ingrid

I don’t know what it has been lately, but I seem to have run into a rash of chicken health issues.  First, I find a gross chunky thing EMBEDDED in Rita’s waddle.  Truly, I couldn’t figure out if it was a dead tick, a pock of some sort, or a rock.  I had to remove it with tweezers, which was gross, gross, gross.  Even though I have good motor skills for small work and still hands, I could never quite be a surgeon because I am still sort of squeamish.  The yuck factor was high on this job.  It sort of looked like petrified chicken crap, but the skin had grown around it leaving a pinky sized hole when I removed the object.  I smeared bag balm all over the wound and let the poor terrified bird go.  (Hilariously, this is exactly how I treat wounds in my own children).

Next I thought I would inspect all the chickens to see if any others had weirdo growths.  That was when I noticed that Rosey’s left leg was swollen and gross looking.

The chicken health handbook was full of dire warnings of possible disease– e coli infections, infectious bird flu, skin scales that would never really go away, lameness that would bring certain death to the entire flock.  I couldn’t figure out which one of the awful things it could be, or if it is just an inflammation of the joint from an injury that will heal in time.  The Poultry Farmer book from my grandfather was no help.  That is aimed at an entire farm of poultry, so you can imagine what it has to say about anything involving injury—cull the bird!  (That is just a nice way of saying “kill her before you have to find out what is actually wrong”).  The chicken looked and acted fine, so there was to be no culling here.  I sat with her and soaked her leg in salt water.  It seemed dumb, but made me feel like I was doing something.  I also looked for signs of bumblefoot.  Didn’t see any, but I also couldn’t find anything that said if the chicken could have swelling with no outward signs of trauma.  (If you know, please comment).  My conclusion is that she has a swollen joint because of an injury.  We have somewhat high roosts and the silly girls barrel off those at high speed when they think we’re bringing snacks.  She could have gotten hurt jumping down.  We’ll be watching her to see if she worsens.

I hope everyone is well and free of gross disease in your world.

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I’m getting organized.  Scientific even.  I bought a white board at SCRAP and nailed it to the wall in the chicken coop to keep track of number of eggs per day.  I am even sort of trying to track who is laying what.  So far the results are dismal.  It seems that we are getting three eggs a day from the same three chickens–Rita, Hasty, and Evelyn.  Hmmmm.  That would mean that Agnes and Rosey aren’t laying at all (old ladies), Hildy is on sabbatical (I don’t know what her excuse is as she is only 1 1/2, Bella is molting, and Frankie is just a lazy, good-for-nothing chicken, eating a lot and not pulling her weight, sort of like Inez except that Inez is not a chicken.  (I don’t know when I decided that it was funny to joke about babies not doing their part, but it still cracks me up.  It seems to be the only acceptable way to talk trash about a baby.)  Frankie, like Inez, might just be too young as she was hatched at the end of June last year.  It is hard to tell with chickens who reach laying age right as the days are short and the rest of the flock is not laying anyway.

Evelyn might well be my hardest worker around here.

She is laying almost every day.  This last week she popped out this MASSIVE egg.  It was the second of its kind to be presented by this lady.  When I told Brad that it was a double yoker, he was unduly surprised.  ”Those are real?” he said.  Of course they are real!  Even though he had heard about them all his life, because he had never seen one, he didn’t really believe they were real.  Weird denial of reality is what I call that.  I hear that the sun is made of gas, and you know what?  I believe it.

This is a comparison photo:  normal egg from Hasty, giHUGIC egg from Evelyn.  This worries me a bit actually.  It is fairly common for chickens who produce these huge suckers to get egg bind, a condition where the egg literally gets STUCK inside them.  A friend on our street lost a chicken to egg bind lately.  I am freaked out that I might have to reach up in a chicken and break an egg to get it out if this were to occur with one of our hens.  Here is hoping it doesn’t.  A friend of a friend also told me that she gave her hen a warm bath when she had egg bind.  The egg came right out.  Hmmm.  I guess I like baths.  I’ve never had one with a chicken though.

More photos to impress and (in the case of Anne) disgust?

Ahh yes!  Look at those old lady hands!  (It was because I was working with clay all day; I got a lot of terra cotta stuck in the cracks in my hands.)

We need to hurry up and come up with a use for this egg as it does not fit in the carton.  Really.

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I learned a lot about chickens this year, but perhaps the best thing I learned that I will put to use in the future is how to integrate new chickens into a home flock.

