Henrietta-Penguina

When hens get egg bound (that means an eggs has become stuck going through her system) they will begin to waddle and also they will tilt so that they walk more like a penguin than a hen. In the past I had tried to save them by bathing them in Epsom salts but I never saved a single one. Then I had a year or two where my hens were doing well and didn’t have the problem but now I have had 6 or 7 hens die one after another due to this egg bound problem.

I got on the computer again to see if there was anything new that might make a difference and I found a video where the lady bathed the hen for several days but in conjunction with that she gave the hen crushed calcium pills on the food. Suddenly I realized that my hens were lacking calcium so John went out to buy oyster shells (something that I used to have on hand but hadn’t been using in recent years). I have one little Penguina who is being kept apart while I nurse her with the new formula. She is really quite adorable, she peeps all the time as though she is trying to tell me what her situation is. She is pretty docile and doesn’t fight with me so I am feeling hopeful that maybe, just maybe, this time I may save a dear little Henrietta!

I will keep you posted.

Moving On

The Henriettas are achieving the goals I have set them, producing lovely eggs on a regular basis while keeping the yard free of bugs and debris.  Well, almost.  Every day I find myself grinning, even laughing out loud, at their performances.  They will be grazing away at the ground when suddenly one of them will do a graceful little hop in the air and catch something flying past her.  Or one will let out an amazing squawk that brings all the other girls streaming towards her in curiosity or anxiety, I never can tell which.

The stray cat Kitsy faithfully follows me to the hen house every morning on my numerous trips to feed, water and collect the eggs.  There are days when I think she believes herself to be a dog since she is unusually attentive to the chores, so unlike a cat.  If I ask her if she wants to walk with me she looks up at me just like old Bob and then paces after me as I take my morning stroll around the grounds.  At the end of the red paving stones she will look up at me again and then make a dash for the pergola to inspect under the table.  Once assured that it is mouse free she will watch me as I putter around the fish pond and wait until I move back towards the chicken coop.  She likes to keep her feet dry so she walks along the deck while I walk on the dewy grass which is very cat-like.  As I get to the steps she will jump up on one of the benches and wait expectantly for me to allow her to jump up on my shoulders so she can continue with me in comfort.  Then she jumps off onto the bench that is positioned nicely by the entrance to the coop and off she dashes for her first taste of the hens’ water.  I don’t know why it tastes better to her than the water in her own dish but she certainly does seem to prefer it.  Or perhaps she just likes to taunt the hens since they don’t go near the tub while she is there.

The hens are tolerant of the cats and will not run away when they come strolling into their yard but they run into the corners when they see or hear the dogs approach.  I suspect their noise frightens them more than their size but what do I know?  I just know that when they see me they optimistically run to me for the expected treat or at the very least the opening of the gate that will allow them to frolic and fresh green.

And I do not disappoint.

Purging the Mind and Starting Fresh

This week has been about clearing the air, brushing cobwebs from the mind and getting centered in the soul.  It’s been about living in a state of renovation chaos once again and somehow dodging flying shingles and dropping nails.  It’s been about avoiding rain, covering up holes as clouds drift from white, to silver to grey.  But what a happy state to say “I’m writing again” and feeling pleased with the output.

Experiencing some mini-adventures this week include a birthday lunch, a belated brunch and family time without bickering.  Remembering loved ones who have gone away and anticipating the return of other beloveds coming home from a year’s worth of adventures.  Watching the young hens start to nest and lay their mini eggs with a bemused expression in their yellow gold eyes.  Looking doubtfully in empty nests where little ones had certainly been nesting, has she got the disease?  Hmmm.  Try not to think about it.

Early morning walks around the park, inspecting the very barren flower garden and wondering if fall will happen as early as August.  Is that a chill in the air or is it just a morning breeze?  Is that an unusual amount of premature yellow leaves on the trees or is it normal?  Are there farmerish signals that I’m not aware of or should I just listen to the weather channel and try not to believe in global warming?  Relax, it’s 6 a.m. and the dawn is barely dawned.  Don’t think, just breathe.  Walk, just be.  Enjoy the stillness.

What are the little rascals up to now?  How easily the tranquility breaks as one of the hens scoot past me, loose from the coop!  Skeddaddle!

Preparing for Spring

March wasn’t completely study and reading as the month was unusually warm and many days I was drawn outdoors.  The forecasters and gardeners kept warning us not to get overly excited about the warm weather so I was cautious about getting to heavy into my gardening but I managed to soak up some sun and rake a whole lot of leaves.  I kept wondering, why do I have so many leaves when I raked like mad last fall?  Only the good Lord knows the answer to that one.

