When two Rhode Island Red pullets arrived on the scene back in May, Snow and Nala, our older, well-established hens, did not take to the newcomers.
At first, we separated Hope and Nellie from the old-timers during daylight hours because the kids were still on pullet feed, not the laying feed that Snow and Nala eat. But all four of them found themselves sharing the same coop at night. There was much squawking and jostling and bumping in there as they went about the business of establishing a pecking order.
Later on, when the Reds were old enough to make the switch to an adult feed, Hope and Nellie refused to emerge from the coop in the morning to eat with Snow and Nala in their pen. On those rare occasions when one or both of the Reds did venture into the pen, Nala pecked at them noisily, and chased them. Flapping their wings and sounding half scared to death, the terrified Reds quickly retreated into the coop, where Snow and Nala rarely venture during the day.
As these face-offs continued, week after week, it was hard to imagine that the hens would ever learn to get along. Yet nowadays, the scene that greets me at dawn when I release “the girls” from the coop to feed and water them is far different.
Not only do all four hens have a peaceful breakfast in the pen every day without fail, but they share one bowl of feed, often at the same time. I still find myself doing a double take whenever I spot Snow, Nala, Hope and Nellie all gathered around that bowl, munching quietly and happily without so much as a wayward squawk or a sidelong shove.
Unlike the inflexible tea party crowd in Washington, our hens compromised and adapted over time, so they could coexist. If you compare that to recent events on Capitol Hill, it seems the real bird brains are not to be found in a chicken coop.
When it comes to our chickens, I’m easily pleased. If the hens eat well, lay regularly and show no signs of disease, I become positively gleeful, however briefly. Then my worrywort gene asserts itself and I cook up a problem - real, imagined or prospective - to agonize over.
As it happens, I’m in cheerful mode at the moment. It won’t last long, me being me, so I figured I’d take note of it before it evaporates, like facts at a political convention.
First, some context. We have four hens: Snow, Nala, Nellie and Hope. The Plymouth Rocks, Snow and Nala, are our veterans. We bought them in April of last year. The Rhode Island Reds, Nellie and Hope, are six months old, and we’ve had them for about two months.
Since the Reds arrived, all four hens have been sharing a coop at night. But for the first month or more, we separated Nellie and Hope from Snow and Nala during the day because the Reds were still eating “growth feed” and the Rocks were on “laying feed.”
By mid June, the Reds had grown enough to make the switch to adult feed, so they started sharing both coop and pen with the Rocks during the day. At least in theory. Thanks to what was then a relatively new pecking order, the Reds basically refused to leave the coop during the day to join the Rocks in the pen, despite all my cajoling with food and treats. This continued for more than two weeks.
Things got so bad that, when the temperature climbed to 93 degrees one day, we found the Reds on the elevated roost in the coop, which was the hottest place they could possibly have parked themselves. They were so overheated up there that their breathing was visibly labored, so we removed them from the coop and put them in a freestanding pen, away from the Rocks. Their breathing immediately returned to normal.
Last week, Liz and I entrusted the care of “the girls” to friends while we took off for our annual vacation on the coast of Maine. As the mercury climbed, I fretted about the Reds holing up on the roost again. But the folks who were caring for the chickens assured us that the Reds were getting out into the pen more than they had been.
I remained skeptical, but now I’ve finally seen this change for myself. When I opened the coop door at dawn on Monday to let the girls out into the pen, Snow and Nala burst forth like feathered whirlwinds, as they always do. But instead of hanging back fearfully in the entryway, the Reds followed suit.
Within seconds, all four hens were strolling and eating and drinking and clucking their way around the run. At long last, the pecking order has been accepted by all. Each hen knows her place, so there’s no significant fighting and far less hiding. Everyone is getting along - of a fashion. Harmony, or what passes for it on Planet Chicken, reigns. Just as Mother Nature intended.
Our chickens are demanding little rascals - especially Snow and Nala, the Plymouth Rocks who have been living at our place now for more than a year.
I’m convinced that they see me as their slave, an underling whose purpose in life is to feed them treats at regular intervals, even if I'm busy with other chores, like cleaning their coop or lugging fresh water out to them.
The six-month-old newcomers, Rhode Island Reds Hope and Nellie, are still somewhat unsure of themselves after two months with us. They’re at the bottom of the pecking order, so they aren’t as bossy as the older girls.