First of all, there are chicken psychologists out there who will tell you all about their special methods for integrating new birds with minimal trauma.  It involves quarantining the bird, holding the bird a lot, bonding with the bird, and then introducing slowly visually before the other birds have a chance to peck the new bird’s guts out.  Meanwhile you, the owner, stand near the new bird and say “NO!” firmly whenever another bird tries to flay it.  You are suppose to be like the head bird or something and your word goes.  That is bullshit.  Or at least, I tried that and it didn’t seem to work so great.  My new bird at this time last year, Hildy, was quickly cowed and attacked and pecked so much that she was featherless across her back most of last year.  Here is what I did wrong.

First of all, I only introduced one bird at a time.  Mistake.  One new bird quickly becomes an obvious target for EVERYONE ELSE.  Because the old birds are not so bright, it is much better to introduce 3 or so birds to them so that they can not easily distinguish whom to jump.  It is also much more exhausting for them to try to attack every newcomer when there are just so many of them!

Last year I introduced my one bird into the henhouse that everyone was comfortable in.  They already knew their roosting spots and weren’t eager to shove over for a newcomer.  This year, I took the hens out of their old spot and shoved them into their new house at the same time as I introduce the four new hens.  Everyone was bewildered!  No one could get up the focus or presence of mind to attack anyone else!  If I had not been moving the hens anyway, I could have accomplished the same thing by putting the hens somewhere weird for a night and half a day (like our shed) before reintroducing them to their hen house.  This is sort of a solitary confinement thing, and could also be accomplished by separating the hens out into cardboard boxes for the night— each bird thinks they are out of the flock and therefore doesn’t really know their place/is ready to reestablish pecking order.  Or maybe put them in the weird spot, lock them out of the chicken run for the day while the new hens roamed around in there and then let them go back in at twilight while the new hens were already down to roost.  Ah hah!  Chicken psychology.

Birds of a feather do sort of flock together.  Our old hens hang out near each other while the new ones prefer each other’s company, but our new hens and old hens all seem to be getting along.  No one is missing feathers or looking harassed like Hildy was last year.  Thus, my new methods for chicken introduction and Hildy with her new feathers makes the list for THE BEST!

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Remember that song from “Les Mis”?  Well, I guess it is nothing like that.

As I mentioned in my last post, I got new hens.  They are all on the young side, but I think this was the way to go rather than waiting to hatch my own or buy chicks in the spring.  Hatching my own was a lot of work and not super successful (remember Helmut?).  Starting with chicks just takes a long time.  They aren’t ready to lay until about 5 months old, so it would be mid summer before I saw more eggs.  These hens are all about 4-8 months old, so they will be laying right away.

It was quite the hilarious operation.  I drove out to Lloyd Center mid day to meet a guy in a very back parking lot.  He had a pick up full of cages and was doling out hens here and there.  While I visited, two other women drove up and collected their city chickens.  It was like a drug deal with no drugs!

Here are my new chickens!

Bella is on the left (she’s a Delaware) and Rita on the right (New Hampshire Red).  Francis named Bella after a song from Strega Nona by Tomi di Paola about the moon.  She pronounces it with a Spanish accent and I say it with an Italian one, but we both know who we are talking about.

This is Evelyn.  I don’t know what she is.  The farmer didn’t know what she was either.  He mumbled something about Macon cross blah blah blah… I had actually asked for an australorpe, but I saw her and was stunned at her green/black/red feathers.  She is so gorgeous.

Much to Francis’ chagrin, Brad has named this chicken Hasty.  Hasty was a sort of joke suggestion for Francis’ middle name.  In the running for Francis’s middle name was also “Bacon” and “Aufterheide”.  This is how we came up with baby names for our children: we suggested ridiculous names until we found something good.  Then again, this is also  how we got “Zephyr”.

The “old” girls are also looking quite good I’d say.  Their molt is done and they look shiny and fat.  Hildy especially looks great right now (golden laced wyandotte).  Her feathers finally grew in (after nasty Agnes pulled them out).

Frankie is maturing nicely.  She is still pretty high-strung.  I still can not catch her easily, and she is by no means my favorite chicken, but she is healthy and will most likely be a good layer.  She is either a barred rock or a dominique.  I can’t tell the difference.

This time around I was careful to get hens that are contrasting in patterns and colors.   Now I have a hen house full of jewels.  Aren’t they pretty?

