Monthly Archives: December 2011

Hens rush to the feeder in the mornings.

It’s the last day of the year and I’m up before dawn in anticipation of a visit from my eldest son and his “lady friend”. He lives in Alexandria, Virginia, so we’re lucky to see him here on the West Coast once a year. My refrigerator is full to capacity and I’ve prepared about 8 meals ahead of time so I can relax and enjoy their company. I hope they will have time for “a visit with the hens”. People with little experience handling poultry, get a kick out of an up close encounter with these fascinating creatures.

The hens in November and December have produced very few eggs. They have all molted at the same this year. First to molt was Poppy, the Silver-laced Wyandotte. She stopped laying for about six weeks. Poppy is a pretty consistent layer, giving us an egg every other day. Daisy was next to molt, then Tulip, then Sweetpea. They say that the better layers molt more quickly and resume laying in a shorter amount of time. That seems to be the case in my backyard henhouse. Daisy, the Buff Orpington, is back to laying every day after a six-week molt. She is my best layer. Sweetpea should be next.

As my girls age (they will be three years old in the spring) I will seriously have to consider adding to the flock. I’d like to add a couple of Buff Orpington pullets. Not sure how the “old gals” will take to that. Adding to any flock can be a touchy thing and these girls are “set in their ways”.

Wishing all my chicken loving friends a “Happy New Year”. May abundance and love fill your lives and may you always have a soft featherbed on which to fall.

.

.

.

.

Hens Scratching Among the Raspberry Plants

I don’t let my hens free range. Free range means to forage in an area that is free of fences. I don’t even know of a place that is totally free of fences. And if I did, I don’t think my hens would last a day. We have hawks flying over daily. The foxes look at our chickens through the wire of the run. A bobcat strolls through our yard a couple times a year, and our chickens have no fear of animals of any kind. But I know that these four hens like to scratch about in my garden. It is good for them to add greens and protein to their diets and it is good for their souls, and mine.

Yesterday, I let the hens out of their run to keep me company as I gardened. The gardening task, for me and hubby, was to cut back the raspberries and the ollalieberries. This also required digging out the runners that were spreading underground. We had been digging a while when I heard the hen softly clucking from behind their fence as we turned over the earth near their run. I knew they saw things in the soil that we didn’t; delicious grubs and worms and pale green sprouts. They were making the sound that a hen makes when they call to their chicks to “come and get it!” Since our young and rambunctious Australian labradoodles were locked up (I wonder if I will ever trust them with the hens), I let the “ladies” out to scratch and dig in the freshly turn soil.

"Herding" Tulip Is Not an Easy Thing to Do

We sat down and watched them, these most beloved pets. Daisy, Sweetpea, and Poppy did not hesitate to rush to the moist overturned soil. Tulip, the Easter Egger, stayed in the run and watched the others. She is a pretty but somewhat timid thing. I tried “herding” her out of the pen but it was nearly impossible. Have you ever tried to herd a chicken? They dash back and forth in front of you and duck between your legs to go in the other direction. Making progress, foot by foot, I knew that when she got close to her sisters she would be fine. And that she was. They were happy to see her, and she them. They scratched, they shared, they enjoyed being chickens.

After a couple of hours, the hens headed back into the run on their own. These hens have lived in a secure fenced-in environment all their lives. While they love getting out into the garden to do their thing, they return to their pen without objection. They have lived a safe and healthy life, living much longer than they would if they were to range free. I’m going to stop feeling sorry for them and share in their joy of occasional freedom.