsIAcgDKLAu7gUM/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I’ve learned a few things in the course of keeping chickens for seven years. But it wasn’t until this morning that I discovered it’s a bad idea to feed your hens when you have a <span>loose</span> bandage on your hand.<br /><br />Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, eat outside, in a low rectangular pen that’s covered with chicken wire. The only way for a human to conveniently <span>reach into</span> the pen is through a hinged lid that runs across the top, at the north end.<span> </span>Bu<span>t there it was, at the inaccessible south end:<span> a </span></span>Band-Aid, just inside th<span>e chicken wire</span>. I assume<span> </span>it slipped off my finger while I was placing food and water bowls <span>in </span>the north end of<span> </span>the pen and one of the mischievous beasties, having decided it was inedible, carried it over to the south end. <span>F</span>or the hell<span> of it.</span><br /><br />Of course, the Band-Aid was just far enough from the wire to be unreachable, even with needle nose pliers. So I instructed “the girls” to leave the bandage where it was (like that would <span>do any good</span>), trudged back to the garage, and retrieved a <span>th<span>in</span></span> garden stake. <span>T</span>he Band-Aid was still in place when I got back<span>, so I stuck</span> the stake through the wire.<span> A</span>fter a few failed attempts, I ma<span>naged to slowly </span>drag the bandage right up to the <span>enclosure</span>, where I was able to reach in with two fingers and tease it out.<br /><br />The two witnesses to this delicate maneuver probably found it entertaining<span>. Or s</span>o I assume. Although Nellie <span>and</span> Hope paid close att<span>ention to my antics,<span> </span></span>they<span> wore</span> their best poker faces.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAo1QH9A4DbHIFlJeNkI9KpVnRr-dSEv4x_SkMcrO9-TS1giukHTHPXMEeAvKqnvZ4b6YbFVdn71JvsOM67ihx9s2X2OyHu3pBhksP0mUGzZgtAnntTyZYT0wMAAK2caw78kAOLMwqD3Ti/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAo1QH9A4DbHIFlJeNkI9KpVnRr-dSEv4x_SkMcrO9-TS1giukHTHPXMEeAvKqnvZ4b6YbFVdn71JvsOM67ihx9s2X2OyHu3pBhksP0mUGzZgtAnntTyZYT0wMAAK2caw78kAOLMwqD3Ti/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-79206444751593208142019-03-28T04:14:00.005-04:002023-08-21T12:51:27.804-04:00Hen Chronicles: The ultimate sign that spring has sprung<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_mqf-8ydAc6oqmsC9pB2mPAyyi3Sv2e8Spn9B7gKqE2Dz9JAsxo0Pm5hOeRmt_cpXeXiWkziwpjjEb1iIpJ78ZVjMluiuX7zAWnJ-UtJGQTQ4fDo27Vo4HiaH1IbtqXhLm0p8joZIaCbI/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_mqf-8ydAc6oqmsC9pB2mPAyyi3Sv2e8Spn9B7gKqE2Dz9JAsxo0Pm5hOeRmt_cpXeXiWkziwpjjEb1iIpJ78ZVjMluiuX7zAWnJ-UtJGQTQ4fDo27Vo4HiaH1IbtqXhLm0p8joZIaCbI/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span><span>It isn’t really a miracle, of course. But when you finally spot a fresh egg in the coop for the first time in six months, it certainly feels like one.<br /><br />Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, hatched in January 2013, which makes them over six years old. At least one expert whose work I’ve consulted says hens generally stop laying, on a regular basis anyway, at about six years of age, although they may continue to produce eggs sporadically after that.<br /><br />So we would have been disappointed, but not surprised, if Nellie and Hope had called it quits in the laying department. In fact, there’s some reason to believe Hope hasn’t laid since last spring. The final egg of 2018 — presumably, Nellie’s — made its appearance in September, with nary a sighting since then.<br /><br />Until this morning.<br /><br />It’s usually an exaggeration when people say something startled them so much they did a double take, but I did just that when I lifted my “poop bucket” into the coop at dawn, so I could clean things up. I’ve grown so accustomed to finding nothing but waste among the pine shavings on the coop floor that I came within an inch or two of depositing the bucket right on top of . . . an egg!<br /><br />I'm not getting my hopes up too much. It probably will be a slow year for eggs, what with the age of our two hens. But as today's little "miracle" made clear, at least one of "the girls" hasn’t given up just yet.</span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHE3gTd4qEqDv5Hkv8W9lSVc6WkfncAL3t7dQLzZpBjog1999Zc2bsL7ZWN2ODZQuh0ety3WaAYN1o2XQHr2M4QuCZMEba_qugwVPShzHQgLldU197T1LcnaLQ5XlMq5I7_qR7kEyuJ2Yd/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHE3gTd4qEqDv5Hkv8W9lSVc6WkfncAL3t7dQLzZpBjog1999Zc2bsL7ZWN2ODZQuh0ety3WaAYN1o2XQHr2M4QuCZMEba_qugwVPShzHQgLldU197T1LcnaLQ5XlMq5I7_qR7kEyuJ2Yd/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-35657183412965854342019-02-08T04:14:00.005-05:002023-08-21T12:50:03.465-04:00Hen Chronicles: Creature discomforts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwnYvnPT9JXsH0hsFtzrVq0pSVAD1y4-Z2ngNBDIvlBZ7CZjPErfZCuIJazTafW03n2o166zg-B1S4D1UnL3WlTBeFuQDksHCRNAg7I05K2umiNizXOL_o3uanb4CcqHuECwxU4JmZKxT/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwnYvnPT9JXsH0hsFtzrVq0pSVAD1y4-Z2ngNBDIvlBZ7CZjPErfZCuIJazTafW03n2o166zg-B1S4D1UnL3WlTBeFuQDksHCRNAg7I05K2umiNizXOL_o3uanb4CcqHuECwxU4JmZKxT/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span><span>Our dogs — Aquinnah, a chocolate lab, and Martha, a pit bull mix — have no direct contact with our chickens, but the two species are <span>well aware of one another</span>. <span>T</span>he coop is located at the back end of our relatively large city lot, and in the winter, when it’s often impractical to take the dogs for longer walks, they sometimes make a circuit in the yard that takes them behind the coop.<br /><br />The fascinating aspect of this, at least to me, is how the <span>animals</span> involved react differently to such close encounters of the <span>critter</span> kind.<br /><br />At 85-pounds, Aquinnah (aka, Quinn) probably looks quite intimidating to our two Rhode Island Reds, Nellie and Hope. And it doesn’t help matters that Quinn, who is leashed, always tries to lunge toward the hens whenever he gets within a few feet of their housing. Invariably, the hens react to these attempted incursions by running up the ramp that leads from the pen to the coop, often with a flapping of wings to give them a bit more propulsion.