I am by no means an expert, but it suddenly occured to me that I've been keeping hens for two and a half years. Which is not bad, really. So maybe, just maybe, I'm now qualified to give some pointers to anyone out there who is toying with the idea of keeping a few hens in their back garden. You don't have to agree with me on all of my keeping practices, after all if there's one thing I've learned as a chicken keeper it's that everyone has there own way of doing things. But there are a few things which everyone should know and care about. So, here goes.
Firstly, make sure that you have the space, time and permission to keep chooks on your property. Some housing will have a 'no livestock' rule in the deeds/rental agreement. It is best to check this out before you spend money on coops and feed. Chickens don't take up a huge amount of time if you don't want them to, but they still require daily attention. Even a few layers will need around 20 minutes a day for food/water/egg collecting/health check purposes. The amount of space you have available should direct you in the type of birds you can keep. If, like me, you don't have acres of land, it's best to stick to a small number of large fowl or go for bantams. Most large fowl have bantam counterparts, but bantam sizes vary. Jersey Giants are amazing looking chickens, but they will not be happy living in a confined space. In the same way that you wouldn't keep an ostrich on a balcony, you can't keep all breeds in your average garden. Best to resign yourself to that straight away. Also, consider your garden. Hard landscaping is not ideal for hens.
Secondly, invest in the best housing you can afford. It will always be cheaper to make your own, so if you're in any way competent that might be the way to go. If you're like me, however, and a bit useless, you'll have to buy a coop. I've noticed that a lot of pet shops now sell chicken housing. By and large, it is over priced and hideous quality. Do some research, and keep in mind that cheap housing is a false economy. It will fall apart, probably in the middle of a horrific weather event. It is no fun having to repair a roof in the middle of a snow storm/torrential rain/a hurricane. To be honest, I think that the housing cost highlights the lie that chickens are a cheap source of eggs. Decent housing is not cheap, but will last you a decade or more. Also, buy a bigger house than you think you'll need. A lot of housing woefully overestimates the number of birds it will hold. Overcrowding should be avoided at all costs. Birds that are overcrowded are more prone to stress, and therefore illness. They are also more likely to develop bad habits, such as feather plucking or egg eating.
Thirdly, welfare must be your priority. If you get the housing and number/type of birds right, you are on the right track. Predator protection is the next thing to tackle. Letting your birds free range is always going to be a risk. Some people leave their hens out all day even if they're not at home, knowing that there is a risk or predator attack but balancing that out with the benefits of the birds having their freedom. I personally don't, but I am at home most days so my pampered girls spend a lot of time gardening. I also have a secure run attached to the Palace for when they are confined. Some people keep their birds in a secure run all the time, and if it's big enough it isn't a problem. It is a question of risk versus benefits, and one that every keeper has to weigh up according to their circumstances. However you choose to manage your girls, they must have adequate space to roam in. They should also have access to a dust bath and if they are confined to a run it's a good idea to provide some environment enhancing features (perches, logs to jump on, treats hung on string etc).
I knew nothing about chickens when I first decided to keep them. I read a lot, but most things had to be learned on the job. It was terrifying. So my advice is to arm yourself with a basic chicken first aid kit. Personally, I always have to hand: apple cider vinegar (helps to prevent worm infestations, and is a good general tonic), anti-peck spray (to deter pecking of injuries), flubenvet (wormer, which I use every 3 months), poultry spice (a feed additive, which is useful if the hens are under the weather/in moult), gentian violet (a purple spray which can be used to mask any wounds, hens peck at the colour red), red mite powder (both as a preventative in the housing and the dust bath, and also a talc used on the hens) and a mite spray (to treat any suspected infestations on the birds). Most problems can be dealt with using these things, although of course if in doubt you should consult a vet.
My last piece of advice is this: get to know your birds. Take the time to build up trust and handle your ladies at least weekly. A well handled bird makes all of your husbandry easier. It makes health checks a breeze, and stops the bird (and you) going in to a stress induced panic. Spend time just observing them. You quickly get to know what is normal behaviour, and what is just a bit off. Chickens are amazing at masking their illnesses, so often your first indication that something isn't quite right will be a slight change in behaviour. There are many ailments which can be effectively treated if caught early.
Now, I hope I haven't put anyone off.