But thanks to their insecurities, and their low standing in the flock, Hope and Nellie have created their own set of problems. They're still reluctant to leave the coop and head into the pen during the day, while Snow and Nala are out there. That complicates things. The four hens don't often eat together. And it’s harder to clean the coop when getting everyone to vacate the premises simultaneously is such a big production.
Yummy eggs from backyard chickens come at a price.
Having been out of town for the past week, I admit that I didn’t miss trudging out to the coop at the crack of dawn to release and feed the hens. Nor did I miss de-pooping the coop, periodically checking water bowls in the course of the day, finding raspberries and other exotic treats to silence the squawking, or tucking the girls in every night. Friends have been handling those jobs.
But we'll be heading home tomorrow, and I have to be honest. I’m looking forward to seeing my feathered troublemakers, even if they immediately start squawking that they’re overdue for snacks, and their coop isn’t as pristine as it should be, and they’re overdue for snacks, and their water bowls are a bit muddy because they stepped in them, and they’re overdue for snacks, and . . . .
There are some aspects of chicken keeping that never even occurred to me before we bought our first hens in the spring of 2012.
This definitely is one of them.
Our older hens, Plymouth Rocks Snow and Nala, have not been too tough on the two newcomers, Rhode Island Reds Hope and Nellie. Still, the Reds remain unsure of themselves, so they tiptoe around the Rocks as the pecking order settles into place.
Usually, all four hens sleep side by side on the roost in their coop, but sometimes things take an unpredictable turn. When I checked in on the hens after dusk one night recently, both Rocks and one Red were on the roost, while the other Red wandered around on the floor of the coop.
One or two nights later, I found both Rocks on the roost and both Reds lying on the floor. This did not bode well. Here’s why. The Reds had settled down directly beneath the Rocks. Chickens sometimes relieve themselves during the night. So the Reds were in the line of fire.
I decided to let sleeping hens lie, hoping that the Reds would reposition themselves after I headed back into the house.
But it was not to be.
The next morning, when I opened the coop door to release the hens into their run, one of the Reds had thin white streaks on her neck. The other sported a tiny bit of poop on her back. The deposits contrasted sharply with the hens' lustrous feathers.
After a quick rubdown with a clean, wet rag, Hope and Nellie were as good - and as red - as new. Better yet, all four hens slept on the roost that night.
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| Hope and Nellie |
Now that our two Rhode Island Red pullets are old enough to eat adult food, they’ve moved in with Snow and Nala, our mature (and quite large) Plymouth Rocks. Things are not working out as planned among the coopmates, but more on that in a minute.
We’ve had Snow and Nala for more than a year now, so they are the self-appointed queens of their little castle, which consists of a coop and an attached pen. Hope and Nellie, the Reds, arrived on the scene May 8. They’ve been sleeping in the coop with the Rocks ever since, but hanging out in their own pen during the day. We separated them every day for the last five weeks or so because the Reds were chowing down on “growth feed,” not the “laying feed” that Snow and Nala eat.
All that changed last Thursday when Hope and Nellie, at 22 weeks of age or thereabouts, finally graduated to adult food. So instead of dutifully relocating them to a separate pen that morning, we left them in the coop that Snow and Nala think of as their own.
Establishing and respecting a pecking order is a big deal for chickens, and obviously Snow and Nala rank higher than Hope and Nellie. But the four hens have been sleeping together without incident for more than a month now. So I had hoped that, once the Reds emerged from the coop into the attached pen Thursday morning, a bit of squawking would be followed by a generally harmonious coexistence.
I can be so naive.
The one possibility that I failed to anticipate is the one that occurred. Hope and Nellie didn’t get into any fights with Snow and Nala that day because the Reds refused to go into the pen with the Rocks. Hope and Nellie hunkered down in the coop, peering out into the pen occasionally without even setting foot on the ramp that leads from the coop to the pen.
My first thought was to force the Reds out into the open by leaving their food and water in the run, but that didn't work, and eventually it seemed to border on cruelty. So I put their bowls in the coop, which was humane, but probably counterproductive.
When Nellie finally worked up enough courage to venture into the pen several hours later, Snow and Nala stood by quietly, on their best behavior. But the seemingly brave Nellie suddenly freaked out. She began cackling and running around and flapping her wings, even though Snow and Nala had done nothing aggressive, or at least not that I could see. (Maybe dominant hens give newbies the stink eye?)