<br /><br />It’s another story entirely when Martha makes her rounds. For one thing, she only weights about 40 pounds, maybe less. More importantly, she shows no aggression toward the hens, and only the slightest interest in them. Not surprisingly, then, Nellie and Hope are equally indifferent to her presence in their neighborhood, and go about their business without any of the Chicken Little antics they display when Quinn’s around.<br /><br />I’ve seen plenty of photos of dogs guarding free-range chickens in what appears to be a perfectly peaceful arrangement. I suppose Martha could have been trained to perform such a role, if our hens were allowed to run free in the partially fenced yard. Quinn, on the other hand, probably would have been stripped of his badge on his first day of work after jumping in to try for a quick snack, policing responsibilities be damned.</span></span></span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">
</span></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">
</span></span><br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjI2mNMB4AxhvqZFE4sUqTJKsgj7sVTR3AugnGsbC0EvttCbuCanj22Y4DO8qvV0KNJGOW4KTLHJ9dN9-F2WRJjlCXSI_ZRS3HSLcsboqJUiFhX13vvxY-i-suzWtRBRz3U3zYEefd3IE/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjI2mNMB4AxhvqZFE4sUqTJKsgj7sVTR3AugnGsbC0EvttCbuCanj22Y4DO8qvV0KNJGOW4KTLHJ9dN9-F2WRJjlCXSI_ZRS3HSLcsboqJUiFhX13vvxY-i-suzWtRBRz3U3zYEefd3IE/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-61912738361313846162019-01-12T04:14:00.004-05:002023-08-21T12:47:28.673-04:00Hen Chronicles: Baby it's cold outside (chicken edition)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdxVdRuCguE3bE5H3cDpRRP-oVrw9oE5QVZ87zgK3AZ544GzLRiKSPp5AEgdgN8UwUnxXOLEiL8iwBZ-XS3FCOHdJtVw2CrvLx4uzpCbDa0EnfoBSJAdpHfPD4fr1iTmkJElpbQaUSKzr/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdxVdRuCguE3bE5H3cDpRRP-oVrw9oE5QVZ87zgK3AZ544GzLRiKSPp5AEgdgN8UwUnxXOLEiL8iwBZ-XS3FCOHdJtVw2CrvLx4uzpCbDa0EnfoBSJAdpHfPD4fr1iTmkJElpbQaUSKzr/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">My wife Liz and I are coming up on seven years of chicken keeping, all of them here in central Maine, yet I still fret over how “the girls” will fare when the temperature drops to zero, or lower.<br /><br />I know, from experience and from my reading, that chickens, like other species of birds, are adapted to coping with winter weather. If they are well-feathered and well-fed, and if they have a dry coop that shelters them from the wind and the snow, they should do just fine. In fact, experts say it’s more difficult to protect chickens from the worst summer heat than from winter’s chill.<br /><br />Still, we think of our chickens as pets. No responsible pet owner would leave a cat or a dog outside in single-digit temps. Of course, birds are different, and technically, the hens aren't outside. Yet I find myself making periodic adjustments to the coop as I try to give Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, a bit of an edge.<br /><br />We don’t have a large walk-in coop attached to the house or garage, but rather a small, freestanding coop that’s only big enough for four chickens. (We have two right now.) The coop is not heated, because of the fire risk and the theory that heating a coop makes it difficult for chickens to adjust to outdoor temperatures during the day.<br /><br />The interior of the coop isn’t insulated, but I compensate for that by stacking large bags of leaves against the exterior. I add extra bedding to the coop when it’s especially cold, to better insulate the floor, which is elevated about a foot off the ground. And I cover the metal roof with saddle blankets.<br /><br />The thing that frustrates me the most is that chickens need ventilation, even at night. Otherwise, they run the risk of developing frostbite and respiratory problems if moisture builds up inside from their breathing and bodily functions. So I almost always leave a sliding window at least partially open overnight, ignoring my natural instinct to make the coop airtight on the coldest nights.<br /><br />The last thing I saw when I locked the girls in last night, as the temperature outside continued its slide to an eventual low of four degrees, was the two hens snuggled up, wing to wing on the roost, sharing their body heat as they settled in. They always look comfortable and content in that setting (open window notwithstanding). Which reassures me — somewhat — that I’ve done right by them.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4o6MB695yicRm17sSD4C5AE_s3CAQhxO9NM6ae15fhF8P9AI7sXYl1VZijSQNJJyQj03TqWZbyKiczbz7iG6tISYP0wXBt5wqVyDUmtkIFenlKhH5HeM1-BlYELW0NSy6Z58zfB9ow7n_/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4o6MB695yicRm17sSD4C5AE_s3CAQhxO9NM6ae15fhF8P9AI7sXYl1VZijSQNJJyQj03TqWZbyKiczbz7iG6tISYP0wXBt5wqVyDUmtkIFenlKhH5HeM1-BlYELW0NSy6Z58zfB9ow7n_/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-84346938654288345802018-12-25T04:14:00.004-05:002023-08-21T12:46:45.477-04:00Hen Chronicles: Special greetings, but only once a year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSw5IJaOreCAfGVafhXIqaDpQaqdcTI_oBL4Umy7J1bp7wPnaHhNX2BRWVL4dLpFfdwngnHdLl9VErQWUZbIk25EAXxVNPu9wfVbqqoihUDML8N1c78X5VLpo2bBiPcbtR2bTqs4WdtKG/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinSw5IJaOreCAfGVafhXIqaDpQaqdcTI_oBL4Umy7J1bp7wPnaHhNX2BRWVL4dLpFfdwngnHdLl9VErQWUZbIk25EAXxVNPu9wfVbqqoihUDML8N1c78X5VLpo2bBiPcbtR2bTqs4WdtKG/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I’m reasonably sure that chickens do not celebrate Christmas, either in the religious sense or in terms of rampant consumerism. (After all, they have no cash and no credit cards.) But our small corner of the world was so hushed when I went out to feed our two Rhode Island Reds at dawn, so tranquil and serene, that the long walk along the winding path from the garage to the coop at the back of our lot seemed almost magical.