You're Not the Boss of Me....

Continuing on the theme of chicken-related phrases in common use, I feel compelled to discuss "pecking order' as defined in Merriam-Webster as:

1 : the basic pattern of social organization within a flock of poultry in which each bird pecks another lower in the scale without fear of retaliation and submits to pecking by one of higher rank; broadly : a dominance hierarchy in a group of social animals
2 : a social hierarchy

No matter how many hens I have at any one time, there is always a pecking order. Depending on the dominant...we'll call her the peckerhead....the severity will vary but there is always a 'squawk" to alert you to the fact that someone is at the bottom of the pecking order. I believe Ginger to be the lead pecker in my flock and she's a mean one (see previous post). As a result, I've done more doctoring of hen butts with this flock than ever in my years of hen-keeping. Well, a while back I DID have to deal with a little Polish hen with a prolapsed oviduct ....I won't gross you out but it involved the chicken equivalent of a uterus on the outside of the chicken having to be returned to it's proper location with a gloved hand, Vaseline and a horribly unhappy husband for a helper.

This flock has been dominated by Ginger from pretty much the start so I've been dealing with wounds. Chickens will commonly peck at anything.....rivets on jeans and my pretty painted toenails are generally enticing. Should a peer develop a wound of any sort, the others will peck at it - and the bigger the wound becomes, the more enticing it seems to be. I've read that they are attracted to red and others have told me it's the 'smell of blood'. Who knows what the the girls are thinking but they just peck at stuff. I've collected medications and treatments to try and help. Blu-Kote is a spray that has an antibiotic in it as well as drying agents but I suspect it's best feature is it's color.....It's a punky blue-violet color that is lovely when applied to a bare chicken butt. The blue seems to disguise any injury so allows the wound to dry and heal without further distress. I also have Rooster Booster that helps stop the 'cannibalizing" behavior by turning skin (including my hands) that dark purple but also has peppermint and aloe which must be soothing. Poor Mavis has had her neck and behind plum plucked clean and has become used to being hung upside down and smeared with purple goo so much that I don't think she minds. Hanging a chicken by the feet, by the way, relaxes them - makes `em "go nonny". If you've seen pictures of villagers carrying birds that way, it's just a way of calming them.

This is my little tribute to Ruby, who has been pecked at for the last time. For the last week, I've been spraying her with Blu-Kote but am pretty sure her wound actually was the exterior part of an interior problem. It was difficult to diagnose since it was quite bloody at times and hard to keep her sequestered. She seemed to actually be enjoying the attention since she would hide behind me when I was in the pen and actually leaned on me and dozed once. After days of treatment however, sadly Ruby has "gone on holiday" (a Chicken Run reference if you're not familiar). She has "bought the farm" and "gone to live on a ranch".... poor girl climbed into the nesting box and packed it in. Hopefully, I can keep Ginger under control so she doesn't do that to others in my flock. I really hate to lose my little feathered friends.

Leave Me Alone

If you check any dictionary, the word "broody" translates to moody, introspective, contemplative....which pretty much sums up a "broody" teen. Although people brood and teens are broody, the first and truest definition of the word "broody" is "being in a state of readiness to brood eggs that is characterized by cessation of laying and by marked changes in behavior and physiology....a broody hen". Aah, crabby, grumpy, full-with- child attitude...THAT I understand.

Ginger has decided to set (on eggs) and flat ain't giving them up without a fight. I've had broody hens before that made it their duty to hatch every egg placed in the nest. Never mind we had no roosters to fertilize the eggs - they're just the motherly types. Reaching under to collect the eggs caused little more than clucking and bothering. Never before have I had one quite this snotty. When I reach in to check for eggs, she pecks at my hand and I don't mean gently. I've finally taken to tucking my hand inside my shirt sleeve but she can leave a mark even then.

Now that Ginger has herself become broody, other commonly used terms that come from chicken-raisin' come to mind....This, for instance would be Ginger with "her feathers ruffled". after being physically removed from her clutch of eggs. Can you tell she's pissed?

When I decide to wash down the coop walls to remove webs, I will share with you "madder than a wet hen".

