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.

Nina, Weak-Knees, Simone Chicken

Nina Simone Chicken at two and a half weeks

My tiny little Peepers were gone!  I was away only half an hour, and upon my return the search for the two baby chicks was fruitless.  About an hour later, Nina came peeping, peeping, peeping along the path next to our property.  Wherever she had been, she had found her way home, alone.

Nina as a gawky teenager nearly ready to lay

Perhaps she could be called Nina-Nine-Lives.  At least three times in her two and three quarter years she has looked very ill and still for a hen.  Garlic water brought her around in less than a day, and she had another go at pecking and scratching and laying.







But now being vigilant is part of the Things I get to do today as I keep a chicken's eye on her movements and behavior.  She seems weak in the knees.  Whole days will go by with Nina able to stand and walk a bit, but then she'll immediately settle to the ground to rest.  Then a day later she is up on her feet, eager to hunt and peck the hen yard.

Nine on the right, settled to the ground instead of foraging for
the usual morning treats

These odd times seem more frequent lately.  Each recovery is a bit less sure and not as strong.  We will see how it all plays out in the hen world.  I've told all the hens that they get to work out their own departure from this physical body.  I will not be intervening, but will provide good food, warm water and cozy shelter.  The rest is for them to figure out.
 I'll keep you posted.

Grand Re-Opening

Grand Re-Opening of Dusty Springs

A little dust goes a long ways.  Hens, however, can handle a lot of dust.  Fall, with the rain and the wind, has none to be found.  So there is the dilemma.  Where does a hen find her dust?  A hen must dust.

Supplies: scraps from other projects

My girls had a resort hotel for their dust bin.  The space was really the first story of a chicken tractor that since has found itself moved to a friend's house and is fully occupied with more hens.  My flock has been short a dust bath house for a couple of months.  That's now a situation looking for a solution.

Bath house frame: as big as the
longest boards available

Checking it out!

Looks like it's acceptable.  Nora (on the right) has an itch
that won't wait.

 Find that solution and build a dust bin are Things I get to do today.

Afternoon sun makes blissful dusting.  Violet demonstrates.

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.

Cool Down for the Hot Chicks

Coolin' it

90 degrees is too much.  Even with shade the hens are cooking in their downy coats.  It must feel like a perpetual hot flash, except that you can't peel off your clothes if you're a chicken. Gotta just sit there and pant.



On days like this one Things I get to do today include keeping the girls moderately comfortable. There's a  fan clipped it to the wall along side their roost for a night breeze. But during the middle of the heat, we provide refreshment in the shade for their comfort and pleasure. Several times a day we put ice cubes in their pen water bowl.  At the sound of the cubes splashing,  the girls come running and dip their hot beaks into water next to the ice cubes, drinking until they probably get brain freeze.  Hot chicks can be cool!

If There's Singing in the Hen Pen

It is Sweet Violet who is carrying the "tune."  She seems to be talking to herself mostly, though a poorly aimed peck from a sister hen causes a protest squawk intended to be heard.  Generally speaking, her song is only a gentle little "brawk. . .brawk. . .brawk" as she drifts about the hen yard doing chicken things:  scratching and pecking in the dirt.

This morning was very different.  Violet went from Sweet to Urgent in her tone.  The "brawk. . .brawk" was now Brawk and BRAWK as she paced insistently up the slope to the north end of the pen and then back down past the coop to the berry patch.  Things I get to do today always takes me out early in the morning to release the girls from their coop, do a light cleanup from their night inside and toss them a grain treat.  My chores took me past Violet several times, and I admonished her repeatedly to keep her voice down or the neighbors would complain.

Violet's first egg since coming to the flock nearly four weeks ago.

When the tidying was finished, Violet was in the coop, still pacing, but in front of the nest boxes.  Her urgency was now clear to me.

Sweet Violet

It just wasn't meant to be.  Chickens cannot behave like anything other than what they are.  This close knit clutch of girls are a seemingly impenetrable clique.  Sweet as Violet is, she will never be a member of the club.  That's just the way it is with chickens.

Shy Violet keeping her distance

In Violet's previous home, one of her sisters turned mean and aggressive toward her.  Her hen-tender mamma thought it best to send Violet to a new home.  I agreed to let her try out my flock to see if Violet would be better off here.  I wasn't thinking.  I know that moving the aggressor hen is a better idea.



Poor, shy, beaten-up Violet moved in a day ago with my gang of rough gals who are not shy about beating her up to keep her poor.  I sent a message to Violet's hen-tender mom that tonight would be a good time to come and rescue her Sweet Violet.

