Fortress Refortified

Hens eat the whole seed.  Two hens can clean
a dish is one minute!  They don't have time or
need to select only the tender inside seed.

The fortress has fallen.  The evidence has been toying with me for several weeks:  sunflower seed hulls.  That's it--the grey, split, empty half-shells.

Here's the deal.  Every evening when the Lovely Ladies go to bed, they get a generous cup of sunflower seeds for a bedtime snack.  If they don't eat all of it, the remaining seeds are there for them when they hop down from the roost in the morning.  By the time the coop is opened the next morning, the dishes are empty, until recently.  That's when the hulls appeared, and I knew that rats were coming in in the night and slicking up the treats.

Rats were coming in under the door.  It has just now
been reinforced with ½" hardware cloth.  

Hardware "cloth" and plywood make up the walls of the chicken coop.  All the eaves are sealed. The floor is made of 12" concrete stepping stones.  It is indeed a fortress.  Finding the weak spot has been niggling into the Things I get to do today for some time.

New screen over the big hole the rats carved in the door sill.
Tonight's feast is canceled.

This morning I stumbled upon it.

Green Mountain Girls

The girls are not a militia.  Well, in some respects they are.  Earwigs, earthworms, cutworms, flies, spiders, little creepy critters of all kinds would definitely consider these chickens to be armed.  Sharp beaks and strong toe-nailed feet count as lethal weapons.

Mountain of gifted greens

When my hens bellied up to the mountain of grass clippings and clover dumped from the five-gallon bucket, they meant business, and they became the Green Mountain Girls, for just a minute or two.  Collecting the bucket of greens from my sister's place was one of the Things I get to do today.  Dumping it in the hen house where they could forage without concern for the rain was another.  Eating their way through the pile as tall as they were was their job which they dispatched with the precision of a platoon of soldiers.  What they didn't eat, they scratched.  Days later whatever is left will have dried and become the pickings for a boring day inside coop while a fall storm thrashes its way through.

Hedge Warrior

I thought I'd have to go it alone.  The job had to be done.  Rats could live under the debris, so the dead twigs, branches, and leaf litter had to be removed from the ground for a length of the "hedge."  One yard-debris can at a time, once a week, over a period of a month or so and the task would be finished.

Nina, the brave spider hunter/gatherer and my coworker on a tough job

The Giant Sequoia growing in the hen yard has gradually extended its reach, covering a portion of the Arbor Vitae hedge that marks the back line of our city lot.  Apparently the hedge prefers sun because the Sequoia-shaded side of the hedge died.  When the brown foliage and branches were removed, they were dumped conveniently into a pile at the base of the hedge trunks.  And so the mess was created.  A truism:  the easy way is the hard way.  With rats always being in season where there are chickens, and with Hobo spiders starting their mating march, now would be the best time to correct the "easy" and careless haven for pests we had created several years before.  So it is that the sweatiest of Things I get to do today is drag the yard debris bin to the back of our property and fill it up.

Armed with gloves, lopers and a watchful eye for little things that scurry about and bite, I started to work.  Moments later, Nina Simone Hen hustled over, bravely scratching about and eating everything crawling about that had lived under the debris. My hero: this courageous, hungry warrior hen!

Could Pass for a Raspberry

A hen can fly straight up.  How high she can go depends on the raspberries.  Fortunately, our raspberry canes this year are lush and loaded, with huge green leaves sheltering the fruit from the up-turned eyes of four chickens.  Get a bead on a berry, and they go straight up.

Mostly the girls occupy themselves during the day with whatever is directly in front of them as they drift like sheep around and around their spacious hen pen.  But as the first of the morning Things I get to do today, I'm gathering fruit for our breakfast, and the lovelies hang right at my feet, well trained in the knowing that berries slip from my fingers.  An intermittent flattering of wings tells me one of them spied an accessible treat and has flown three feet or more straight up to grab it.  Shooing them away is futile, and I realize they really deserve all they can reach.  After all it was their scratching, their fertilizing, their picking off bugs that has made the berry patch seven feet tall with all the berries as big as my thumbs.

