Chicken Update

A little chicken video to start your day.  The girls like blueberries, particularly Frankie, who quite literally swallows them whole.

She's is still somewhat broody, but I've been messing with her schedule lately, feeding them either early or late, and the inconvenience gets her up out of her corner and pacing.  I'm hoping that if she keeps getting up, she'll forget to go back down.

In other chicken weirdness, these two, unlike their predecessors, have decided to spend warm summer nights downstairs in the coop instead of sleeping up in the roost.  They already decided to go their own way and ignore the perch, but now they sleep in the straw near the exhaust fan.

It probably feels good, but the night that a raccoon decides to come calling, those birds are going to get the fright of their lives.

Broody Birdy

Something new and interesting on the chicken front.  Frankie, one of my new hens, has gone broody on me.

This wouldn't be such a big deal if I wanted baby chicks, but I don't.  Without a rooster, her eggs aren't fertilized anyway. And actually, she's not even sitting on any eggs.

Apparently birds just do this sometimes.  I did some reading about it on Friday, and there were many recommendations on how to break her of it. Right now I'm going with removal of the nesting box, lots more light and air, and a few frozen,
water-filled plastic Easter eggs tucked under her.

She'll stop this on her own eventually, but when a hen's on the nest, she only eats and drinks once a day, she loses weight and she plucks out her own breast feathers -- feathering her nest.

Amazing how many common phrases come from chickens: pecking order, rule the roost, hen party, nest egg, madder than a wet hen, scarce as hen's teeth, henpecked, flew the coop, up with the chickens, walking on eggshells, spring chicken, ruffled feathers, got something stuck in your craw, bad egg, chickens coming home to roost.

And then, in my yard, what comes as a threat: earn your keep, or there will be a chicken in every pot.

Move over Bonnie

There are new chicks in town.

Meet Grace and Frankie.  (And now you know a little bit about my Netflix viewing habits).

They came from a farm in New Jersey which had, in addition to chickens, ducks, sheep and goats.  I want a goat.  Since chickens are still illegal in Philadelphia, I think a goat might be crossing a line.

We picked them up on Sunday after I did a couple of fittings for prom dress alterations, and got them settled in their coop. They came home, if you can't tell, in a cat carrier.

Two hens, one white (Grace), and one red/brown (Frankie). Both brown egg layers,and both apparently dumb as rocks since neither one can figure out that they're supposed to sleep on the perch in the roost.  First night, one slept in the straw up in the roost and the other downstairs by the waterer.  The next night, they both made it upstairs.  One even slept in the nest box.

Best thing about having chickens again? I'll actually spend time in the garden. Last year I put in a ton of veggie starts,and then Bonnie died. Without a reason to be in the yard twice a day, the weeds took over.

It has ceased to be

Forgive the Python reference.

I went out to the coop yesterday morning to feed Bonnie, and she wasn't downstairs waiting at her food bowl, like a feathered, personality-free version of my cats.

I opened the roost door upstairs, and there she was, head tucked under wing, no longer a live bird.

Cue John Cleese, who has been banging on in my head for the rest of the day:

"That parrot is definitely deceased.  It’s not pining, it’s passed on.  This parrot is no more!  It has ceased to be!  It’s expired and gone to meet its maker!  This is a late parrot!  It’s a stiff, bereft of life, it rests in peace.  If you hadn’t nailed it to the perch it would be pushing up the daisies!"

Awful, I know.  But Bonnie hasn't laid in the last 6 weeks, and I assumed that meant she was aging out of the breakfast business.  And I've always considered her an employee, not a pet.  She fed me in exchange for food.  Our relationship lately had become a tad one-sided, and I'd been mentioning my handy cousin and the slow cooker with increasing frequency.

So she took matters into her own hands, I suppose.  Death before dishonor?  Death before crockpot?

I may not get new birds until next spring.  I'm well into craft show season, plus I'm temping 3 days a week.  On top of that, Mario and I have planned a trip (to London!!!) in the fall, and this will be one less mouth our housemate will have to feed while we're away.