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No, I’m kidding.  I actually applied for a license to keep more than 3 chickens within city limits and I got inspected today.  Being a sort of nervous, want-to-do-good-paranoid-about-getting-in-trouble sort of person, my heart just about went through the roof when I saw the pickup (with lights–but not on of course) pull up in front of our house.  And of COURSE the chicken door was open because Francis did the chores this morning and the kids can’t seem to go in the door without letting chickens get out.  That is a no-no in the city.  If you have chickens wandering around your yard, you are suppose to be with them, which I obviously wasn’t as I answered the door for the inspections guy.  We didn’t have time to put them in again because we were super late for school.  Luckily for us, it is cold as hell around here and even with the door to the fenced area open, the chickens were huddled together in the coop.  I hurriedly confessed that we let them out accidentally this morning and that I knew I wasn’t suppose to.  ”No problem,” Mr. Super Nice Inspector said.  ”We are pretty laid back as long as we can’t hear or smell them when approaching the property”.

The inspection was great though.  The guy was completely nice, not upset that I had EIGHT chickens (by the way, did I mention that I now have EIGHT chickens?!  That is for another post.), and quite complimentary about my coop.  He said that I obviously had room for more and I should just let them know if I want to get more.  No thanks, I said.  Even I know when enough is enough.  He also said that he could tell that I take care of them, that the area is clean and looks free of stink or rats, and that he is glad that I have names for all of them.  That is a sign that I care for my chickens well.  So, all in all, a really good experience, and I should get my license within the week.

It is interesting to me that the City of Portland is fine with chickens, and my hometown of Sheridan is not.  I have my theories that people in Sheridan, being country people, are only familiar with TONS of chickens so they have no real idea of the miniscule sound and smell present with less than 10 chickens.  When they think “chickens”, they think of fifty chickens, or one hundred and fifty chickens.  The Sheridan Sun recently quoted a city counselor as saying that a neighborhood with chickens would be “unlivable”, which is about the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, especially as I live on a block with more chickens than people.

Did I mention that I love Portland, Oregon?

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Your new home?

So, it isn’t completely finished, but as the rains seem to be coming in ernest, we moved the chickens into their new home.  Sure, we need to use a chair rather than a nice sliding bolt to keep the door closed, and yes, there is a sheet of metal covering a place where chicken wire should be, but other than that, the house is perfect.  Isn’t it way, super, totally cute?  Don’t look at that storage hatch that is not on hinges yet (yeah, the one leaning against the front of the shed).  And yes, you do see places missing sheet metal… we’ll get to that.  Just look at the overall cuteness factor.  My dad did a great job designing and doing most of the work finishing this chicken mansion.

Not only do the chickens have about 10 times the space as before, they now have a completely fenced outside area that is tall enough for us humans to access without stooping.  We have hay bale storage inside the coop and chicken feed bin storage outside.  The chickens have their own access door on the front there as well as two operating windows for the summer time.  Awesome.

Inside I sort of hacked together three roosts and an access rail for the nesting boxes.  Zephyr is leaning on it and it didn’t break yet, so we might be in business.  The two Francis-es are bonding here: Francie is holding Frankie.

chicken-approved

Rather than the one measly nesting box that we had in the previous coop, we have four luxurious boxes!  I know that most of the chicken books say that one box per four chickens is fine, but that was not my experience.  Don’t believe them!  We had so many problems with not enough boxes.

As a child, my family lived for a summer in what later became a chicken coop.  It was slightly bigger than this shack, but not much!  My parents were building our house in Sheridan up in the woods and we were living in a rental in Willamina.  My mother hated the rental and hated living in town, so off we went to a 10 by 12 shed where my older sister and I slept in narrow bunks nailed to the wall and my parents slept on the floor on a roll out cot with (the then) baby, Kendall.  We had an outdoor “kitchen” comprised of a coleman stove and some storage shelves and boxes.  We sat on sawed logs and had a campfire many nights.  We had an outhouse, and got washed up in a concrete utility sink filled from a hose (yes, it was cold!).  On the way to the outhouse one night, I got within 10 feet of two bobcats, which was the last time I saw those in the woods.  Although I was pretty young, living in “the chicken shed” was among the best memories of my life!

My only regret with our new chicken coop was that we couldn’t find a night to sleep out in it before the chickens moved in.  The kids really wanted to, and I thought that would be so much fun, but unfortunately the chickens needed it more than we did, so no sleeping out.

I am pretty pleased with this place though.  Thanks Dad.

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It occurred to me that I haven’t shown our chickens in awhile.  The ladies (and gent) are getting all set to move into their new digs this month.  The pieces for the new hen house are all on-site now.  I just have to get my dad in here to help me put it together.