Could pass for raspberries in the eyes of a hen.

Two minutes later it seemed one of the hens was walking on my exposed toes (flip flops are my default garden wear).  A glance down told the story: it was a sharp beak pecking at my toes.  Raspberry toenail polish can fool even a clever hen.

Are They Spoiled Yet?

Monday's the day.  One o'clock is the time.  My local market prepares for my Hens (perhaps it should be all capital letters) a huge box of greens.  The market's lovely organic lettuces get tidied up and replenished everyday, and by one o'clock the trimmings and scraps are boxed and ready for me to pick up.  We (my hens) are so fortunate!

Finished bouquet for the chicken table
 that won't tip over.

There was a bit of magic in the Things I get to do today because an idea danced right out that hadn't shown itself before--a way to keep the lettuce leaves clean, fresh and inviting all day for the girls.

Quart plastic container on scrap
of shelving

Couple of short screws hold "vase"
to its "table"

Our usual routine is for me to toss out several handfuls of lettuces or greens. The chickens all come running, peck a bit or not, walk all over the treat and maybe wander off to something else in a few minutes.  By the time they come back, the greens are wilted.

The girls chow down on the "arrangement."

The magic looked much like a bouquet of lettuces.  Water in the bottom of the "vase" will keep it fresh until the top is pecked off. Not spoiled yet!

Field of Dreams

Scratch, scratch, a flyin'

Chickens dream of fat, round grubs.  At least that's my guess.  If they dreamt of scratching the way dogs dream of chasing, their paws twitching, nose snuffing, and little "whiffle, whiffles" telling us of their progress, it would be difficult for the hens to stay on the roost.  So I think they dream of worms, long, stretchy ones and fat, fat short ones and grubs that are always short and fat.

Making chicken dreams

Things I get to do today included removing grass, weeds and roots from a huge berm area in the yard.  The by-product was 5 contractor-size wheelbarrows of debris that went straight to the hen pen.  It was spread out to cover the hard-pack of mud set up by the drier weather.  Hens can't scratch mud turned to brick. But this debris, filling with grubs and worms and seeds and green grass was heaven.  I know it made rich dreams.

Chinese Chicken Take-Out

Dinner delivered is the best.  When it's filled with your favorite flavors, that's even better.  My chickens are in heaven.  Bok Choy flown in especially for them.  Delivered.  Fresh.

Chinese Take-Out--Bok Choy

The connection wasn't really clear until cleaning out the garden beds was next up of the Things I get to do today.  All the usual tasks:  removing tomatoes and their cages, putting away plant supports, pulling out plants gone to seed or beyond use for the kitchen.  And then--there was the Bok Choy.  Of course, the few healthy plants would cause a much greater thrill in the hen yard than on my table.

Golden Girls in the back ground looking for "real" food

So out it came.  One quick wrist-flick and it was over the fence into the girls' hen pen--Chinese Take-Out for the chickens--with Nina, Nora and Katy pecking all over it.  Lena and Latifah seem to prefer American style--oats, wheat, dirt--or nothing at all.  Exotic flavors aren't for everyone!

Green Feeding Frenzy

The head of lettuce already torn apart for easier access

They take bigger bites than I do, I swear! Lena Horne Hen tore off a piece of lettuce two inches square and swallowed until it went down.

OK.  This one is a little too big to swallow.

The rest of the girls didn't take smaller bites because they were polite.  It was just the luck of the tear.  Grab what you can.

Getting down to the last leaf

When a whole head of bolted lettuce (all you garden folks know that's what it's called when it is starting to grow tall and make seeds) lands in your yard, in the hen world you have to get to busy or there'll be nothing left to cackle about (or eat).

Katy reigns over the core

Going down!

The first lettuce plantings have turned bitter, so chicken Things I get to do today are fling a head over the hen-pen fence and watch the gals gobble it down.  I'm expecting them to say "oink."