But now I'm not so sure.  I just came in from the hen pen.  All the hens, including Violet, were together with about two feet between them.  They were ignoring her.  I opened up the upper bank area for the girls to forage.  The gang ran up the bank to peck and scratch.  Violet stood still for a bit and shot off after them.  She suddenly came to her senses and stopped just short of the closest hen.  And then she made her way carefully to her own spot to scratch, got the leaves out of the way, and found a juicy worm that took two swallows to get down.  Let's give it another day.

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.

Silly Me

Fresh grass clippings for the chickens

It is not the fulfillment of a New Year's resolution.  Nor am I obsessive about keeping my yard/lawn in order.  Today, January 2, I mowed the lawn--for the girls.

We've been out of town for a bit. The weatherman assured us that while we were away the temperatures would be moderate with no frost.  Almost as soon as we left, the thermometer  registered in the 20's at night.

In the sun and out of the wind!

Today with a strong East wind clipping through, it was obvious that the "winter walls" of heavy vinyl would be installed as the first of Things I get to do today.  And then I began looking at little ways to make up for being gone and to prevent as much discomfort for the chickens as possible. Rearrange the sheltered area of the coop so the girls have more room.  Move drinking water to space under the heat lamps so it will be warm and not even a remote chance of freezing.  And mow the lawn so these precious grass guzzlers could have nibbles of greens well away from the grip of the wind.  It feels so good to make cozy for my sweet hennies.  Silly me!

Dresses, a Bit Ragged and Torn

Holes and tatters in Nora Jones' garment.

They've lasted a year of 24/7 wear.  New ones are on the way.  My girls hope to look swell again for the holidays (probably not by Thanksgiving), and their new dresses will be the perfect thing.

Katy Perry Chicken looking far worse than last year's
Bad Hair months. 

Pin feathers will give way in a shower of milky dust to lush, strong feathers that will keep the girls warm for the winter season.




Today's rain has kept the hens in the shelter of the coop nearly all day. They're grateful to be loved, chicken pets instead of commercial turkeys.

And though one of the Things I get to do today is lay one of the hens to rest layered in straw and under the damp earth, I'm glad they are my pets as well. And Queen Latifah Hen, though now gone, no longer has to deal with faulty kidneys. All is well on the city farm.

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!

There Comes a Time

The hen house needs cleaning.  Eventually, there comes a time.  It isn't the most favored of Things I get to do today, but today's the day.  It's extra warm out, so all the water used in the cleaning will run off and dry up before the girls head for bed at dark.

Nina in the fresh and sparkly mezzanine nest box

The nest boxes will have all the dried egg (from accidents and scrub jay intrusion) washed out,  dust and debris hosed off the tops, and, when they are moisture free again, they'll be filled with fresh, crisp, fragrant straw.

Katy says it passes the "Hens' Housing" inspection

Perches will be scrubbed with bleach water and dusted lightly for mites.  The mezzanine will be hosed and brushed till clean.

Clean straw, ankle deep on a chicken

 Fresh sand goes on the floor before clean straw.

The only thing left to clean up is me.  Toss me in the shower, please!  There comes a time. . . .

"Dusty Springs" Up and Running

They knew it was finally ready.  As if on cue the girls lined up and hopped in.   These chicks have already spent hours/days flup-flupping in the cool earth of the vacant chicken tractor.
Confirming that the Dusty Springs Bath House is now officially in operation is checked off the Things I get to do today.

"Nice place, Katy.  Shall we take a roll?"

About a month ago you all gave me suggestions for a name, something to clearly define the space, the use and the dignity of this establishment.  I took some time today to help the girls vote on the name and then get it up on the wall.

Katy darting to avoid the paparazzi.

As I stand, camera in hand, in front of the Dusty Springs, Katy Perry Chicken, Nina Simone Chicken, and Nora Jones Hen (the golden girls followed from a distance), hiked right over to check out the ambiance of the newly named luxury chicken accommodations.

Bath House

Every hen needs a bath house.  In the rainy season the bath house is protected and dry, a place to get out of the coop and out of the weather all at the same time.  And just about any problem can be solved with a good bath--all of us girls know that.  For the chickens, that's a dust bath we're talking about here.

One day, a month ago, "build a bath house" was blinking in neon on the list of Things I get to do today.  It could not wait.  But creative inspiration was not sparking very high that week on the subject of hen resort accommodations.  I just couldn't see it.

Turns out that the creativity and effort had already been expended nearly three years earlier when I built a chicken coop/tractor for my first hens.  This lovely structure has been empty of partying poultry for a good two years with the second story now serving as storage space for various chicken related paraphernalia.