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Showing posts with label chickens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chickens. Show all posts
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Monday, 29 November 2010
Some Winter Tips
With temperatures not rising above freezing for days, it's fair to say that it's a bit parky. The boiler is being put in to full time service and I for one am beginning to wish we had a fireplace. Bloody modern houses and their lack of chimneys. Still, I am keeping warm with various oh-so-stylish layers, many hot drinks and a hot water bottle. These options are not open to the hens, sadly.
So, I thought this might be a good time to make some husbandry suggestions. Chickens can tolerate cold, but they cannot cope with cold and damp. As long as their coop is dry and draught free they will be fine using each other for warmth. I always make sure that the nest boxes have extra bedding in at this time of year just in case the girls want to use them as bedrooms. So far they remain poo free, so I can deduce that all eight chooks are snuggling together on the roosting bars. I am still leaving the pop hole open at present, but it really depends on the design of your chook housing as to whether closing it would be of any benefit.
I cannot over emphasise the importance of making sure that your birds have access to fresh water in this weather. They will be drinking considerably less in the cold, but they still need to keep hydrated. My drinker is freezing over within three hours at the moment, so I am checking it regularly and defrosting it as required. I have a plastic drinker and my girls are just a short walk from the back door so this isn't a huge problem. However, if you keep your birds at a bit of a distance you will have to be a bit more cunning. If you have a galvanised drinker you could try placing a lit tealight under a upturned terracotta plant pot and standing your drinker on top of it. It should provide just enough heat to stop the water from freezing. Of course, this is best done outside of the henhouse. No one wants to call the fire brigade with the immortal words: 'My chickens have set fire to the house!'.
Your hens will be fine on their usual rations even in the depths of winter. However, if you're a softy like me you can make them warm porridge. I use one dessert spoon of basic porridge oats per bird, and mix it up with warm water. I generally add a teaspoon of poultry spice to this, and either a small handful of raisins or mixed corn. My girls go mad for this mixture, and I feel better knowing that they've had something warm. How beneficial this is to the birds is questionable, but it doesn't do any harm. If porridge is not on the cards for some reason, I do always throw some mixed corn in to the run for them to scratch at. My chooks are not laying now, so I'm happy enough to see them put on a little bit of weight (Little being the operative word. Fat chickens are not healthy chickens).
Lastly, even though it is bitterly cold and you'd rather be indoors (understandable) please don't neglect the weekly health checks. I certainly spend less time outside at this time of year than at others so actually handling the girls becomes more important. Spotting any problems early gives your chickens the best chance of making it safely through the winter.
Ok, lecture over. Back to writing the Christmas cards.
So, I thought this might be a good time to make some husbandry suggestions. Chickens can tolerate cold, but they cannot cope with cold and damp. As long as their coop is dry and draught free they will be fine using each other for warmth. I always make sure that the nest boxes have extra bedding in at this time of year just in case the girls want to use them as bedrooms. So far they remain poo free, so I can deduce that all eight chooks are snuggling together on the roosting bars. I am still leaving the pop hole open at present, but it really depends on the design of your chook housing as to whether closing it would be of any benefit.
I cannot over emphasise the importance of making sure that your birds have access to fresh water in this weather. They will be drinking considerably less in the cold, but they still need to keep hydrated. My drinker is freezing over within three hours at the moment, so I am checking it regularly and defrosting it as required. I have a plastic drinker and my girls are just a short walk from the back door so this isn't a huge problem. However, if you keep your birds at a bit of a distance you will have to be a bit more cunning. If you have a galvanised drinker you could try placing a lit tealight under a upturned terracotta plant pot and standing your drinker on top of it. It should provide just enough heat to stop the water from freezing. Of course, this is best done outside of the henhouse. No one wants to call the fire brigade with the immortal words: 'My chickens have set fire to the house!'.
Your hens will be fine on their usual rations even in the depths of winter. However, if you're a softy like me you can make them warm porridge. I use one dessert spoon of basic porridge oats per bird, and mix it up with warm water. I generally add a teaspoon of poultry spice to this, and either a small handful of raisins or mixed corn. My girls go mad for this mixture, and I feel better knowing that they've had something warm. How beneficial this is to the birds is questionable, but it doesn't do any harm. If porridge is not on the cards for some reason, I do always throw some mixed corn in to the run for them to scratch at. My chooks are not laying now, so I'm happy enough to see them put on a little bit of weight (Little being the operative word. Fat chickens are not healthy chickens).