Chicken Beetles

They got my potatoes!  Beetles have been eating great gobs of the leaves leaving only the spine and the stalk. They made a swath two-plants wide through the middle of the potato patch.  No other vines were affected.  The selectiveness puzzled me.

Damage from Chicken Beetles

Being observant is always one of the Things I get to do today.  So I observed. This "infestation" occurred suddenly after allowing the chickens to roam about in part of their "gated community" where the berry vines and the potatoes flourish. When the potatoes vines were small and tender, no chickens were allowed.  I did reason that once the plants were twice as tall as the shortest chicken, the vines would be safe.

Who?  Me?

Closer observation:  1) open gate to berries and potatoes, 2) chickens run in to browse, 3) hens wander, scratch and peck about in a poultry fashion, 4) Katy Perry Chicken goes straight to the center of the spindly potatoes, 5) Katy Perry Chicken plucks vigorously at the naked vines, 6) potatoes vines must not be poisonous to chickens, 7) Chicken "beetles" are harmful to potatoes.

Conclusion:  Katy Perry Chicken is not allowed visiting privileges in that special corner until I've protected the plants from Chicken Beetles.

It's a Slippery Slope

Once you get started, you're a goner.  This gardening/yarding thing has me outside so much I missed my Tai Chi class last Thursday--plum forgot all about it until 3:15 in the afternoon.  Today I remembered, but when I got back, I took all that focus and relaxation right out in the dirt as though I'd never been away for a minute.

Empty slope fit for only weeds.

Right out of my yard catalog of Things I get to do today is make a space to plant my Critter Mix.  I found Critter Mix in my seed catalog.  The folks at this company make available at a reasonable price a whole pound of greens seeds like collards and kale and lettuces that you can grow to feed your chickens.  That is so cool I can hardly see straight.  My problem would be, here in the city, limited lot size without the quarter acre needed to grow all these goodies for the girls. The garden beds are for growies for us people to eat not for the hens.

Old treated posts and 2x4's--a nuisance to store

So I started looking around in the yard for space of hen kale.  And there it was:  totally useless space in its current configuration, but totally perfect space if I were to gather together a pile of rotted off posts and 2x4's from an old berry trellis and a fistful of rusted rebar stakes.

The project got much worse before it got better--pretty typical of projects.
However, Handy Andy's know that and simply shift into compound low.
Slimy folded stuff is nasty, old landscape fabric found five inches down.

Armed with this equipment I spent the rest of the afternoon making terraced beds on a slope that has grown only weeds for the past 30 years.  Wow, does that feel good!  And better yet, it isn't slippery any more.

Ready to plant.  Oops! Better order the seeds, do ya' think?

Chicken Spaghetti

This morning's cutting--half already
 out on the chicken "plate" and half left for tomorrow

It takes a strong wind to open the door. Twice this morning my back one has given in as the blustery freshness of spring gushed through the house. Winds like this when rain is forecast make me think it will come down hard soon, so I'm in a bit of a hurry.  My neighbor's back yard is three to six inches deep in chicken spaghetti, and if I don't mow it off the Things I get to do today soon, it will be have wait for another day when the grass (chicken spaghetti) is dry enough to cut at that height.

"You just slurp it in like this."

Tastes better
when you stand in the middle of it

Nora, Lena, Latifah and Nina get their share as well, all the better when it is cut and piled on the chicken "plate."  They do, indeed, gobble it up.  Simple, sweet, and satisfying all around.

Chicken Toys

You can tell a man by his toys.  Is that true?  In my opinion our forms of entertainment reveal significant information about each of us.  Football, basketball, baseball, soccer, hockey?  Movies, TV, video games? Climbing rocks, climbing mountains, scratching and pecking in the dirt?  Oops--my hens got in there again.  I'm easily entertained by my chickens.  Let's put that out in the open at the beginning.  And what on earth does that say about me?