Upstairs/Downstairs
Storage/Spa

With a fair bit of shifting, juggling, hefting, digging, lifting and adjusting, the Ladies of Leisure (and major egg production) have a place to lounge in their off hours, on cold, rainy days and on hot, sunny days and pretty much every day in between.

Settling in for well-deserved rest

Lady of Leisure--Lena Horne Hen

Tidying up before heading out

This deluxe resort lacks only a good name.   While the girls are excellent at laying eggs, skilled at flup-fluping in the dust, and dynamite bug eaters, they aren't worth squat at coming up with a name for their bath house.  But they think they could select their favorite from your suggestions.  We're keeping the lines open. . .

Winner will be announced in a future posting along with a photo of the coop and its new sign.

Egg Train

Nina and Nora waiting for the egg train

Nina wasn't moving fast enough.  By the time I got my camera to document the commotion, Latifah had jumped from the floor, crowded past Nina, and headed straight in to the nest.  My picture noted that Nina was first in line at the cozy door (she's the black hen), but now Noisy Nora was on the train as well.

Noisy Nora

As regional hen manager, my Things I get to do today include developing a queueing process for egg ladies on urgent business.







Noisy Nora* (aka Nora Jones Chicken) has plenty of advice for me.  Her strident comments start first thing in the morning, before reasonable chicken keepers are yet out of bed, and continue throughout the day, depending on how much she "needs" my attention.  All previous Nora chickens (there have been four Nora's so far) have had gentle, sweet voices like their name sake.  But this hen has been taking lessons from a fish-wife.  I just wish I could make out what she is shouting about.

Katy waiting her turn in the egg train

And now, moments later,  the queue includes Katy Perry Chicken as well. There's a method to their chicken logic.   Regardless of all the cackling, squawks, and chatter, they are figuring it all out and laying eggs everyday without my help.

Katy--not waiting any longer
"Here I come whether you're off the nest or not.
 Just pull in your big ego.  I'll use the box next to you."

Just grab you ticket, take a number, get in line for the nest box and pray that Queen Latifah Hen is not holding court when the egg comes irreversibly down the track.











*Noisy Nora is the title of a children's book about a "middle-child" mouse whose parents are busy with older sister and younger brother.  Nora demands attention in her own way.  Rosemary Wells is the brilliant author and illustrator.

The Don't-Fence-Me Inn

Proposed location of the new "inn"

My girls feel free though they now live in a double-gated community.  They are happy as can be about that new development.  You see, before, their hen pen was about half its new size. It's been expanded with a new fence to a larger gated community called the Don't-Fence-Me-Inn.

When Gwyneth was coyoted over the short fence and out of existence last fall,  the hen pen shrank in size and grew a higher fence.  During the winter and spring, the girls have had several afternoons a week to roam the whole yard while I keep an eye.  But now the peas are up.  The lettuces are up. Spinach is up.  Arugula (the chickens don't eat this!) is up.  From now on into summer is simply not a good time for eager, scratching-to-China, pecking hens to be loose in the yard.

So my heart and brain were eager to come up with an expanded area they could be turned out to that would feel like freedom without endangering the plant babies.  The new area includes a compost pile that needs their vigilant turning capabilities.  These chickie-babes have to earn their keep.

Lowering stepping stones for gate clearance

It's been pushing on the list of Things I get to do today for several weeks now, this chicken fence idea.  Thought of using some of the cedar fence boards left from the woodshed.  Thought of several not-so-clever plans for corralling the farm gals.  All the recycle-reuse ideas seemed to create an unattractive visual and had marginal success predictions on keeping the hens in. Today was the day to make fence. Simple solution: poultry netting--in plain terms--chicken wire.

Removing layer of old landscape fabric.
Post can't go through it.

Prep work:  1) Check stepping stones   2) Locate and sink posts

Unrolling this stuff is a two-person, large-
vocabulary task.  I wired the roll to this post
 (my second person) to help me out.

3) Talk sweetly to the squirrelly, chicken wire fence material  4) Get tough with the chicken wire 5) Secure the gate

Placed the gate hinges on the 1x3 and
zip-tied it to the T-post.

"FREE" at last and up to their elbows in
rich, bug-filled duff.

By now the hens are literally standing with their beaks pressed against their first gate wanting to expand their territory with a great rush of wings and churning legs.  Happier hens I have not seen in some time.*

The all-new Don't-Fence-Me Inn

*A commercial chicken-farmer once said there was no way to tell if a hen was happy.  Totally clueless he was since his hens had never, never had the delight of this experience.


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