Lastly, even though it is bitterly cold and you'd rather be indoors (understandable) please don't neglect the weekly health checks. I certainly spend less time outside at this time of year than at others so actually handling the girls becomes more important. Spotting any problems early gives your chickens the best chance of making it safely through the winter.
Ok, lecture over. Back to writing the Christmas cards.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
This Means War!
Now, I love my girls. Their chickenny pottering makes me smile, and their chicken chatter soothes my life frazzled nerves. I love standing at the sink, doing some dull domestic task, and glancing out of the window to see them tearing about the garden chasing whichever one of them has caught a worm. It still makes me laugh the way they turn their heads to the side to look up at the rain, only to run around in a panic when a drop hits them in the eye. They are brilliant, magnificent pets.
However, they have zero respect for my other great love: gardening. They poo copiously over my lawn. They eat my favourite plants, or sit on them. My beloved greenhouse is pebble dashed in chicken poo and feathers. Maeve has taken to sitting on my seedlings when she wants a nap. Enough is enough.
The feeble barrier around the Convent is getting an overhaul this weekend. I'm not sure how yet, but I will devise a way to keep the little vandals contained. A concerted effort is going to be made to move Maeve from my greenhouse, so that instead of growing mounds of droppings, I can start growing my salads. A broody cage is in the process of being obtained so that Belinda can be returned to her slightly less psychotic laying state.
In short, I'm taking back control.
However, they have zero respect for my other great love: gardening. They poo copiously over my lawn. They eat my favourite plants, or sit on them. My beloved greenhouse is pebble dashed in chicken poo and feathers. Maeve has taken to sitting on my seedlings when she wants a nap. Enough is enough.
The feeble barrier around the Convent is getting an overhaul this weekend. I'm not sure how yet, but I will devise a way to keep the little vandals contained. A concerted effort is going to be made to move Maeve from my greenhouse, so that instead of growing mounds of droppings, I can start growing my salads. A broody cage is in the process of being obtained so that Belinda can be returned to her slightly less psychotic laying state.
In short, I'm taking back control.
Thursday, 23 April 2009
The Sheer Horror Of Skirts
Chickens are creatures of habit. They like to know what's likely to happen at any given time, and really don't appreciate surprises. Therefore, when I wandered down the garden yesterday wearing a long, flowing skirt, all hell broke loose.
The girls had accumalated in the greenhouse, beaks buried in Maeve's growers pellets. Spotting them from the kitchen, I decided to firmly show them the door. Being a warm spring day, I thought I'd wear my first skirt of the season. Strolling leisurely across the lawn, I couldn't have imagined what was about to kick off.
Maude spotted me first, and issued a low bok bok bok. This is chicken for 'Hang on, girls, something's up. That non feathered tall thing is on it's way down here to tell us off'. One by one, the others stood tall to peer at me through the glass. There was a gentle breeze, and they all began muttering as my skirt moved slightly. Sensing something was up, I slowed my advance and spoke reassuringly. That was the exact moment that a strong gust of wind blew the flowing material around my legs.
Mabel let out a blood curdling shriek. The greenhouse was suddenly filled with a vortex of feathers, beaks, shrieking and panic. Hens careered off the glass, crashing into each other and knocking trays of seedlings flying. After twenty seconds of them stampeding around the place, they all froze to get their breath back. We stood in a surreal tableau, chickens gasping and me holding my breath. Then the wind blew again and off they went, crashing into everything.
Sheepishly, I retreated with my terrifying skirt and let the dust settle. There was much chickenny muttering and feather rustling. In the end, I went and put on a pair of jeans.
The girls had accumalated in the greenhouse, beaks buried in Maeve's growers pellets. Spotting them from the kitchen, I decided to firmly show them the door. Being a warm spring day, I thought I'd wear my first skirt of the season. Strolling leisurely across the lawn, I couldn't have imagined what was about to kick off.
Maude spotted me first, and issued a low bok bok bok. This is chicken for 'Hang on, girls, something's up. That non feathered tall thing is on it's way down here to tell us off'. One by one, the others stood tall to peer at me through the glass. There was a gentle breeze, and they all began muttering as my skirt moved slightly. Sensing something was up, I slowed my advance and spoke reassuringly. That was the exact moment that a strong gust of wind blew the flowing material around my legs.