I leave you with Monty Python, because I can.  

Spring Chicken

I've got a temp job right now - three days a week, Monday-Wednesday-Friday, and just in time for me to not be home, my lilac bloomed.

I've forgotten to cut it back the last few years and it's now taller than the back shed at about 10-12 feet.  (This still shocks me since I planted it 15 years ago this spring, digging a small hole with a table spoon since it was a tiny sprig in a 4" pot).

It grew, obviously.

During a recent hail and wind storm, I lost a whole middle section, but you can't really tell.  And I think if it smelled any more strongly of heavenly lilac smell, it would be nearly toxic.

Did I mention that I think lilacs are the best smell ever?

Hard to see, but Bonnie the evil chicken is peering out the door of the coop, just waiting for something to come along that she can eat.  A worm, a bug, some corn, my hand . . .

I ran into her previous owner last week at the farmer's market, and she was happy to hear that Bonnie was still going strong.  At 7, still laying 4 eggs a week is pretty impressive.

How Bonnie got her groove back

You haven't heard a lot about Bonnie lately because there's not bee a lot to talk about.

She molted late this year, and only this weekend did she start laying again.

Molting is a strange thing.  She seems to completely lose her urge or instinct to lay, which is good I suppose, since all of her energy -- and all of her protein intake -- is put toward growing new feathers.  (I hadn't realized until I got chickens that feathers are mostly made out of protein, and that if a bird is trying to grow feathers, she can't lay eggs at the same time).

Bonnie didn't start losing her feathers until after Thanksgiving, so she was basically chicken skin and pinfeathers all the way through Christmas, and through all the really cold weather we had.  She didn't come down out of the roost except to eat and drink, and she did that with an attitude.

But Sunday when I checked on her, there was a blue egg in the nest box -- the first one pictured.  Monday produced the second egg, and today was the third.

For contrast, I've included a large egg from the farmer's market on Saturday.  Even the first egg, which is dented on top but solid, is bigger.  The second egg has a serious point and by egg three, she seems to have gotten back into her stride -- it's more blue, it's the right shape.  And it's huge.

She's never taken a 2 1/2 month hiatus before, and I admit to thinking random thoughts of chicken stew in the crockpot, but she's redeemed herself -- at least for now.

Breakfast for dinner tonight.

Strike!

For the second time this winter, Bonnie the hen is on egg strike.

She moulted late this year, didn't start laying again until the end of November, and her production has been really uneven.  She's no spring chicken -- I'm thinking she's pushing 4 now -- but still, she's been regular up until this whole Polar Vortex thing.

A few weeks ago, when we had days that actually pushed into the high 40s (tropical weather, practically), she revved up and laid every day for four days and she's not a daily layer.  I guess they were all backed up.

Chickens use a lot of energy to produce eggs, and they also use a lot to keep warm.  No matter how much protein and how many calories I give her during the really cold weather, she's not going to waste them on food for me.

What you see here is her coop during the earlier Vortex-with-snowstorm.  I didn't wrap her up as much this year, out of procrastination and also to see how well she fared.  Turns it it is way easier to keep a chicken alive in the winter.  Her insulation includes foam core boards slid along two sides of the coop to keep the show out (which get removed for air flow when the snow is solid and not likely to blow in), a heavy duty plastic sheet over the extension at the far end by the fence, so she still gets sunlight but less wind, and an old storm window in front of the door/water area to keep the breeze down while she's feeding.  There's a light over the waterer that I keep on a timer, though I've been leaving it on all day during the worst cold, mainly to keep the water thawed.

If it's really bitter, I'll put a warmer in the roost area at night.  We used to have a stray cat who lived on our porch, and my housemate found these microwaveable things she used for his bed.  They're hot pink, frisbee-shaped, and maintain their heat for about 6 hours.  It's not going to keep her from freezing to death if that's going to happen, but it does keep it more comfortable up there while she's sleeping.

Last Hen Standing. Again.

Somehow, once again, I have an only chicken.

And once again, it's Bonnie.  I'm beginning to think it's a plot.