<br /><br />Day in and day out, in the warmth of July and the snows of February, I always say good morning to "the girls" when they emerge from the coop first thing in the morning. But today, when each of the hens headed down the ramp and into the pen, I wished Nellie, and then Hope, a Merry Christmas. Somehow, it seemed fitting, even while talking to the humblest among us.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeTFoYi8MkicITyiL3w0X6IFKD6KERZNypTtexWADppuAxBMePTdHXC67yntXILfKTs4oMlLEdEkHh-jtQTsaLrZq3td3fLomzJGSt-Q_dCX8jhyphenhyphenntyzP9MvZnLn4ZO9mq1eeMBW-HEbD/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeTFoYi8MkicITyiL3w0X6IFKD6KERZNypTtexWADppuAxBMePTdHXC67yntXILfKTs4oMlLEdEkHh-jtQTsaLrZq3td3fLomzJGSt-Q_dCX8jhyphenhyphenntyzP9MvZnLn4ZO9mq1eeMBW-HEbD/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-79503302146977644042018-12-16T04:14:00.009-05:002023-08-21T12:46:06.410-04:00Hen Chronicles: Yes, even chickens are sentient creatures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-dZoF4VWxoHOUFCmEggpH0t5AT1k-aSUr_kMK15w2-IbPOiO0sOTZKthk0TIIoImlpmobhSPH9oczu-GOBKvQy3pklXs1iiVSBd231jiYKZI50OgYGdO3Fs1d4geLYoMcNkwda8pEx5uZ/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-dZoF4VWxoHOUFCmEggpH0t5AT1k-aSUr_kMK15w2-IbPOiO0sOTZKthk0TIIoImlpmobhSPH9oczu-GOBKvQy3pklXs1iiVSBd231jiYKZI50OgYGdO3Fs1d4geLYoMcNkwda8pEx5uZ/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span>The Merriam-Webster online dictionary defines <i>sentient</i> as responsive to or conscious of sense impressions; aware; finely sensitive in perception or feeling.<br /><br />The first definition — recognizing information provided by the senses — obviously applies to chickens as well as to other species, including our own. S<span>o too the second definitio<span>n. Chickens</span></span> have excellent eyesight, for example, and they respond to the voices of people they know. <br /><br />But does that third definition <span>fit</span>? Are chickens “finely sensitive in perception or feeling”?<br /><br />Last week, Nellie, one of our two Rhode Island Red hens, was under the weather. She was lethargic on Monday and her appetite was off. The same was true the next day, and her behavior was sufficiently worrisome that I called a veterinarian to have Nellie checked out.<br /><br />As it happened, the vet, whom we had consulted about our chickens in the past, could not see Nellie until Friday, so I made arrangements to bring her in then. By Wednesday, though, Nellie had improved, and she continued to do so on Thursday. I canceled the appointment, and am glad to report that, as of this morning, Nellie is behaving normally.<br /><br />So what does all this have to do with the sentience of chickens? Here’s the thing. While she was unwell, Nellie spent quite a bit of time sitting around, in the coop or outside, in the pen. She moved from time to time, only to plant herself in a different spot. And through it all, whenever I went out to check on <span>the patient</span>, Hope, the other Rhode Island Red, was right by her side. Wherever Nellie chose to sit, Hope stayed with her, sentinel-like, always standing as close to the seated Nellie as she could get. Hope clear<span>ly <span>saw that Nellie was behav<span>ing abnormally, and that fact conc<span>erned her.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">
<br />
<span>So although I don’t claim to know if chickens are “finely sensitive,” clearly they are “sensitive in perception or feeling” to some degree and in some fashion. More so, I dare say, than many humans.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIlhuWkUuwCdbw75yCQCnu3OZEQSK_WOYBztNtjip5QTqBv7FPL8mDXzWt-F50OMO9calfOAqZhHpqFuoymk6n3s-fQGCs0JvXQel1NRJxTdZk55VbLzrnXJrG5LPy2eSS9YYu1hfMjgz/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijIlhuWkUuwCdbw75yCQCnu3OZEQSK_WOYBztNtjip5QTqBv7FPL8mDXzWt-F50OMO9calfOAqZhHpqFuoymk6n3s-fQGCs0JvXQel1NRJxTdZk55VbLzrnXJrG5LPy2eSS9YYu1hfMjgz/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-70483502908224116312018-11-22T04:14:00.004-05:002023-08-21T12:44:34.568-04:00Hen Chronicles: Treating chickens like pets, even in winter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYaIi6y8uUfpnugzUyO1kGqjbZ9krqoZ4OjHzD2y6a_QtO9Wi6NpfR0T4C-wA8fu3-OB9Vi8RQXer1xFJbQq3-7V3-qkZFpefCcRWljncN-06kJtzyX0ux7rpS_tsKTuyWCeTGOggRUKvT/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYaIi6y8uUfpnugzUyO1kGqjbZ9krqoZ4OjHzD2y6a_QtO9Wi6NpfR0T4C-wA8fu3-OB9Vi8RQXer1xFJbQq3-7V3-qkZFpefCcRWljncN-06kJtzyX0ux7rpS_tsKTuyWCeTGOggRUKvT/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span>I suspect that people who keep chickens as, you know, livestock, may not go through quite as many cold-weather gyrations as those of us who treat them as pets.<br /><br />It was 7 degrees outside with a wind chill of 13 below when I headed out to release our two hens from their coop and feed them at 7 o’clock this morning. I knew from the outset that I’d be out there for a while.<br /><br /><span>E</span>ven though I strongly suspected that Nellie and Hope, our Rhode <span>I</span>sland Reds, would refuse to emerge from the coop, </span></span><span><span><span><span>I placed the food and water bowls in the pen<span>. </span></span></span>For one thing, there was a dusting of snow<span> </span>in the pen, thanks to a squall that materialized late yesterday afternoon, before I could cover the pen with a tarp. Throw in the stiff breeze that blew first thing this morning and it made for a perfect storm of chicken recalcitrance, because Nellie and Hope hate both the snow and the wind.<br /><br />Noetheless, I unlatched the coop door, on the off chance that “the girls” might surprise me and venture forth. Hope remained on the roost, but Nellie peeked<span> </span>out<span>. She</span> caught the wind on her face, saw the snow in the pen, and quickly retreated inside.<br /><br />So I got to work, adjusting the tarp that I had placed on the pen last night and adding additional tarps to the sides of the pen, as buffers against the wind. <span>The hens weren't buying it, though, and </span><span>r</span>emained in the coop<span>. </span><span>I</span> retrieved their food and water bowls from the pen and placed them in the coop, despite the risk that one of them <span>could</span> knock over the water bowl and make a mess.