It Takes a Village

Hazel is sick. She doesn’t want to come out of the coop and when she does, she just sort of stands there. She’s lethargic and sad. She doesn’t want to eat or drink. Poor, poor ridiculous little fluffball. She has me quite worried, silly thing.

I noticed her being a little off on Saturday and mentioned it to John Ramos of Urban Chicken, Inc. when I saw him at a chicken conference. (Yes, that’s a thing. I’ll tell you all about it later.) John told me to check her nose to see if there was any goop. So I did. And there was. Crusty, yellow drainage.

Chickens are susceptible to myraid ailments, with several respiratory illnesses among them. There is a lot of Scary Stuff on the internet, so I try not to use the Chicken Internet Hive Mind (aka every Facebook group out there) for diagnosis. The groups are interesting and entertaining but often have conflicting info and old wives’ tales plus a bit of Tin Foil Hat Syndrome.

Let me backtrack a bit. When I first bought my house two and a half years ago, it occurred to me that I could have chickens. How whimsical! I am such an urban hippie! But I’m nothing if not a planner, so to the internet I went. I wanted to know EVERYTHING. Risks, rewards, commitment (financial, physical, time, emotional, life expectancy). When you take on the care of any living thing, you need to know what you’re getting into.

So, while I may not be quick to jump into the fray of “Hey internet, what’s wrong with my chicken”, I also made sure I knew of a local vet that could care for my girls if needed. PLUS, the BEST part is John and Sam at Urban Chicken. They aren’t vets, but they love chickens and they GET chickens. They have done some chicken-sitting for me, and I got Betty and Rosie from John. Sam gave a talk at the conference on Saturday about holistic chicken care (which means not defaulting to antibiotics for everything) so when John said Sam could come take a look at Hazel (when I called him in a bit of a panic yesterday morning because she was Not Right), I was super relived.

Sam came over in the evening and being the chicken whisperer that he is, checked her out, observed her for a long time, asked me questions. In her case, we ARE going to go ahead and treat her with Tylan 200, and antibiotic, for a few days to try to knock out whatever it is. That will mean dosing her via the water supply, which also means dosing the rest of the flock. That’s actually sensible in this case, because whatever it is is likely contagious so we are going to get in front of it. I won’t be able to eat any of their eggs for a week or so, but since those bitches aren’t laying any yet, I should be fine.

The hardest part of it all is that I’m on a plane now and will be gone for work for the rest of the week. John and Sam were lined up for chicken-sitting for a couple of days anyway, so we are adding two more days so they can dose the girls and keep a caring, watchful eye on little Hazel. I trust them to give it to me straight and do what’s best for my pets. I’m so glad they are in my village.

Doing Squats

An alternate title could be “I’m a Handsome Rooster”.

When hens reach sexual maturity, they will “squat” when approached by a dude. It’s a natural submissive reaction to a dominant rooster. She’s feeling a little randy.

Gertie is normally loathe to let me touch her. She follows me around the yard, and comes running to me when I go outside. She will also eat out of my hand. But if I try to pet her or HEAVEN FORBID pick her up, she darts away.

NOT TODAY

Today, she squatted so fast that it took me by surprise. It was such a primitive response that she didn’t think about it. The speed was what shocked me most. Like frames were missing from a scene. Normal standing and wal-DOWN. Looking over at th-DOWN. And when she’s down, she moves her head really fast left and right. I think it might stress her out a little bit.

Having read SO MUCH about chickens over the past several months, I knew it that meant. MAH BAYBEH IS READY TO LAY AN EGG! Also, it’s like a party trick. “Hey man, hold my beer and watch what I can make my chicken do!”

It could still be a couple of weeks, but at least I know that eggs are imminent. Finally.

Freeloaders

Nope. No eggs yet. I check the nest box every day. Nothing but golf balls. Maybe it’s like a watched pot? You know the old saying…a watched nest NEVER HAS ANYTHING EXCEPT STUPID GOLF BALLS IN IT.

The girls are getting along great. No more pecking and bullying. All 4 stick close together while they roam the yard. They are just so darn sweet. They like different kinds of treats and that means they get super spoiled. Mealworms (Betty and Rose love them), veggie scraps (they hate carrots but love tomatoes), and hard-boiled egg (yeah, yeah, yeah but it’s really nutritious and they love it) are the favorites. 

They get to free-range 3 full days a week, plus evenings when I’m home. With the nights getting longer, they go to bed earlier. And since the boys have been gone, the girls enjoy sleeping in. They are typically not even emerging from the hen house until like 8am.

Gertie will eat out of my hand again. Betty will come close and Rosie thinks about it but then she gets skeered. Hazel is Hazel. As usual. A dumb, fluffy, weird, useless chicken that is everyone’s favorite. 