The point is my chickens require nothing outside their regular environment to entertain them.  I'm pretty sure they aren't aware of the concept of entertainment.  The rest of my point is I'm looking for a positive thought about "pulling weeds."

Example of excellent toy

Perfect choice for a chichen

When the girls' greens became in even shorter supply a couple of weeks ago, I found myself wandering around the yard removing small green plants  not on the landscape plan that I thought the hens would enjoy.  You could call it weeding, but that was not my purpose.  I was gathering greens for the chickens--greens and toys.  Since the ground is now slimier than then, the gatherer in me set out right in the middle of the Things I get to do today on a similar mission to find more stuff to make the egg yokes orange and to add to the chicken toy box. I succeeded beyond my finest hopes, collecting several buckets of fun times.

The girls going through the "Toy Box"

So my chickens are entertained by weeds.  I'm entertained by chickens.  You're entertained by hockey and perhaps by this blog.  What a fun and whacky world we live in!  Look at all the good times we are providing each other!  Thanks for doing your part.

Squirrel Eggs

I'm expecting.  That's saying a lot, especially considering that it's squirrel eggs I'm looking for. Here's the deal.

I feed my hens all the right things.  Now for a hen, besides sow bugs, earwigs, slugs, worms, flies, grubs and anything else that is small enough and slow enough to be caught in a beak, the right things are water, oyster shells and "layer pellets."  They drink a fair amount of water.  Hens go for the oyster shells on a need-to-eat basis.  Their body just tells them when their calcium is low, and they head on over to the nutritional buffet.  Layer pellets, however, are their staple.  The pellets have the right balance of protein and fat.  Most importantly the pellets have calcium needed for strong shells when the hens are laying eggs.  To make eggs, the girls need "layer" feed or the equivalent.

But back to the squirrels.  I've discovered that if you are feeding large critters (chickens), everything smaller that wants to eat can get to the food as well.  Little fly-by birds, rats and those very large rats with fluffy tails that we call squirrels all get in line for their (not so) fair share.  If the hens can get in, so can all the rest.

Squirrel ran up the near-by tree to avoid a mug shot.

I would never put out a squirrel feeder. These critters multiply based on food supply.  There are enough of them in my neighborhood that they are routinely seen flattened on the road. Not only is my layer feed increasing the numbers, but also we have squirrels that are off-the-charts obese. One of them waddled across the yard the other day, barely able to run. When the hens are not in the feeding buffet, there is usually a squirrel clamped to the edge, stuffing its cheeks, stuffing its belly, stuffing its paws.

It can't possibly be one of the Things I get to do today, but I'd certainly like to find the nest where those squirrels are laying all those eggs they're making from eating what I feed the chickens.

Inside Out

What's all the ruckus about eggs from your own chickens?  An egg is an egg.  Under the proper conditions it will grow into a chicken.  No big deal (other than the miracle of this whole process under any circumstances).  Or not.

Now that at least one of my girls has moved into puberty and ovulation, my list of Things I get to do today includes telling you what the big deal is.  There are even pictures (worth a thousand philosophical tweets) to help you get the full message.

A hen in my hen pen grazes on greens every day.  To be healthy she needs her grain, grits and oyster shells, but to be contented she needs to scratch the dirt and duff, eating from it whatever she pecks and pleases.  To be blissfully happy, she gets the greens.  You can see the evidence of the variety in diet by the color of the yolk.

Store bought: Big and pale

A store bought egg, even those that say cage-free, seldom, if ever, comes from a chicken who gets fresh grass or greens on her daily menu.  Visually, here is the difference.

Dark yoke in the egg  from my hen

Healthy, contented and very happy hens wander about the whole back yard (aimlessly it seems, but they are really just using their beak as a directional device: here some grass, there some dirt, over there some chicken feed. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

Side-by-side comparison of two eggs.  Next time you turn an egg inside-out, check for a green-grass center.

The orange-yoked egg from my hen is small (the hens first attempt
 often produces a little egg) compared to the yellow-yoked store egg.