<br /><br />There's work yet to be done after I warm up a bit<span>. I'll s</span>weep aside some of the snow in the pen, to try to entice the hens outside<span>. I</span>f Nellie and Hope are kind enough to vacate the premises for a while, I'll then remove their overnight "depos<span>its" from the coop</span>.<br /><br />The chicken mind is not the easiest thing to comprehend, so I have no idea if “the girls” appreciate my efforts. Whether they do or not, at least I have the satisfaction of knowing I try to do my best by them. After all, they are pets, not livestock.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1yzURTAqICwEWJFMHubtFyHA3HW5wfI3UOQ_yTrVNl2W8J_QKuJkvYLcHHXwJB-OUDr8nEoxU2qxZaPeVyF3K35dUGfe3uANfrt57tObBNO16yZLlXChCGVk14n58LkM5HdaIN_l0twK/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb1yzURTAqICwEWJFMHubtFyHA3HW5wfI3UOQ_yTrVNl2W8J_QKuJkvYLcHHXwJB-OUDr8nEoxU2qxZaPeVyF3K35dUGfe3uANfrt57tObBNO16yZLlXChCGVk14n58LkM5HdaIN_l0twK/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-42903398664640224342018-11-01T04:14:00.004-04:002023-08-21T12:43:20.148-04:00Hen Chronicles: For our chickens, the makeover continues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXuZK04GvjAJnHbDlU01ZZuWBHnVuAKGJdjngW-eN5bfdns8lG44Itzaa_A7DeImlvy0Fef-VW9Uqemm_cFzWJwYQ0bR_XSiu4LhftSMuAc6nCNpBVKLybkmhUd_0kQ7q1tCRVnrX9zxr/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidXuZK04GvjAJnHbDlU01ZZuWBHnVuAKGJdjngW-eN5bfdns8lG44Itzaa_A7DeImlvy0Fef-VW9Uqemm_cFzWJwYQ0bR_XSiu4LhftSMuAc6nCNpBVKLybkmhUd_0kQ7q1tCRVnrX9zxr/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Julie Gauthier and Rob Ludlow report in their book, <i>Chicken Health For Dummies,</i> 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.<br /><br />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 beg<span>an</span> in early September, but this annual <span>ritual</span> <span>doesn't</span> come to a complete stop until it’s over. New feathers emerge to replace the old ones in a spotty, unsightly, time-consuming <span>exercise</span>.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />The hens seemed put out when their old feathers began to drop. Their appetites <span>took a hit</span>, and they made their rounds <span>gingerly, as if<span> they were, well, walking on eggshell<span>s</span></span></span>. But they recovered within a couple of weeks, and are now eating well and behaving normally. <br /><br />We still aren’t handling them, though, because they dislike being picked up while molting. In fac<span>t, it can be dangerous to do so. <span>The </span>emerging </span>“pin feathers” poke through the skin encased in temporary shafts that contain blood. Break a pin feather or two before the new feathers<span> open </span>and significant bleeding can result.<br /><br />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. <span>Their </span>makeover <span>will leave the<span>m</span> <span>better</span>-equipped to cope with <span>the<span> </span>falling t<span>emperatures</span></span></span>, albeit no<span>t</span> as quickly and eas<span>ily </span>as ordering a new winter coat from L.L. Bean would have do<span>ne</span>.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYIyNUM_qA0gApErTl6_VqPvPAiyPggF6UBbgqUtcKpj9GPk9gad6-XAXCr-ZxJEs1L5oE0wvbV7W20pX5-1eQsCmPLtdkUyFG7ju6OCGN2Sonq1ejOPH9PWar4nIg0i7_v2tGv9BRYUy/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYIyNUM_qA0gApErTl6_VqPvPAiyPggF6UBbgqUtcKpj9GPk9gad6-XAXCr-ZxJEs1L5oE0wvbV7W20pX5-1eQsCmPLtdkUyFG7ju6OCGN2Sonq1ejOPH9PWar4nIg0i7_v2tGv9BRYUy/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-75747908921879145632018-09-13T04:14:00.004-04:002023-08-21T12:42:32.345-04:00Hen Chronicles: And so, the annual feather toss begins <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizn7HNCyp1hnRsfyPP1UGGUMXJ1I1DwP0UPIBb7qY0a1oRFomyustg8MrhsYv05UJzi0eXC3OpYvdmZBEfJeXtdFVz72GBAhZTz2bXezZ9pmSLl1EmhJJPyhm9_0Mt6BTgTCtK2ea97BUp/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizn7HNCyp1hnRsfyPP1UGGUMXJ1I1DwP0UPIBb7qY0a1oRFomyustg8MrhsYv05UJzi0eXC3OpYvdmZBEfJeXtdFVz72GBAhZTz2bXezZ9pmSLl1EmhJJPyhm9_0Mt6BTgTCtK2ea97BUp/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I found five rust-red feathers in the coop this morning, after our two Rhode Island Red hens, Nellie and Hope, sauntered out into the pen for breakfast.<br /><br />Chickens lose the occasional feather throughout the year, so today's discovery is no big deal, in and of itself. But with autumn right around the corner, this was no isolated incident. One of the hens has begun her annual molt, which involves discarding old feathers to make room for a new set of duds.<br /><br />Eyeballing the hens this morning, both of them still appeared to be fully feathered, but that means nothing. The loss of a few feathers would not be immediately apparent on a chicken. More telling was the fact that Nellie now has one feather on her back that’s askew. It points upward instead of resting flat, which probably means it will fall out soon.<br /><br />So Nellie is molting. With any luck, Hope won’t be far behind, although the timing of such things can be unpredictable. The main question now is whether Nellie will have a soft molt, which would drag on slowly over a period of months, or a hard molt, in which all of the feathers would fall out almost simultaneously and be replaced in short order.<br /><br />Nellie recently stopped laying, which may have happened because the days are growing shorter or because she felt a molt coming on. None of the hens we’ve owned over the last six years has laid any eggs while molting. Overall, though, the hens seem to take molting in stride, with little change in their behavior.<br /><br />Just don’t touch them while the process is underway. As old feathers drop like leaves in an October breeze and countless new “pin feathers” poke through the skin, physical contact with anyone is the farthest thing from a chicken’s mind. Hands off is the guiding principle, for reasons that, at least to the molting chicken, seem perfectly obvious.