UPDATE: It is now one month later and Ginger is, once again, broody. Sitting on the daily clutch deposited by her coop-mates, refusing to give them up. One month pretty much to the date. Do chickens PMS?

Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens

It wasn't so long ago, I brought them home, fresh from the incubator. I think back to when my babies were brand new and fuzzy, they made me smile with every little glance. Those sweet little girl eyes. The sweet "peeps" they made as they nibbled at grass I threw in their pen. So tiny, I could hold them in my hand. I didn't even mind when they pooped on me - well, maybe a little. The time passes like a whirlwind as they grew from tiny little creatures to adults. And then....they lay an egg! Actually, this one is looking a bit like a fella with the fancy big comb and enormous waddle. He/she also greets me eagerly at the gate which seemed aggressive till I realized it was trying to get to the weeds growing outside the gate. No sweeping sickle feathers have appeared at the tail and, when touched, she squats down into the submissive pose the girls seem to save for roosters. So we'll see if Ginger has become Genghis....or, as we like to call them, "Stew".
I've found one egg a couple days this week but I got two eggs today - small brown beauties - so it appears I have at least a couple of my feathered children growing into adulthood. Perhaps it was Julia (above). I could be scientific about it and hang `em upside down and take a peek at the vent (that's what they call a hen's naughty place) to see if it's "in use"..... yeah, I'm not that interested at this point.

AND ON HIS FARM HE HAD A CHICKEN

It’s spring…when a young hen’s fancy turns to thoughts of laying eggs. An old hen, also thinks of eggs but it takes MUCH more concentration. The other day, Hope noticed the girls were “making a funny noise”. The flock has thinned some and we’re down to three but all three were, indeed, making an odd noise. Although it isn’t uncommon for them to wander around the pen, pecking and scratching along with their soft little “bock bock bock…..” sound, this was different. This was something between the cawing of a crow and the honking of a goose but at a low volume. Hard to describe but work with me - Hope thought they sounded like they were talking, not chicken chatter but REAL WORDS.

That night, they hopped on their perch as usual but, in the dark, they continued their odd little chortles…”buh buh buh?....buh buh buh…”. Even after we went up to bed, you could hear them below, tucked in for the night but for the quiet worbling. We wondered about an impending earthquake causing them distress but couldn’t do anything even that were the case so we went to sleep.


The next day was a new day; a new season. The team laid an egg. Yep, just one. On the small side which is normal for the first few in a season. It apparently took all three of them to discuss and plan but we’ve had a couple more eggs since them so it seems we’re back in production. These are aracaunas, known for their pastel-colored eggs,. The girls are getting a little on the old side for laying hens so production is not what it could be so but they’re still good little composters and producers of nitrogen-rich poo for my garden. They are “free range” in that they wander freely within the confines of their pen and eat weeds and bugs as fast as I can find them though not as free range as my friend Sandi’s little biddies over at “Cheaper Than Therapy”. Her chickens get to roost in the rhodies but I feel as if these girls get treated pretty well. I do miss having a big flock like I did in a previous life – as many as thirty some years when my neighbors would grow tired of the novelty of country life and pawn them off on me. I was happy to take them. These girls will be finding new homes later this spring and new peeps will come in to take their place. In the meantime, we will enjoy our fresh, green eggs.

AT LEAST SOMETHING LOOKS WORSE THAN MY GARDEN...

As the end of the semester approaches and final project deadlines loom on the horizon, I've decided that preparing my garden for winter will have to wait. It's embarrassing to look at. There is not much that is more pathetic than my slug-eaten tomatoes and zucchini and the 8-foot high sticks that used to be hollyhocks. Actually there is one thing more pathetic...my araucana hens as they enter into annual moult. This goes double for poor Rosemary. She moults first then, because chickens peck at anything that catches their eye, the others peck at her bare spots. As you can see, Ginger looks pretty full and shiny but alas, poor Rosemary. Egg production has fallen off to one a day for four hens and I'm guessing it ain't Rosemary's baby. If this were Chicken Run, I believe she'd be joining Edwina on holiday before long.