Nellie made a beeline back into the coop, where Hope, her more timid soul mate, awaited her.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and the Reds still refused to budge, even when I tried to coax them out with food. By Saturday noon, we figured it was time for a change in tactics. Liz removed Snow and Nala from “their” pen and put them in the other pen, about 25 feet away. With their overlords out of the picture, Hope and Nellie finally emerged from the coop and checked out the run.
Success? Surely you jest.
Two hours later, we reunited the four hens. You can guess what happened next. Hope and Nellie retreated to the coop, while Snow and Nala reclaimed "their" pen. The Reds remained in the coop Sunday as well, until Snow and Nala went to bed at dusk. With the pen empty, the Reds ventured out for a few minutes of exploring and pecking, before heading back into the coop to spend the night with Snow and Nala.
I suppose they’ll all work things out over time. But at this rate, I just don’t know if I’ll live long enough to see it.
It looks like our pullets are finally growing up.
When I cleaned out the coop on Sunday morning, I found a thin, rubbery, broken egg on the floor. Our two mature Plymouth Rocks, Snow and Nala, don’t lay soft-shelled eggs. So that leaves the two Rhode Island Red pullets who, at 20-21 weeks of age, are just about old enough to start laying. One of the newcomers, either Hope or Nellie, apparently began the week by producing her first egg.
That probably explains why I heard a piercing squawk coming from the coop at 5:15 Sunday morning, about half an hour before we feed and water the hens. And it probably explains why Snow and Nala seemed agitated after they had breakfast, roaming around the coop as if searching for more proof that there’s now a third adult in "their" flock.
The experts say it’s not unusual for a new layer to produce overly delicate, spongy eggs at first. But just to be on the safe side, I gave the Reds a small bowl of crushed oyster shells after Liz and I moved them into their own pen for the day. Thin egg shells can be caused by a calcium deficiency, and crushed oyster shells are an excellent source of calcium for chickens.
Sure enough, the Reds made a beeline for the bowl even before I closed the door to their pen. A new chapter has begun.
So here they are: Hope and Nellie. Or is that Nellie and Hope? Three weeks to the day after the Rhode Island Red pullets arrived on the scene, Liz and I still can’t tell them apart, at least not based on appearances. One of them is more forceful and assertive, but they’re indistinguishable in the looks department.
The two Reds have doubled the size of our flock of chickens from two to four. They’re still living on their own in a separate pen by day (so our Plymouth Rocks, Snow and Nala, won’t steal their food), and sharing a coop with the older girls at night.
Hope and Nellie are too young to have fully developed combs or wattles. At 20 weeks old or thereabouts, they may not start laying for a few more weeks. Or so the experts say. But they have gained some weight, and the chick-like peeps and chirps that signaled their arrival on May 8 have matured into something more closely resembling the clucking of mature hens.
We all know that the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Make that chickens and men and you'll get a taste of what my life has been like in recent days.
When my wife Liz and I doubled the size of our tiny flock from two to four hens with the arrival of two Rhode Island Red pullets on May 8, we figured there would be a noisy period of adjustment while old-timers Snow and Nala let the new kids know who rules the roost.
As it turned out, establishing a new pecking order has been more troublesome than we anticipated. The four hens shared the same roost that first night, but when we let them out of the coop and into the pen the following morning, all hell broke loose. The pecking and squawking and infighting dragged on for hours. By late morning, one of the Reds was cowering in a corner of the coop. The other one was desperately trying to push her way through the wire that encloses the open area under the coop.
So we moved the Reds - later named Hope and Nellie - into a separate, freestanding pen, to let things settle down a bit.
I suppose “the girls” would have worked things out eventually, once we reunited them, but then another problem emerged. As I mentioned earlier, Hope and Nellie are pullets. They’re less than five months old, and they aren’t supposed to start laying for another month or so. In effect, they’re the chicken equivalent of teenagers. And because of their age, they’re still on what is known as “growth” feed, rather than the “laying” feed that the older hens eat.
Snow and Nala are nothing if not voracious. If we reunited all four hens and placed both growth feed and laying feed in their pen, the odds are Snow and Nala would scarf down not only their own food, but the pullets’ food as well.