We lost Gilda to the heatwave last June, and it took me until August or so to find Bertha, a non-laying but gorgeous Buff Orpington to share the pen with her.

The night Bertha arrived, she asserted her dominance - and broader breast - by sitting on Bonnie and squashing her.

I'm beginning to wonder how long Bonnie plotted her revenge before she struck on Monday and tore a big chunk out of Bertha's wattle (the dangly bits under and around her beak).  It didn't look bad, but I knew that there was a chance Bonnie would go after her again; chickens have a bit of blood lust and they're certainly not vegetarian.  I cleaned Bertha up and put some ointment on the wound, thinking that it would make her less tasty, if not in less discomfort.

Yesterday things were fine, and I thought Bonnie had gotten over her snit.  Tonight when I got home from work, Bertha was dead in the coop.  The wound looked like it had been pecked again, but for her to die of that wound it should have looked like the set of a Sopranos episode, and it didn't.  Infection from the first wound?  Age?  Short chicken lifespan that was already disrupted by being attacked by a raccoon almost two years ago?

We'll never know.  The one thing I'm pretty sure of at this point is that Bonnie's not getting another roommate.  I don't care if it wasn't her fault; I'm thinking coq au vin right now, and she doesn't need to push me any closer to the cookbook.

Bad Blogger

I'm here, I really am.  I'm even sewing, off and on.

Let's see, catching everything up to date.  My aunt got sick, my aunt went to hospital, my aunt went to hospice, my aunt died.  I cleaned out her apartment and got rid of at least as much stuff as I got rid of last time.  I brought home a couple of carloads which is either getting added to our own rubble or listed on Etsy.  I've dealt with not-quite-relatives to the point where I'm glad I'm running out of them.

Craft show season is coming, as is theater sewing. I did turn down the first project offered me from the theater - a tweed trenchcoat.  When I said I'd have a limited time commitment this show, I wasn't envisioning being offered a project that would take at least 10 hours of my time, with serious profanity involved because real tweed would be hard enough to deal with; the kind of "tweed" that would come from a theatrical budget would make me want to throw my sewing machine out the window.  So I'm doing a few smaller projects, and keeping what sanity I have left.

I'm enjoying the craft show sewing, when I have a chance to do it.  The bags of thrifted and discarded clothes under my sewing table are coming to good use - pictured here are a few of the baby and toddler dresses I've done.  Not one of them has a scrap of new fabric in it - it's all either remnants or recycled.  Which makes me happy, and gives me a little more storage space under the table.

I also knocked out part of my recent sewing list: the pajama pants and 3 turtlenecks have moved from fabric to wardrobe, and are much appreciated, especially those flannels in my drafty house.

Out back, things are a little slow in the land of poultry.  They tend to slow down their laying in colder/darker weather anyway (though I did wire the coop so that a light goes on from 5:00 - 7:00 a.m. each day, and again from 4:00 - 6:00 p.m.  Right now it's not making much of a difference.  Bonnie's finishing off a fairly spectacular moult so I have hopes that she'll be back in business any day now.  Otherwise, she might be refugeeing with Bertha next year to go live with my vegetarian friends while I get a few younger, more productive ladies for the backyard.

The garden's basically shut down now - last weekend we tore out the last of the tomatoes (and pulled in about 5 lbs of green ones), shelled the last of the dried beans for soup, mulched the garlic that's already coming up for next year, set up and seeded the cold frame with greens, and cut back everything that needed it.  The tomatoes are now slowly ripening - good trick, if you ever need it, is to put green tomatoes in a brown paper bag with unripe, GREEN bananas.  When the bananas ripen, they give off a gas that ripens the tomatoes.  The flavor may not be real sun-ripened tomato, but it's not bad, and it's not waste, either.  They'll get sliced down into the dehydrator and keep us in sundried tomatoes all winter.

So I've been here, and busy, and just stressed with family crap.  But that's subsiding now and I'm going to try to find my way back to the stuff that keeps me sane and happy.  We'll see how that works. 

So Near, and yet So Far

More radio silence. It's gone from cat crisis to aunt crisis, and I will leave you to guess which one is easier to deal with.