I took another course of bee keeping and am excited to report that I will be venturing out with my mentor this very week.  If you don’t hear from me after today it will be because I got stung by a bee (or two) and couldn’t take it.  I am actually very excited about this experience as I find bees extremely interesting and I am sure I will write a great deal about this if I overcome my anxiety about bee stings.  They tell us that we should get it over with right away as it is inevitable to be stung if you are a bee keeper.

Also, tomorrow my new batch of chicks arrive.  I am thrilled to actually be able to raise these as my last set of Henriettas were raised by brother John.  The nesting area has already been prepared for them, food has been bought and the water containers and feeders have all been sanitized for the new gals.  It will be fun to watch the old hens wonder what is happening as they are so incredibly curious.  Whenever the least little thing is being done to their coop or run they are pecking anxiously to get into that area so they can give their own opinion on the change.  It’s been two years and I am not tired of their antics yet.

The one anxious problem that I have is the continued low performance which I am certain is still due to their partiality for their own eggs.  It sounds strange but those little peckers are still trying to get at the eggs before I can recover them.  The problem now, will they teach this bad habit to the youngsters?

Time will tell.

Monkey See, Monkey Do

It’s been a while since I’ve written about the doings of my Henriettas and that is because they are so darn naughty they are this close from going to the Colonel.  That’s right, they have no shame whatsoever.  When I come into the coop at 6:30 a.m. they are lined up on their roosts, with their noses almost up the butts of their nesting sisters, just waiting for the egg to drop.  They don’t even pretend to move when I enter nor do they look the least little bit ashamed.

I try to get in three or four times in the next two hours and I manage to salvage about half of the production.  I’ve tried every cure known to chicken keepers; cabbages, mustard in broken eggs, quarantine.  I’ve used psychology, shaming, berating.  Nothing avails.  So now I have decided to play the waiting game.  Waiting for the sun to return so they can be shooed outside as soon as the sun comes up.

Despite their bad behavior the girls continue to amuse me.  They are so oblivious of their own wrong-doing and go about their business like the busy little girls they are.  Watching nature at work is something to smile about.

Henrietta's Performance Review

I sat the girls down yesterday and went over their performance review.  I praised them for being early producers and achieving optimal production in their first year.  I told them how friendly and attractive they are, admired by all comers.  But then I told them since they thought they now had seniority they were slacking off and that was just not acceptable.  They cocked their brown eyes at me, twisting their heads the better to see me and I could see their thought “she’s bluffing”.  They dusted up their feathers and walked away.  I spoke sternly “I am serious, the colonel is not that far away” but they kept on walking over to the other side of the run.

Hmm, now how do I get their performance back up.  The lights aren’t working, the cabbages aren’t working, the oyster shell isn’t working.  And today I discovered the problem.  The little beggars are eating their own eggs!

Well, now I am on the track of solving that problem.  I thought the oyster shell would curb any appetite they might have for their own eggs but apparently not.  So this morning I am searching for answers but so far, nothing helpful has popped up.

There’s always something!

Chicken Coop Upgrade?

Since my return from my European travels I have noticed my hens have been slowing down their production which surprised me so early in their youth.  Consultation has revealed that the girls need light therapy in order to get “regular” again.  As my usual handyman (brother John) was busy elsewhere I thought “I can do this myself”. 

I had already set up the wiring for the winter heating so I thought all I needed to do was get a proper light to plug in.  First, though, I needed to remember how to set up my light timer which took about an hour of fiddling with but that was done.  I happened to notice one of the cages for an old work light and I thought this would be a good short term solution to the light problem.  Off I went to the local Home Hardware where I found what I wanted without any help from the staff.  I patiently waited in the lineup at the cash counter only to hear that the debit machine was out of order.  I didn’t have any cash with me so I had to put my purchase back.  What to do?

I headed into the next town to the new Peavy Mart and even got lucky in finding an employee right off the bat who guided me down to the electrical department.  Now something in my mind said “I need a 2 prong, not a 3 prong” but I couldn’t remember why I was thinking that.  So the young fellow told me all about the safety feature of a 3 prong plug and although I was doubtful I took the 3 prong.  Sure enough when I got everything rigged up in the coop I discovered that the timer was only able to use 2 prong plugs.  Great.  I postponed my trip another day and headed back to Peavy Mart because the price was considerably cheaper than the Home Hardware price.  This time I waffled between getting the 2 prong light fixture or the 3 prong timer.  I thought it was a great idea to have a remote control so I chose the timer.