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9Mcj3xBRGQ9rOBIgWm7wvf80KI6vN9j7FBgdPkAYNq-n_IHmhcH1pjaAakBqMPfjukNMTEtZQPVmN7HbJpoMqDVCtLeUFtbdGgDQXCdALs_clBLSKpj-acN_BiDssEAzLLEpzCOK14A_/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF9Mcj3xBRGQ9rOBIgWm7wvf80KI6vN9j7FBgdPkAYNq-n_IHmhcH1pjaAakBqMPfjukNMTEtZQPVmN7HbJpoMqDVCtLeUFtbdGgDQXCdALs_clBLSKpj-acN_BiDssEAzLLEpzCOK14A_/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-61156429978553063392018-08-19T04:14:00.005-04:002023-08-21T12:41:56.521-04:00Hen Chronicles: Filing a complaint with the front office<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj6Kutdz3z_OWP4I7r3Ke2n3Vor7wTDTrmdwQ0drGPllGgGal021qfeL9POr-40wK2pBU-6zuVMd1UNKZ9snRAD18hJ-0XQosXFX1hvfyZWhMQKO0p7SBKhMtrrbXA6WfjJNN02dbqvCaq/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj6Kutdz3z_OWP4I7r3Ke2n3Vor7wTDTrmdwQ0drGPllGgGal021qfeL9POr-40wK2pBU-6zuVMd1UNKZ9snRAD18hJ-0XQosXFX1hvfyZWhMQKO0p7SBKhMtrrbXA6WfjJNN02dbqvCaq/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Our two hens and I have what is normally an unchanging early-morning routine. I head out to the coop at dawn, place food and water in the adjacent pen, unlatch the coop door, and greet “the girls” as they scamper down into the pen for breakfast. While they eat, I clean the coop.<br /><br />Yesterday morning, I had to break with tradition in order to drive my wife Liz from our home in Augusta, Maine, to Portland, so she could catch a train. The schedule required that we leave the house well before sunrise. And because of the distance involved — 60 miles each way — I knew I wouldn’t get back home until long after the rising sun told Nellie and Hope it was time to get up and head outside. They become positively apoplectic if I show up even a few minutes late to release them, bouncing around in the locked coop like deranged inmates. I couldn't leave them in that state for more than an hour while I drove back home.<br /><br />So<span> </span>I compromised. Before Liz and I left the house at 5 a.m. or so, when it was still quite dark out, I placed food and water in the pen. I then unlatched the coop door, taking pains not to create a ruckus because the hens were still roosting and asleep. I knew that, once I returned home more than two hours laters, Nellie and Hope would be out and about, and possibly none the wiser.<br /><br />I was half right. Pulling into the driveway about 7:15, I could see that the hens were in the pen, as expected. But when I went out back to greet them and depoop the coop, both hens were somewhat agitated. They weren't clucking but cackling, as chickens do when they're displeased. The most likely explanation was that they knew their day had not begun as it normally does and they were letting me know they resented the change in their routine.<br /><br />Sorry, girls. The management sincerely apologizes for any inconvenience we may have caused. We hope you enjoy the rest of your stay. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykZnxpuw12EP6lVRSAv3l4Hnuk_rwbzyYynel66fr32O_59hZALPoxttyTRwpLkLM6uUMn_rv0aF7kkFruksE4QmyLoZo9RTG800HiC1t2LtnNI3TZuK9OJwjV5U7sOq4fcobX8dc5MOh/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykZnxpuw12EP6lVRSAv3l4Hnuk_rwbzyYynel66fr32O_59hZALPoxttyTRwpLkLM6uUMn_rv0aF7kkFruksE4QmyLoZo9RTG800HiC1t2LtnNI3TZuK9OJwjV5U7sOq4fcobX8dc5MOh/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-57037339444598560432018-08-10T04:30:00.004-04:002023-08-21T12:40:58.229-04:00Hen Chronicles: Feeding chickens at the break of dawn is fun?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhUHHnA9I2iJw82X3ILGhYG_ptAQLSSqzUmq7kaOy0Er5fIe7aRwEXWyY9oyfu0MgHy3jEOcbH9IZ4AzVBCG1EyLR_8fkieGg-OQfL-HndRqL4MsHd3qTDlbiU8ev8Hhji0R2vUmHytXx/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFhUHHnA9I2iJw82X3ILGhYG_ptAQLSSqzUmq7kaOy0Er5fIe7aRwEXWyY9oyfu0MgHy3jEOcbH9IZ4AzVBCG1EyLR_8fkieGg-OQfL-HndRqL4MsHd3qTDlbiU8ev8Hhji0R2vUmHytXx/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Every morning since April 2012, except when I've been out of town, I’ve headed out at dawn to feed and water our chickens. During those six-plus years, our tiny flock has fluctuated in size from four hens to, currently, two.<br /><br />The last of our three original hens died last year. At the moment, we’re left with Nellie and Hope, Rhode Island Reds that hatched in January 2013. Four months later, we bought them from a hatchery in the midwest, which shipped them out to us — together — via USPS.<br /><br />Tending to “the girls” first thing in the morning is easier, say, in May than in February. But I like doing it even on the coldest, snowiest Maine mornings. There are several aspects of this routine that I find satisfying, including its predictable regularity, which is immune to whatever fresh hell fills the headlines every day.<br /><br />I enjoy seeing the hens bounce around impatiently at their coop’s east-side window if they’re already up when I arrive on the scene. If I show up early, I hear them jump down from the roost to the coop floor, where they land with a heavy, reassuring thud.<br /><br />I enjoy unlatching the coop door and wishing “the girls” a good morning as they emerge from the coop and head down the ramp into the pen. Nellie almost always comes out first, followed, eventually, by sleepyhead Hope. I rub my hand along each hen’s soft, feathered back as she emerges. Nellie likes this just fine; Hope, not so much.<br /><br />I enjoy watching the hens dig into their feed, usually with ravenous fervor, as soon as they get down to the pen. I especially like seeing Nellie and Hope, who get along very well, chowing down side by side at their bowl when they aren’t pecking at the handful of pellets that I’ve scattered on the ground.<br /><br />I enjoy the chickens’ varied vocalizations. (Ornithologists have identified more than two dozen distinct chicken calls.) There's the plaintive sound they make when they think I’m taking too long to release them from the coop, the happy cluck-cluck once they’re outside, and the high-pitched chirping with which they great an unexpected treat. The hens utter an apprehensive warning when they spot a bird of prey high overhead, or a neighborhood cat that has wandered too close for their liking.