My aunt apparently went into the hospital at the same time as Max did on Friday, however, no one thought to let me know about it until Tuesday. Now there's a bit of drama I'll spare everyone, as I can finally now think about it without wanting to smack people. Currently she's in hospice, and not likely to come out, and I'm dealing with closing up and emptying the apartment we moved her into 3 years ago. And she has exercised her family packrat talents to the max - I had her so pared down when she moved in that there was space everywhere, and now all the closets and drawers are overflowing. Again.

But enough of that. My weekend away, which apparently I was not meant to have but I enjoyed every moment of despite that. I do read more blogs than just sewing blogs, and one of them is Cold Antler Farm. The author is a 30-something originally from suburban PA who had the epiphany that what she really wanted to do when she grew up was be a farmer. So she has herself a small farm in upstate NY with all kinds of livestock, and part of the way she makes ends meet is by hosting workshops at the farm. This was her big yearly two-day affair, called Antlerstock. I wanted to go last year but the timing didn't work out; this year I paid my fee in February and had been waiting impatiently ever since.

Upstate NY was definitely closer to fall than we are in Philly; the locals apologized for the lack of fall color, but to us it was breathtaking. So was the temperature. Saturday it drizzled for most of the day and didn't get above the mid 40s. We were outside the whole time, and even though my boots didn't leak, standing in semi-liquid mud to your ankles makes for some cold feet. Sunday morning it was clear but only about 38. I could see my breath when I went outside in the morning to call home.

In those two days, we got workshops in soap making, home brewing, herbal remedies, making sourdough bread and cheese making.  All of which are less complicated than they look, especially soap (at least once you get over the idea that you're messing with lye).

All the cooking workshops were done outside on a propane grill or camp stove, but it all turned out so good that I can only imagine how much better it will be in my kitchen.

 Livestock classes were backyard chickens, rabbits for meat and fiber, sheep and wool, and working with draft horses. She has two milk goats but they were off at another farm for breeding, so we got a tour of that farm during our lunch break and got to meet her goats, as well as check out their greenhouses and chicken and duck breeding operations.

I was also rather impressed with her sheep, especially one ram lamb who followed her around like a fluffy, hooved  puppy.

Oh, and did I mention she has pigs? One of them got delivered while we were there and it escaped shortly thereafter. Probably the unintended highlight of the whole weekend was the pig chase and capture. I can't even describe the sound that little critter made when she grabbed him and returned him to his pen in the barn.

There were also two evening bonfires, a good bit of imbibing and a lot of conversation with like-minded people from all over - local NY and New Englanders to someone all the way from Australia.

 My friend and I had a blast and I have a whole lot of new interests to try out this winter when I can't go out and play in my garden. Not to mention that my condition, which the writer/farmer has aptly christened Barnheart, has gotten much worse and I really, really want my own goats now.

There's a New Chick in Town

It's taken a bit longer than I expected, but as of this evening, there's a new chick in the coop.  We picked her up after work at a local urban farm - they have 25 or so chickens but since they sell their eggs, they only want to keep younger, higher-producing hens.  This one is about 2 years old, so she and Bonnie are the same age.

The farmer who handed her off had a few hens to re-home, but since I could only take one he asked if I would take this particular one - she's his favorite but he doesn't want to be sentimental and keep a lower-production bird just because of her hard luck story.

See her bald spot?  He called her Scalpie, because when she was a young bird she was attacked by a raccoon and her comb was torn off.  He nursed her back to health and hand-fed her because the infection from her wound caused her not to be able to see for a week.  But she's healthy now, just a little strange-looking.

Her odd head is more than balanced by her plumage.  She's a Buff Orpington, basically a golden blonde, wide-bodied hen.  She's good in cold weather, so I won't need to worry this winter.  She's a big girl.

I thought Bonnie was big.  I introduced her new roommate and Bonnie was dwarfed.  They hung out, side by side, nibbling on veggies for about 10 minutes, then Bonnie puffed up all her feathers and jumped on her new friend.  Who promptly sat on her and pecked at her head until Bonnie apparently said "Uncle" or whatever chickens say when they give in to a superior strength.  This went on 4-5 times until Bonnie gave up and went to roost.