Back home I decided to read the instructions. What instructions you may ask?  There were no instructions because all you did was plug the sucker in and hit the remote.  Well, what kind of timer was that?  I had to drag Mom out of her room to test with me and the result was that I would have to go outside the house to hit the remote at 4 a.m.  Which I did but only to discover that I could not do it from the porch, I had to walk half way to the coop before the light would go on.

I am now $50 in the hole and realize that I should have stuck with my first instinct, get the 2 prong light switch, use the old timer and remember from now on to listen to my first instinct.  A one hour operation has now turned into a 5 day event.

Who ever thought that humans had evolved to their betterment?

Dealing with Little Peckers

For the last 2 months I have had one of my hens go into brood mode.  Poor Broodie was determined to become a mother and she had the other hens laying eggs in her nest with high promises of babies.  I did a Google search and discovered that I had to put her in a hanging cage to discourage such behaviour but that was just too much effort for me.  So I chose the alternative of scooping her out of the next once a day and getting her out on the grass to get sunshine and nourishment.  Eventually she would go back into the chicken house, hop into her nest and continue putting on the heat.  Part of that process included ripping feathers off her breast and tucking them around her eggs.

Every morning I would take the eggs away and tell Broodie “it’s never going to happen sweetheart” but she’d look at me with sad little eyes and continue to sit on the empty nest.

Earlier this week I noticed she was not in her nest, she had finally gotten out of her brood mode and joined her sisters in the search for bugs, leaves and other treats.  I noticed she was looking rather mottled, with feathers sticking out here and there but last night I noticed a huge bare spot on her neck and realized that the other hens had started pecking on her.  Well, it was quite the chase to get her isolated but finally I caught her up in my arms and put her in the Isolation Booth.  In fact, it’s the area locked off from the rest of the coop where I keep the feed and other paraphernalia of my chicken empire.  I had set up clean water, special seed treats, feed and fresh straw for my little Broodie.  She was desperate to get out of the room and tried to run through my legs but I just repeated “it’s never going to happen sweetheart, this is for your own good”.

I went outside and stared through the window.  She stood by the door, looking up at the doorknob, looking so forlorn my heart squeezed tight.  Finally she started rooting around in the straw and I thought she’d be fine.

I’m off to the coop this morning, hoping to goodness she has not pined away in misery all night!

Henrietta Sees a Ghost

We had a glorious weekend of wonderful heat and I took advantage of the sun to hang my laundry out of doors.  As chance would have it I had the chickens out free ranging in the back yard at the same time I started to hang up my sheets.  All of a sudden I saw a double line of chicks streaming rapidly from the evergreen tree by the house down into their chicken run.  What on earth, I wondered.  I had never seen them voluntarily head for the coop so I looked about me, expecting to see a dog or cat lurking suspiciously nearby.  I saw nothing.

I continued hanging up the sheets when suddenly there was another commotion coming from the chicken run.  Now the hens were heading for their coop and going inside.  What on earth?  Then it hit me.  The flapping of the sheets was sending the girls into a tizzy.  I began to giggle.  I suppose this was the first time they had noticed the sheets appearing out of nowhere and because of the breeze there was some wild flapping going on that they were not used to.

What was remarkable was how swiftly the girls proceeded, in orderly fashion yet with speed, into the chicken run at the first sign of trouble.  Usually when they get a little upset they will run willy nilly every which way.  One can always wonder at the strangeness of the universe. 

Bird Brains

Yesterday I wrote about human nature, today I will write about Henrietta the Hen.  I’m sure you have heard phrases such as bird witted or hen witted.  There’s a reason for that, birds can be such idiots. 

My girls are one year old this month and I have been faithfully feeding them since they were one day old.  One would assume that these creatures would know that I mean them no harm but each and every day they run squawking out of the chicken coop as though I had entered the room with an axe in my hand.  No such thing, I come in peace, bringing food and water.  Every morning.  Talk about a demoralizing loss of self-esteem as a good person.  Hens can do that to you every time.

Once the crisis of early morning is overcome however the hens apparently feel that it’s incumbent on them to restore my faith in their loyalty by running up to the fence every single time they hear the door slam or even when they spot us through 2 layers of windows standing at the kitchen sink.  They watch us in high anticipating of getting a crust of bread, a potato peeling or some wild bird seed.  Ever hopeful they make me feel like an utter heel when I don’t throw them a bone, so to speak.