<br /><br />And I enjoy squatting down to watch “the girls” for a few minutes (even in winter), studying their mannerisms and the patterned beauty of their wing feathers. That’s when I remind myself that although chickens lack the aerial gymnastics of a hummingbird, or the nobility of an eagle, or the predatory skills of a hawk, or the melodious song of a wren, they are lovely, intelligent, individualistic creatures in their own right, not some “lowly” species in the constellation of birds.<br /><br />Every day at dawn, I get to hang out with the closest living relative of the T. rex. How cool is that?</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkMP39D8fwyJbpMpUSq70LPzHqDlyD1SWpwGcfDqp781ClpkzifHPg5E9FhnZ0IqHOIvs_PYcm-edVLf-mhB__x19TytJACzf_YDVqy8L0hFx3owRp9ldvT20CD4ZAr3kJYJtScYly5YL/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJkMP39D8fwyJbpMpUSq70LPzHqDlyD1SWpwGcfDqp781ClpkzifHPg5E9FhnZ0IqHOIvs_PYcm-edVLf-mhB__x19TytJACzf_YDVqy8L0hFx3owRp9ldvT20CD4ZAr3kJYJtScYly5YL/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-46554384401099907422018-07-30T04:14:00.005-04:002023-08-21T12:40:04.600-04:00Hen Chronicles: A special bond between two hens?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhfEXUQ14PIPs66AXnRmsuaZHdhPh5fO4GG2M1AZRMy_g88LmEnbxZys_jDYTprQbXOGz67PIgXuE0xh3tkQhPQM0sYYcTw9I5QO4ncPP0TaWI06mZthuG7m3ymBPEz7uoKQ2F5Bi42X7/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLhfEXUQ14PIPs66AXnRmsuaZHdhPh5fO4GG2M1AZRMy_g88LmEnbxZys_jDYTprQbXOGz67PIgXuE0xh3tkQhPQM0sYYcTw9I5QO4ncPP0TaWI06mZthuG7m3ymBPEz7uoKQ2F5Bi42X7/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhneiHesCJVWGEdwd0wi6ATWsrfRotqgvFi9jdHqlppgEefSq2F05XeTuEvNs3RdpIyXcxDmFuDnHOsdmtPECOU_a8GfWM0KewgXT5X7C2y03bE6iWV-x0G-7AFXz9R5jW9f966MUyJtTWH/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-07-30+at+5.00.47+PM.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="299" data-original-width="429" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhneiHesCJVWGEdwd0wi6ATWsrfRotqgvFi9jdHqlppgEefSq2F05XeTuEvNs3RdpIyXcxDmFuDnHOsdmtPECOU_a8GfWM0KewgXT5X7C2y03bE6iWV-x0G-7AFXz9R5jW9f966MUyJtTWH/s200/Screen+Shot+2018-07-30+at+5.00.47+PM.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">When my wife wife Liz and I spot either of our two hens in the position “modeled” at left (by a chicken I found on Google), we joke that the hen in question is in “tea cozy mode,” because the posture conjures up images of a teapot cover.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span>
<span>Our Rhode Island Reds, Nellie and Hope, frequently sit like this in their pen and sometimes in the coop, especially on pleasant days that are sunny but not especially hot or humid. It seems to be a relaxed pose, suggesting that the hen is calm and content.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br />But until this morning, I don’t think I’d ever seen our “girls’ in precisely the same configuration that greeted me when I went outside to do some yard work. Nellie and Hope were both “doing a tea cozy” at the same time, which is not unusual. What caught my eye is that I saw them in profile, sitting face-to-face, completely immobile with their beaks a mere inch or so apart.<br /><br />I didn’t bother running into the house to grab my camera because I knew “the girls,” who believe humans exist for the sole purpose of feeding them, would jump up expecting a snack as soon as I got close enough to get a shot of them. You’ll have to take my word for it that they looked for all the world like something off the front of a greeting card designed to celebrate friendship.<br /><br />Whether chickens are capable of love is anybody’s guess. But they certainly can be affectionate, as our duo made clear today. These two routinely sleep wing to wing, even in the warmest weather. Here's a possible explanation. At one time, Nellie and Hope were part of a flock of four hens, but a death in 2015, and another last year, has left them alone with one another. Perhaps that has created a special bond between them.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp2bWUbG8K3xLufUqrHVv8BfQO3N4lxUSG1FOBVeVxGhJFOkzWjm5dCy9SC6ytFtfMNBme8OUAjb5eVDI_rhVa8y3GE8lrad-r1tQWk6iXeq1g7l5ggiIUdcsqTfjWmLfaxsQb1RkVJePC/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp2bWUbG8K3xLufUqrHVv8BfQO3N4lxUSG1FOBVeVxGhJFOkzWjm5dCy9SC6ytFtfMNBme8OUAjb5eVDI_rhVa8y3GE8lrad-r1tQWk6iXeq1g7l5ggiIUdcsqTfjWmLfaxsQb1RkVJePC/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-19671892510214404942018-07-07T04:14:00.005-04:002023-08-21T12:39:06.287-04:00Hen Chronicles: Surviving a brutal heat wave<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL_pqgSrENH7pM7RHXwzcaJxtcHNSUnp9eRasSA3iv_uRpiIcsZ5_FbwPAsMNGhlUpDBAqdgBkRTSMYawLeWeVqdxIst3xAXp0UIa41UITApJ8rJaqvUhsSJLc8ecNewcRZys9YWmg3c0n/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL_pqgSrENH7pM7RHXwzcaJxtcHNSUnp9eRasSA3iv_uRpiIcsZ5_FbwPAsMNGhlUpDBAqdgBkRTSMYawLeWeVqdxIst3xAXp0UIa41UITApJ8rJaqvUhsSJLc8ecNewcRZys9YWmg3c0n/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span>The experts say it’s more important to keep chickens cool during the summer than warm during the winter, because they can cope with the cold far better than with the heat.<br /><br />I’ve found this to be true over the years. Feathers are a great asset in the winter, but quite the opposite during a heat wave. "</span></span><span>The girls" obviously are more content when the thermometer drops to 5 degrees than when it spikes to 95. </span><br />