It took a while for the new girl to figure out how to get up to the roost, and then to squeeze her wide behind through the door, but she got there.  And decided, for some reason, not to get on the roost but to sit in the straw under it.  And under Bonnie.  Who will crap on her all night (because she can't help it and because she'll enjoy it).

I'm sure paybacks will begin at first light.  I'm getting up early tomorrow.

I can't just call her the new girl.  She's big.  She's blonde.  She's bossy.  I can't call her Brunhilde, because I'd shorten that to Hilda (which is too close to Gilda).  I'm wavering right now between Frieda and Helga.  I'm thinking Frieda.

Frieda Lay.

Summer in the City

Summer in Philadelphia is unpleasant more often than not.  It's hot, it's sticky, it's humid.  Most of the time it's all 3 together, and every place that isn't hot, sticky and humid is arctic-cold from AC, which makes it even harder to face outside.

Which leads me to this: it is easier to keep a chicken warm than cool.   Temps hit 100 today, without a whole lot of warning.  It was hot yesterday, but the girls coped okay.  They were both panting, but apparently chickens pant.  Go figure.

This a.m, I put ice in the chickens' water and set up shade around the coop.  It wasn't enough.  When I got home, Bonnie was fine (still panting), but Gilda was down.  She's been acting a little funky lately, not laying a lot, so I think there may have been more to her demise than just the heat.

I'm sorry she's dead, and I'll miss her pretty blue eggs, but the main thing I'm upset about is that Bonnie is an only chicken, and it's not good for them to fly solo.  So I need to find a friend for her.  There's enough illegal poultry in my neighborhood to make Frank Perdue turn over in his grave, I'm hoping I can find someone who's willing to give up a laying hen to the cause.

I am kind of surprised.  When I got them, I liked them but some part of me never warmed up to them as pets.  Which, given the circumstances, is a good thing.  As I've expanded the backyard garden into something resembling the backyard farm, and added the chickens, my library has expanded beyond fiction and sewing books.  I don't remember where I read it, but this line came back to me tonight as I lifted Gilda out of the coop, wrapped her in plastic and disposed of her.

"When you have livestock, you're eventually going to have deadstock."  It's not harsh, it's just the reality of the situation.

And I need another chicken.

And have I ever mentioned I'd like to get goats?  How would I conceal those in a 20x20 yard?

This is what you get

when your eggs no longer come from the grocery store.  The egg on the left is from Gilda, and is a normal, extra-large egg. 

The egg on the right is Bonnie's, and the egg carton will not close over it. 

Ouch.

Chilly Chickens

Cold bothers them less than me.  Go figure.

Easing my way back

I realized the other night that the only sewing I've done since before vacation was stuff for the craft show.  Okay, so I know I need to work on that, but not at the cost of no sewing for me.  Not at the cost of my sanity.

So Thursday night, I took off from craft sewing and spent a little quality time in the workroom.  The results will bemade public soon - I have a little bit of finish work left before I introduce my new creation.  Let's just say I took that black and gray ruffled sweater knit and did terrible, wonderful things with stripes.  I do love a stripe, I just tend to love them running in all directions at once, which may or may not be a problem. 

My plaid jacket is still languishing on the dress form.  I'll get back to that soon; after a substantial break, I wanted to ease my way back in with something a little less structured than a fitted, lined jacket with plaids to be matched. 

With my head cleared of all that backed up sewing, I was able to dive back into the craft show sewing and finish doing a beaded edging to scarves that, at least for the last 2 years, have been the quick-to-sew and quick-to-sell item on my table.  Fingers crossed it will be the same this year, or else everyone I know will be getting a pretty similar gift at the holidays . . .

Chicken FYI: for Kathi Rank (and anyone else) who wondered about Bonnie losing her feathers.  Molting is normal, though she is doing it a bit later than she should.  Most chickens lose feathers once a year and grow new ones, and during the molting period they stop laying eggs.  The logic there is eggs are mostly protein, and so are feathers; if she's going to produce feathers, she needs to stop producing eggs. 