So although the four hens share the coop at night, Snow and Nala still have “their” coop and pen to themselves during the day, while Hope and Nellie hang out in that adjacent freestanding pen. Every morning, we move the Reds from the coop into their separate pen. And every night, we move them back into the coop, where the four hens quickly nod off once it's dark out.
That means my job as a landlord has morphed from taking care of one housing unit to running the chicken equivalent of an apartment complex. With complimentary transportation services.
And to think I had no prior experience with property management.
The call from the central post office here in Augusta, Maine, came in at 11:40 a.m. on Wednesday.
“We have a couple of birds here for you,” a female voice announced matter-of-factly.
Operation Rhode Island Red had begun.
Last week, my wife Liz and I ordered two pullets, to expand our tiny flock from two to four hens. We had three hens when we first got into chicken keeping in April of last year. But one of them, Stella, died unexpectedly in early December, leaving us with Snow, a white Plymouth Rock, and Nala, a Barred Rock.
Our coop and run are large enough to accommodate four hens, and although I was content taking care of two, Liz wanted to get at least one more. Friends who know chickens said it would be better to get two, because a lone new hen might get picked on by the veterans more than two new hens would.
Although Liz and I are both from Massachusetts, Liz has strong ties to Rhode Island, including the fact that she attended college there. Hence, two Rhode Island Reds, which we ordered from a hatchery in Iowa. (Shipping Rhode Island Reds from Iowa to New England . . . yes, I see the irony.)
Heading out to the post office, I collected the hens, who had been mailed overnight in a sturdy but surprisingly small cardboard box layered with bedding. They seemed none the worse for wear when we got home and I opened the container.
The first thing I noticed about the Reds (who remain nameless, so far) was their size. At 16 to 17 weeks old, they’re a lot bigger than chicks, but quite a bit smaller than Snow and Nala. They have bright yellow legs, unlike Snow and Nala, whose legs are more cream-colored. And the Reds are still so young that they lack combs and wattles. (No great photos yet, alas.) Unlike Snow and Nala, who cluck and sometimes cackle, the Reds emit a babyish chirping sound, like overgrown chicks.
I put the Reds in a new, freestanding pen, only inches away from the pen that is attached to the coop. The two pairs of hens eyed one another quietly from their separate quarters, and continued to do so until Liz and I decided to introduce them four hours later.
Figuring neutral territory might be safer than placing the Reds in the pen that Snow and Nala think of as their own, we set up a temporary enclosure for all four hens, using a roll of chicken wire. Nala pecked at the Reds a couple of times. but Snow was well-behaved. (They call it a “pecking order” with good reason.)
Then the real fun began. Both of the Reds escaped and started running around our yard.
The Reds outsmarted us at every turn, walking and running and sprinting and dashing and hopping and flying and jumping and hiding and zigzagging even when we enlisted the help of three neighbors. After five exhausted adults chased two juvenile hens nonstop for 45 minutes, one of the neighbors, who obviously has some chicken wrangling experience, finally corralled a Red. She caught the other one a few minutes later.
The Reds could not spend the night in the freestanding pen. For one thing, it would have left them susceptible to predators. And rain was in the forecast. We knew we had to get all four hens into the coop. With Snow and Nala out in "their" pen, we locked the Reds in the coop about an hour before dusk. Once it was dark out, we let Snow and Nala into the coop as well.
Chickens have a very predictable nighttime routine. They go into the coop on their own, hop onto the roost, settle down and sleep incredibly soundly until first light. Sure enough, the Reds stayed in the coop even after I opened the door. Snow immediately joined them. But Nala was ambivalent, entering and exiting the coop several times while crying loudly. Eventually, it got so dark out that she gave in to her instincts, climbed the ramp into the coop and stayed there. I went out to check on things an hour later and was greeted with . . . dead silence. The hens had nodded off.
When I unlocked the coop yesterday morning, Snow and Nala barreled out into the pen and started chowing down, as per usual. The Reds remained tucked into a back corner of the coop, but there was no sign of any blood or loose feathers inside, so at least things didn't get out of hand while Snow and Nala waited to be released. We ended up separating the newbies from the old-timers late in the morning, though, because they weren't getting along very well.
I’ve read that it can take up to a week or so for chickens to establish a pecking order once newcomers have joined the flock. A week! Here’s hoping Snow and Nala haven’t stumbled across that fact in their own reading.