Here are the girls:

Agnes is our dominant hen.  She is heavy, greedy, and not amazingly nice, but very tame.  We’ve had her since the beginning 2 1/2 years ago.  She isn’t a fantastic layer that I have seen, but she is enthusiastic about food and charmingly curious.  She is a speckled sussex.

This is Hildy on the left and Helmut on the left.  Helmut, as you saw in the previous post, is probably a rooster and bound for the country as soon as he confirms that by crowing and waking us up at 4am.  He is a mystery bird as we hatched him from a fertilized egg from a farm in Cornelius, but I think he is Americauna.  Hildy is a golden wyandotte.  She is very meek, unfortunately, and is nearly the bottom of the peeking order which has ruined her lovely coat.  She has some bare spots on her back where Rosey and Agnes peck at her.

This is Rosey, Francis’ chicken.  She is incredibly agile and can escape any fence.  This is the chicken who is consistently getting out of the pen and wandering over to the neighbors’.  I think it is because she has a larger view of the world.  After all, she has visited both preschool and kindergarten.  She knows what is out there.  She is also a speckled sussex.

This is ridiculous, but really, this is the only picture I have of Frankie.  She’s there behind Helmut.  And yes, I did use this picture in the previous post.  Like I said, this is the only picture I have of Frankie.  The reason is that she is FAST.  And skittish.  And runs like hell whenever I am anywhere near her.  So if I come in the pen, she goes in the henhouse.  If I open the henhouse door, she bolts for the yard.  I have caught her a couple of times and she acts like she is dying.  I don’t know what she will do when Helmut leaves.  She is small and will sort of be all alone.  This is the chick who became adhered to Agnes’ underside with the yolk of broken egg in the nest and then I had to detach her which tore out most of the down on her little chick backside.  Is this why she is such a freak now?  I suspect that Frankie is a barred rock or a dominique.

There they are!  It is happy times in my backyard.

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I realize that this is getting ridiculous.  She’s a rooster!  No, she’s not a rooster!  I have two hens…  maybe not.

Sorry Laura (she won the “name the chicks” contest).  I think that Helen is a rooster, which would make him “Helmut”.  Each day the tail feathers get longer and more luxurious.  And in the bird world, it is sort of a rule that the males get more color and flair than the females.  Helen… I mean, Helmut is certainly showy.  He hasn’t crowed yet, but I am pretty sure I am right this time.  Sigh.

Well shoot.  Anyone want a rooster?

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I had one of these weirdo eggs back a few months, and I fully intended to write about it.  Unfortunately, it seemed to have rolled right off the counter and broken on the floor before I could take a picture of it.  That is what happens to anything that the kids decide is small or “cute”.  They touch it too much and then break it.  I had better watch out for Inez.

Anyway, this is the illustrious “fart” egg or as the English so charmingly say, “wind” egg.  It happens when a chunk of reproductive tissue within the chicken breaks off inside her body and flows into the egg production part.  Her body naturally wraps the chunk in shell and plops it out dutifully.  If we break this little guy apart, there will not be a yolk, but rather a little chunk of grey tissue.

Isn’t that fascinating?  I tried to tell a chicken-keeping friend about this and she started making gagging/vomiting noises, so I had to stop.  I really wanted to tell my story!  I don’t know what her problem is.  I think it is way cool.

Another chicken neighbor has quite a collection of bizarre eggs, some tube shaped, and one covered in wavy divets.  Her husband blows the eggs out and keeps them in a bowl in their living room as a sort of conversation piece.  If I didn’t have a million other things to do today, I would do that too.  It seems clever, but as I have to get to the store and buy school supplies, finish dealing with rotting figs, pick up Francis at school, cook an amazingly clever and balanced gourmet meal, and get Francis to soccer practice by 6pm, well, you will just have to settle for this picture:

It is very small, you see. Small like a pen.

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After that title, I don’t know if I need to say much more.  The kid just got out of the bath and was screaming her head off on the changing table.  By chance, I caught fast little Helen and thought I would bring her in for a photo, but Brad was all the way upstairs.  So I needed to take the chicken upstairs.  Brad said that I was showing off, but I think bedtime is a perfect time for a little poultry visit.  Inez quieted down immediately.

In case you haven’t been following along, BOTH chicks are hens and both are beauooooootiful!  Helen is particularly nice, but so is Frankie.  We lucked out there.  I will get a good picture of Frankie if I can ever catch her.

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