As far as getting out in the yard for exercise, it never happens intentionally.  These girls can fly, I've seen them do it, and if I let them out, they'd be gone in a blink.  Once they settled in, they seemed not to mind the reduced quarters, and in the winter, it'll be a benefit.  Their little upstairs coop is just big enough for them, a perch and their nesting box.  Their body heat and the heat of their droppings (otherwise known as the best compost activator on earth) will keep them toasty.

Let there be light

Random chicken update: The chickens seem to be tolerating cooler weather better than the heat and the hellish rain we had in August, but I don't want them (or their water) to freeze this winter. Everything I've read also says that they'll continue to lay more frequently if they are provided more light, because they need between 12-16 hours of sunlight to lay regularly. And since my chickens are apparently not spring chickens, they probably really need it since egg production slows as they age.

I thought about this for a while, and what I really wanted to do was a solar setup for the coop light. How cool would that be, to have my back yard chickens go solar-powered? But since I also wanted their light on a timer, that just complicated things unnecessarily - what if there wasn't enough power stored in the solar battery to keep the timer on time? In the end, I had my handyman install an outdoor outlet by my back door, something I've been planning to have done for close to a decade anyway.

We picked up a work light at Lowe's, one of those bulb-in-a-cage deals, so my brilliant ladies don't attempt to peck at the bulb. On Sunday, since it had just turned daylight savings, I decided it was time to get to it. The bulb cage got zip-tied to the wire above the door, so that it shines up into the enclosed coop when it's on. It's also right above the waterer, so the heat from the bulb will keep the water from freezing. From there, we cut a small hole in the wire and ran the plug through, up and over the roof (and under the tarp), through the lilac tree and into the timer, which was plugged into the outlet by the back door.

The girls now have light from 4:30 to 6:00, twice a day. It seems to be working. They still go to bed before 6:00, but later than they were prior to the light going in.

Egg production is still slow, because Bonnie is now moulting. I told her she'd better get a move on; a Philadelphia winter is not the time to be a naked chicken. She just looks at me, flaps her wings, and feathers drift slowly onto the ground.

Another note: do NOT try to take an egg out of the nest box when your chickens have gone to roost on the perch above said nest box. And if you insist on trying, wear long sleeves so that their pointy little beaks don't do too much damage.

Chicken Update

Update to the update - the girls are earning their keep:



Something to do on a rainy day.

 
Thanks for all your comments on my new venture.  I'm glad I could provide so many with so much amusement - including me.  I was laughing like a fool the entire time, so I can see how anyone else would find it funny.  Let's just say I never expected the first time I touched a chicken would be by tackling it in a thrift store.

A few of your comments need/deserve responses:

Elaray:  I'm going to ask stupid questions: Don't you also need a rooster? Does having no rooster mean you get eggs, but no chicks?  Don't you work in education?  There are no stupid questions.  I don't need a rooster (and probably wouldn't have gotten the go-ahead from my neighbors if I wanted one). 

Chickens operate basically the same way we do; they have eggs, but they only turn in to chicks if they're fertilized by Mr. Rooster.  Otherwise, they're just eggs.  Much tidier and more useful than us, actually.

Marysews:  Good story! Where did you get your coop? We are in the planning stages to have hens next year. We live in a residential area where we are not allowed to have livestock, but we can have a pet that just happens to have feathers and give eggs - two, if the neighbors don't complain!  I got the coop from Hayneedle.  It was a little pricier than I wanted - I actually had wanted to build my own - but short notice means less choice, and they had free Fedex ground shipping.  I saw the same coop on several other sites for the same price, PLUS shipping.  It wasn't difficult at all to build - it took the 2 of us about a half hour, and that's using screwdrivers because of course we couldn't find the philips head bit for the drill.