<span><span><br />So this has not been a great week for our two Rhode Island Reds, Nellie and Hope. For days on end, the temperature hovered in the 70-degree range at dawn, and topped 90 within hours, even reaching 97 degrees on one especially brutal day.<br /><br />The hens survived the ordeal, but not comfortably. They panted, as chickens do when they’re warm. They ate less than usual. They did not move around a lot, spending much of their time in the shade under the elevated coop.<br /><br />I did what I could to help them, by covering portions of the pen with plywood to block the sun, and by adding ice cubes to their drinking water. I even placed frozen bottles of water in our small coop before the hens went to bed, to help cool it down a bit.<br /><br />By last night, everything had changed. It was breezy and cool at dusk, which is chicken bed time, and for the first time in close to a week "the girls" appeared to be <span>happy</span> on their roost. Today dawned at 54 degrees, with a projected high in the 70s, and the hens raced out into their pen this morning. Chickens can’t smile, of course, but if they could, they would.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOPJ4HQPe5CIdahqOSW1hMV1EjkGlUdzsN3Gr0hpMt1M5RehI5QPgANvfkTEgFNU_Ii4-AH6xqDcK2TcI-oF-2hRym5KmHRAtcE1o9yQg78UvlXyZNzqP3R9UjTe7Y9zsIU_JjtWSYhTd/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOPJ4HQPe5CIdahqOSW1hMV1EjkGlUdzsN3Gr0hpMt1M5RehI5QPgANvfkTEgFNU_Ii4-AH6xqDcK2TcI-oF-2hRym5KmHRAtcE1o9yQg78UvlXyZNzqP3R9UjTe7Y9zsIU_JjtWSYhTd/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-20444197703533315582018-07-01T04:14:00.005-04:002023-08-21T12:38:29.759-04:00Hen Chronicles: Is there a chicken doctor in the house?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBwiKiHi2tg3IIdYtsMbegv9ckzViRmQRprVmn4ehE8a0oIVWzhyphenhyphenw52vYS7NzDUPYpeOX8OC6B9E_0Gdly25Q1tTB9tVyyB0v3bmbHnp8PEiahSfx2uCB5OZ2Tbc7n6sRX6FPap1nHorP-/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBwiKiHi2tg3IIdYtsMbegv9ckzViRmQRprVmn4ehE8a0oIVWzhyphenhyphenw52vYS7NzDUPYpeOX8OC6B9E_0Gdly25Q1tTB9tVyyB0v3bmbHnp8PEiahSfx2uCB5OZ2Tbc7n6sRX6FPap1nHorP-/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span>The popularity of backyard chickens is said to be on the rise, and if the proliferation of books, specialized magazines, online poultry resources and newspaper stories is any measure, that would seem to be true.<br /><br />Yet one thing I’ve learned in six years of keeping chickens is that it’s difficult to find veterinarians who are willing to care for these birds, even in a state like Maine, where my wife Liz and I live with our tiny flock of two Rhode Island Reds.<br /><br />I was reminded of this recently when Nellie and Hope, our hens, required care that was beyond our homegrown expertise. Fortunately, we have access to a diverse rural veterinary practice that treats both large and small animals, including chickens.<br /><br />We’re very grateful for this facility, but there is a downside. It’s 18 miles from home. That’s nowhere near as convenient as the much shorter trips we make when our cats and dogs need professional help. Yet there are no vets closer to home who work with chickens.<br /><br />So what accounts for this dearth of poultry-friendly vets?<br /><br />For one thing, chickens are nowhere near as popular among pet lovers as other animals are.<span> </span></span></span><span><span>Precise figures are hard to come by, but the <i>Los Angeles Times</i>
reported last year that fewer than 2 percent of American households
raise chickens. That number is expected to rise, but chickens won’t jump
to the top of the pecking order anytime soon<span>. </span>About 44% of all
American households have a dog, and 35% have a cat, according to the
American Pet Products Association. </span></span><br />
<span><span><br /></span></span>
<span><span>And although I can’t prove it, I suspect that a significant number of chicken owners never seek veterinary care for their birds. (This is what I think of as "hey, they're only chickens" syndrome.) So if the demand for such care is not all that high, simple economics would dictate that the supply will be limited.<span> A</span>s a veterinary technician told us during our recent visit, the chicken is one critter that would-be vet techs don’t have to bone up on during their training.<br /><br />“This is a learning experience for me,” the tech said as we waited for the veterinarian. On average, she said, this particu<span>lar </span><span>animal hospital</span> sees <span>only</span> one chicken per week. </span></span><span><span>So as much as it may ruffle the
feathers of some <span>poultry</span> fans, when it comes to veterinary pri<span>orities, </span>the furry set still has the upper paw<span><span>. <span>And n</span></span>o amount <span>o</span></span>f clucking is going to change that.</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2s92Rye8uA-_j_R40XK7k5AA-kXAb6HKVJVYjVa78-p8Kb0wNjXNiom4VxRJ6958OE5fxPTyN2RxJh7gQckYgJKZ4L9fSR9HWB4m5kl3G78k8ysHlSw7ozutfIHLkFMf9bQpo3BLYF1-d/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2s92Rye8uA-_j_R40XK7k5AA-kXAb6HKVJVYjVa78-p8Kb0wNjXNiom4VxRJ6958OE5fxPTyN2RxJh7gQckYgJKZ4L9fSR9HWB4m5kl3G78k8ysHlSw7ozutfIHLkFMf9bQpo3BLYF1-d/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-53646500112774458502018-06-26T15:30:00.004-04:002023-08-21T12:37:43.431-04:00Hen Chronicles: The tale of a hen who may think she’s a rooster<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfzS9gUuPMvDGAOn3yhxpLaD99BoYMUNs9EHZ6CXIVPZKfj0Fn3PIlAZzEf6ylvOTTu9dMwak1OXk4KGPxKUj0G1qG1iSzDYrk84hJgsHEry1tfIeonkMQAm9VwRbITDFQxmWm1rfCrmx/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfzS9gUuPMvDGAOn3yhxpLaD99BoYMUNs9EHZ6CXIVPZKfj0Fn3PIlAZzEf6ylvOTTu9dMwak1OXk4KGPxKUj0G1qG1iSzDYrk84hJgsHEry1tfIeonkMQAm9VwRbITDFQxmWm1rfCrmx/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I didn’t give it too much thought when Hope, one of our two Rhode Island Red hens, suddenly stopped laying two years ago, when she was barely more than three years old.<br /><br />She did seem a bit young to be calling it quits — Nellie, our other Rhode Island Red, still produces eggs several times a week, even though she and Hope are the same age, But chickens are individuals, after all, and Hope was behaving normally in every other respect. So at the time, I chalked up the seemingly premature arrival of “henopause” to some isolated physiological quirk.<br /><br />Except that that wasn’t the end of the story. Hope had begun a metamorphosis, and although it wasn't nearly as dramatic as Gregor Samsa’s, it was noteworthy in its own right.<br /><br />As I said, the first sign of this was Hope’s “decision” to get out of the laying game. Then, a relatively short time later, her comb — the spiky red appendage atop a chicken’s head — began to grow, both in size and in the brightness of its coloring. Finally, Hope developed a spur on the back of her left leg.