When I enter the chicken run and throw out the seed they run around me or follow me about with utter faith.  They even huddle down and allow me to pet them gently on their back.  They watch expectantly as I twist the cabbage into the hook for them to attack happily as their mid afternoon snack.

And next morning we have it all to do over again, regaining their trust.  It’s like they are playing Drew Barrymore in “50 First Dates” and I am the hapless Adam Sandler.

Bird Brains!

A Tale of Cabbage

I went to our local hardware store recently and ended up in discussion with a fellow chicken farmer.  We came to discuss winter habits of hens especially how they could get “coop sour” when shut into the coop for too long during a stretch of cold weather.  Eventually hens will discover that they can peck away at their own eggs and then the fun and games will begin.  I had noticed that Janerella had begun the habit one morning and even though I had plenty of oyster shell lying about the coop she was going at the egg like a regular jack hammer. 

The farmer’s eyes lit up and he said with great enthusiasm “Cabbage”.

“Cabbage?”  I repeated.

“Cabbage.  Get yourself a bolt and a hook screw and string the cabbage up.  They will love it.”

I now had a mission but a one liner recommendation is not that easy in a small town.  The local grocery store only had sour cabbage at a hefty price and while I love my little Henriettas I was not going to pay $7.00 for a cabbage.  Eventually I made my way to another grocery store and then laid out the bolts and string for John to hook the contraption up.

Curious as always the hens squawked and ranged around the doorway and even into the coop as we hauled a bench into the space so John could screw in the bolt and tie up the cabbage.  Then we pulled out, along with the bench.  We walked towards the back of the chicken run and observed the hens who swarmed again up to the step and HALTED. 

“What?” they squawked.  They looked, appalled at something round and green swinging back and forth near the doorway.

“Are you going in?”

“Nope, I’m not going in.  You go in.”

“Not me, not until that thing stops swinging.”

The girls were upset, they stood on the step, all 26 of them, for more than an hour, finally they moved back into the grass.  They were not going to attempt a plunge into the room.  At bedtime I had to shoo them in but nope, they were not going over the doorstep.  It was just like when they got the curtain across their little chute.  I quickly solved the problem by inserting the swinging cabbage into their feeder.  Out of sight, out of mind.  In they went.

The following morning I went to water the chicks at 9:00, I noticed that one of the hens had obviously discovered the cabbage was edible as there was a leaf on the floor.  The others were watching her but had not decided if they would take a nibble or not.   Good, I thought, they will get the hang of it.  There had been snow the night before so I was happy they would have a toy to play with while they were cooped up.

Two hours later I went to check up on the darlings.  Hanging from the ceiling was a bolt.  The cabbage was gone, eaten to the very core.

So much for amusing the chicks over a cold spell!  What can I come up with next?

 

Hermione and Frederica

It was a wonderful weekend with sunshine and so I ventured down to finish the chicken coop stoop.    I turned to look at her and she continued making these incredible squawking sounds and so I asked “Hermione, have you laid an egg?”

I clambered up from my knees and peaked into the coop, looking in the obvious corners but I saw nothing exciting there.  Then I looked behind the door and sure enough, there was a brown egg a little larger than a robin’s egg.  I picked it up and found it very hot, it had only been out for a few seconds.  Imagine the thrill of having the hen produce 2 months early (according to some blog which I now feel is unreliable).  As I praised the hen her faithful friend Winifred stood by while all the rest of the sisters were out chasing butterflies.  There was nothing for it but to give the two girls some bird seed as a reward.

I then hurriedly finished the stoop and then began to clean out the chicken coop.  Now that the hens were going to produce it was imperative that the coop be fresh, clean and ready for nesting.  The nesting boxes had been used as a roost for the last month so I had to pull them out and give them a thorough scrubbing and then raise them up off the floor so they could be used for proper nesting.  I carefully laid fresh straw in all eight nests, patting it down and making a little nest for the Henriettas’ comfort.

There was no further action on Saturday but lo, on Sunday I had the thrill of seeing Hermione up in one of the nests, making a commotion, trying to settle herself down.  I carefully shut the door so she could have privacy to concentrate.  An hour later Mother said “there’s that special squawk” so I hurried down to investigate but there was the hen, still nesting.  Another hour passed and I heard the announcement.  Again I went down and lo and behold, two eggs!  Winifred had hopped up and nested in the same nest as Hermione!  Well, the girls were getting the hang of it.

Now the question is, how quickly will the eggs get up to normal size, and when will the remaining 24 begin?  And somehow I have a feeling I will run out of egg cartons.  Now what was a wishing for?