Lisette:  By the way what happens in the winter time? Do you have to get a heater for the coop?  Some people do.  Chickens actually don't do too badly in cold weather - they're more at risk in the extreme heat we've had - but if it gets below zero and stays that way for a while, it's hard on them, plus their water freezes up.  I'm going to re-use something we used to use for the stray cats on the porch.  I forget what they're called, but they're these plastic things that look like the ones you put in the freezer, except these can be microwaved and stay warm for 6 hours or so.  A deep bed of straw and a couple of these should keep them warm enough, and I can always tarp off some of the screening if it's really blowing.

The girls seem to have settled in, but it's hard for me to tell.  After way too much dry, now it's absolutely pissing down rain out there.  I've gone out a couple times just to make sure they're not standing in mud and they seem okay, if a little offended by the dampness.  I gave them a handful of lettuce and a few cherry tomatoes that were knocked down by the rain, and that cheered them right up. 

And since it's raining, I'm sewing.  I guess that's one positive - the next thing you read will be a post about sewing, for a change.

Chickens Coming Home to Roost

Literally.

I've wanted chickens for a while, but we didn't think it was time.  I did a lot of re-landscaping in the back yard this year, the point of which was to make room for next year's eventual chicken coop. 

Then serendipity got in the way.  A week ago, we went to a party at a friend's house.  I got to talking to a friend of hers who keeps chickens.  It made me think again. 

The next day, a message came through on our neighborhood listserv about a local CSA farm that was getting out of the egg business due to severe raccoon problems (they are still in the city but more suburban than my area).  They had 14 chickens who were looking for new homes.

I emailed Mario at work and told him.  Wonderful man, his only question was, "Are we ready?"

Is anybody ever ready when change comes along?  I figure things happen for a reason, and when they do, you roll with it. I emailed back, and asked for 3.  Within a matter of hours, they only had 2 chickens left - in a city that doesn't allow backyard chickens.  When I stop finding dime bags in my front yard, I'll start worrying about who's keeping illegal poultry.

Two days later, a chicken coop was on its way, and on Thursday, we got it built and installed in the back yard (in a completely different but much more practical area than I had originally planned).  On Friday, we raccoon-proofed it - hardware cloth stapled to the entire floor of the run, then covered with dirt and bedding, and spring hooks on the doors. 

We were as ready as we could be.

This morning, we picked up the girls.  They were bundled up in a big cardboard box, taped shut.  We drove them home, and I carried the box up the alley to the back yard while Mario parked.  I untaped the box, put it down in front of the open coop door, and shook the box.  The smaller chicken (the one in the front of the picture) walked into the coop.

The second chicken, bigger and darker, flew straight up in the air, landed somewhere behind me, did 2 high-stepping laps around the yard, tearing off mouthfuls of leaves from every passing plant, rose up again and flew over a 4 foot chain link fence, ran down the alley next door, out through their locked gate and out of sight.  In a matter of seconds. 

During this time I ran and swore and dove at the bird, but she was too fast.  I ran down the alley after her, only to find that Mario locked the gate because he would, obviously, be coming in the front door.  Thankfully he got back just then, saw me and unlocked the gate.  I run past him, see an older man standing outside the karate studio down the street.  "Have you seen my chicken?"  Completely unfazed, he points left.  "He went that way, ma'am." 

We track the chicken by the people standing on the sidewalk, either puzzled or laughing.  We track the chicken through the double doors into the thrift store where I do a lot of my shopping.  We eventually track the chicken into a corner behind a rack of hangers.  With an authority I didn't really feel, I got hold of the chicken and called for a box.  Mario found one, and for good measure, we put the box in a trash bag and carted her off home.

This time, she went into the coop.  A little huffy about it, if you ask me, but she went in. 

They're a little stressed right now, between multiple raccoon attacks at their old home that killed over 2 dozen chickens, then being moved to a temporary home, then moving again today.  (Plus that little unplanned adventure).  But they're eating, they're drinking, and eventually, they'll be calm enough to lay us nice pale blue eggs. 

I noted when I was hunting the chicken that it was half price day at the thrift store.  I went back a little later and spent some money, just to make up for the fuss we'd caused.