<br /><br />She was looking more and more like a rooster.<br /><br />Hope remains a bit smaller than Nellie, and she hasn’t belted out any cock-a-doodle-doos. (Yet!) But the large comb seemed out of place for a hen. And the spur, in particular, is something that is more commonly found in roosters than in hens.<br /><br />I thought I was reading too much into all of this, until yesterday. That’s when we took Hope to a veterinarian because the spur had grown very long and it curved back toward the leg. We had been filing the tip of the spur every week to prevent it from reaching the leg, but when Hope molts later this year to replace her old feathers with new ones — a months’ long process — it will be impractical and potentially harmful to pick her up for this weekly ritual. While we waited for Hope's new feathers to fill in, the spur would continue to grow, unchecked. A radical intervention was called for, sooner rather than later.<br /><br />The vet, who has chickens of her own and has been practicing veterinary medicine for decades, marveled at the spur, the size and eye-popping color of Hope’s comb, and the fact that she stopped laying at a relatively young age. As she prepared to cut back the spur to a nubbin (yes, there was blood, and cauterization), the vet offered a decidedly contemporary assessment of Hope’s transformation: “She’s a transgender chicken!”</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijLf0G3DxAmXaHRx6FaTo4J_B4ZPWaJTugdx2Is8x68hC2JT3UJjlnhGqhY9ro9RJd5DxAEriKvSZer1AHa4N0-TO2YxeQzPXC7juf1TNrB5b6FRnAV9CpMAqvsU0T_GD2wrHVEUbvyxI2/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijLf0G3DxAmXaHRx6FaTo4J_B4ZPWaJTugdx2Is8x68hC2JT3UJjlnhGqhY9ro9RJd5DxAEriKvSZer1AHa4N0-TO2YxeQzPXC7juf1TNrB5b6FRnAV9CpMAqvsU0T_GD2wrHVEUbvyxI2/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5181796449632176100.post-64497059796550932442018-06-09T04:14:00.006-04:002023-08-21T12:36:32.445-04:00Hen Chronicles: There certainly was a lot of blood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKdungIXdDDiV7dW-3ImrqbXK5K_eIF1uNMq3R543wdVnplZAat2CpPD_jtLdggIA4mY43XQeQlpLZIt_kMIRZPh5X-tk1YEjAovmKAr66a7DOLpwGpEjKOMUDzGTkVB7es_GjTgpBBXc/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijKdungIXdDDiV7dW-3ImrqbXK5K_eIF1uNMq3R543wdVnplZAat2CpPD_jtLdggIA4mY43XQeQlpLZIt_kMIRZPh5X-tk1YEjAovmKAr66a7DOLpwGpEjKOMUDzGTkVB7es_GjTgpBBXc/s1600/chickens+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span><span>Normally, putting the hens to bed for the night is a tranquil, pleasant routine. By the time I get out to the coop, Nellie and Hope are up on the roost, so all I have to do is lock them in, to protect them from predators.<br /><br />Normally.</span></span><span><span> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span><span>The scene that greeted me last night was anything but normal. Nellie was standing on the coop floor, sounding upset. Her left foot was <span>bleeding. <span><span>The roost was streaked with blood. G</span>ood-sized</span> patches </span>of the coop<span>'s </span> bedding were<span> <span>"painted" a bright </span>red</span>. Racing back to the house, I filled Liz in. Once we got to the coop, we removed Nellie so Liz could examine her while I held her.</span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
<span><span><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">At first, it seemed as though Nellie had at least two open wounds, but on closer examination, it became clear that she had broken one toenail. What was left of the nail was bleeding profusely, but once Liz identified the source she applied cornstarch, which acts as a coagulant.<br /><br />Initially, the cornstarch seemed to have no effect. It took a lot of patience, a lot of time and a lot of cornstarch to stanch the bleeding, but it finally slowed, and eventually stopped. We thought of isolating Nellie in a separate enclosure overnight, but chickens are social animals and we only have the two <span>Rhode <span>Island Red hens </span></span>right now. Each would be agitated <span>if sepa<span>rated from the other</span></span>. So I removed and replaced the bloody pine shavings and washed the blood from the roost. We carefully placed Nellie on the roost beside Hope<span>. We were</span> not at all sure what we would find in the morning. Would the wound reopen? Would Nellie lose even more blood than she had already? I tried not to imagine <span>the</span> worst<span>-case scenario.</span><br /><br />The hens were not up and waiting at the window when I went out to feed them at dawn<span>. That was very </span>unusual. But when I placed food and water in the pen, I heard one hen, and then the other one, jump down from the roost to the floor.<br /><br />As always, Nellie was the first to emerge from the coop when I opened the door. She wasn’t bleeding, although she had bled a bit during the night, leaving a <span>sizable </span>red spot in the <span>bedding</span> beneath <span>the</span> perch. She walked slowly at first, and her comb was paler than normal<span>. B</span>ut she did not limp, and she began eating fairly quickly. She even laid a larger-than-normal egg later in the morning. It seemed the crisis had passed.<br /><br />Readers who do not own chickens as pets may shake their heads and mumble. “Geez, it’s only a chicken, for crying out loud.” But when a pet is hurt or sick, does the species really matter? If a child’s guinea pig and an adult’s champion Springer Spaniel are wounded, is the child any less <span>fretful</span> than the adult, simply because her pet is such a "humble" creature? </span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8peuuJrikuBjH-FdX0VtzrO-dgQ3NZCIT-90x9ihbSYJh1NQ4lUQta9I0P7m4zjwAaeUDsVylfc4OXrRwDGX3xkSjBE-c75yRprwAj_3Oa9KrPZfmP4UHd_3Um1ilcCg75YuehVG2NHGs/s1600/egg.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="300" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8peuuJrikuBjH-FdX0VtzrO-dgQ3NZCIT-90x9ihbSYJh1NQ4lUQta9I0P7m4zjwAaeUDsVylfc4OXrRwDGX3xkSjBE-c75yRprwAj_3Oa9KrPZfmP4UHd_3Um1ilcCg75YuehVG2NHGs/s200/egg.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
PChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13277671848594167234noreply@blogger.com2