Any day now. They are 23 weeks old. Once they lay some damn eggs, I will stop counting their age in weeks. 

It’s an interminable wait. 

Meanwhile, I have eggs on my shopping list, which just seems wrong. 

********Coming soon: A LOGO! (I have completely lost my mind)

Two In

If you wonder what any of these terms mean, check out the Chicktionary. If I haven’t defined it there for you, scold me in the comments and I’ll right the wrong. 

And then there were two. Much sad, very woe. Gertie and Hazel wouldn’t come out of the coop, wouldn’t come near me. I was persona non grata. It stung more than a little.

Last Saturday, I posted on a local chicken FB group about looking for pullets and got a response from John Ramos of Urban Chicken, Inc.. He said he had any kind of bird I could want.

John and his compadre Sam (super nice guys, highly recommend. 5/5 stars.) did some chicken-sitting (yes, it’s a thing) for me in July when I was traveling so I was already a client. He’s sort of the local chicken expert and had done some coop-building for at least one person on the Peep at the Coops tour that I mentioned in an earlier post. Basically, John is my chicken Sensei. 

I called John on Sunday (two days after BOY, BYE) and the man came through for me. We discussed a couple of the breeds that he had and I told him he could just pick out a couple for me. Clearly, I’m not great at choosing birds since I’m two for four, gender-wise.

Just an hour or so later, John and Sam brought over two sweet girls. Those guys. Love ’em.

Betty is a Welsummer/Rhode Island Red cross, which means she will lay a lot of chocolate brown eggs. Rose is an Ameraucana/Rhode Island Red cross, which means she will lay a lot of green or blue eggs.

Betty and Rosie are thick as thieves, with Betty being the ringleader of the two. They sleep huddled together and generally stay close to each other. They are about 23-24 weeks old – two or three weeks older than Gertie and Hazel.

It has been a week and Gertie no longer charges and pecks at Betty and Rose. Even Hazel got caught up in the peer pressure of bullying and did some pecking of her own. The girls all kind of sleep next to each other on the roost bar. They still keep mostly to their little factions but all’s quiet on the western front.

Between Betty, Rose, and Gertie, I should have eggs from at least one by Halloween. Once they all get going, I should have 12-15 eggs a week. Insanity! I already bought some half-dozen crates for giveaways when the laying starts in earnest. Meanwhile, I have a golf ball in the nest box to ever-so-gently-suggest to them that they LAY SOME GODDAMN EGGS AND HERE’S WHERE YOU DO IT.

If you’re wondering about Hazel, she’s so tiny and useless (and always will be) that her eggs will also be tiny and useless. She’s REAL pretty. Also dumb.

Two Out

If you wonder what any of these terms mean, check out the Chicktionary. If I haven’t defined it there for you, scold me in the comments and I’ll right the wrong. 

 

Roosters are total cocks.

See what I did there?

They really aren’t the nicest. There is anecdotal evidence to the contrary but my experience is that they are jerks. Some say they protect the hens, blah blah blah but mine were basically just friendly until they weren’t.

Phillip (The Cockerel Formerly Known as Phyllis), though he was pretty obviously a dude, was my favorite of all my chickens. I was never really ready to admit that Sheena Was a Man. This is how it went…

Philly crowed first – one week before Claude (The Cockerel Formerly Known as Maude) sang me the song of his people. Okay, so…yeah. He’s a rooster. But maaaaaybe I can keep him? He’s so funny and nice! He flies up to sit on my shoulder! NO, SELF. DON’T BE DUMB.

A week later, it seems Phil taught Claude to crow. How helpful.

Then, one morning I let them all out of the coop for some yard time and as I walked back into the house, Claude charged me and attacked my legs. OH HELL NO. He was ON NOTICE.

I was perfectly willing to give him away to someone that I knew would butcher him. I just couldn’t cull him myself. (I may like to think I have a tiny urban farm but COME ON) So, I posted on one of the SEVERAL chicken-related Facebook groups of which I am a member and one guy said he would take Maude. But, he wouldn’t be able to pick him up until Friday. No worries, I said. I wasn’t in a hurry because there was no infighting or domestchick violence (OMG I AM SO WITTY).

Friday rolls around and by that time Phil had also charged at me once and when the Nice Facebook Man came, I said “You want another rooster, too?”. He shrugged and said yes, so YAY. If you’re not going to lay eggs AND you can’t be nice? BOY BYE.

Both boys went off with him in the front seat of his plumbing van (you can’t make this stuff up) and were off to ACTUALLY LIVE on his land, where he already has a few hens and a couple horses. He wants to raise chicks. So they didn’t go to live on “The Farm”. Just a regular old farm.

The girls were actually really upset. Like, didn’t want their favorite treat in the world (corn) and wouldn’t let me near them. The resentment was palpable. Eeeeeesh.