Mabel let out a blood curdling shriek. The greenhouse was suddenly filled with a vortex of feathers, beaks, shrieking and panic. Hens careered off the glass, crashing into each other and knocking trays of seedlings flying. After twenty seconds of them stampeding around the place, they all froze to get their breath back. We stood in a surreal tableau, chickens gasping and me holding my breath. Then the wind blew again and off they went, crashing into everything.
Sheepishly, I retreated with my terrifying skirt and let the dust settle. There was much chickenny muttering and feather rustling. In the end, I went and put on a pair of jeans.
Monday, 30 March 2009
Adventures in Chicken Hunting - Part Two
After several days of phoning/emailing every chook breeder on the internet, I was beginning to think my search was hopeless. Most birds have only just started laying again after their winter break, and fertility is only just beginning to climb. What birds that were available, tended to be weeny chicks rather than rough and tough pullets who could hold their own. Damn.
I decided to widen my search area, and managed to find two places that had birds. One place had three kinds of pekin, black, black mottled and buff. No frizzles. The other place had frizzled silkies. No pekin. Oh, and they were both nearly seventy miles away. Damn.
Now, the ever tolerant husband must have got sick of me going on about finding a new chook. He nodded and smiled in all the right places as a rambled on about various distances, couriers and possibly getting the bus. With a resigned air, he told me to grab the kids some snacks and get in the car.
I will just take a moment here to say just how fabulous the ever tolerant husband is. Yesterday, he drove a hundred and forty mile round trip just to pick up a chicken. The man is a star. Or possibly certifiable.
So, we set off in search of the silkie frizzle. The lady had sent me a lovely picture of one of her young pullets, and I was quite smitten. We barralled along the country roads, attempting to find the most obscure little village imaginable. Several phone calls and wrong turns later, we pulled up outside the breeders cottage.
And what a cottage! It was a gorgeously charming little rough stone place, honey coloured and cosy looking. Two blonde ringleted children were playing out the front, surrounded by assorted fabulous birds. The breeder waved at us from the spot where she was wrestling a guinea fowl, and we went through the gate into this bird utopia. I was in heaven.
Introductions were made, and I rhapsodised over her set up. The boys ran off to play with her children on a huge trampoline, and we discussed all things fowl. It was all going terribly well, and I couldn't wait to meet my new pullet.
Suddenly, from behind us, there was the most bizarre noise. Turning around, we were greeted with a truly terrifying sight.
Tom the turkey stag was seriously annoyed, and seriously big. He stood tall, wings spread and dropped to the ground, feathers all raised in a threatening display. The tips of his wings dragged over the grass, making a really creepy ticking sound. He seemed to hover about the garden, like some feathery dalek. To be fair, no turkey is particularly good looking, but Tom looked like someone had turned his head inside out. This turkey was huge, slightly deranged, and apparently wanted to fight and/or mate with us. Yikes.
One of the breeders children casually walked past this psychotic vision and nudged it with a ruler, at which point he hovered off in the other direction. Nervously calling to the boys to stay on the trampoline because, gosh, isn't it fun?! (Nothing to do with the giant insane christmas dinner, noooooo), we wandered around various pens looking at her impressive collection of birds. I have to confess, I would have enjoyed this experience a lot more if I hadn't felt it necessary to keep one eye on the hovering turkey, who kept sneaking up on us with creepy speed. I casually dropped my handbag from my shoulder so that the strap was in my hand, ready to batter the evil Tom around the chops if he made a mad dash towards me, or tried to eat my children. He settled for gobbling at us periodically, and looking scary.
The breeder dropped down on her haunches to show me the silkie/frizzles parents, and I dutifully copied her. The turkey hovered behind us, a bit too close for comfort, and when the ever tolerant husband issued a manly scream I thought he'd been turkeyed. However, it was merely that the breeders friendly pet pigeon had decided to sit on his head.
Finally, we went to look at the chooks for sale. I fell in love with one of the little silkie/frizzle chicks, and picked it up. It instantly pooed on me, and then decided to be ambiguous about it's sex. Silkies are notoriously hard to sex unless they either crow or lay an egg. Now, the husband is extremely tolerant, but the idea that he might have to do this crazy journey again to return a cockeral was too much even for him. Reluctantly, I put her back and considered hubby's choice.
This is the first time that the husband has ever shown any real interest in choosing a chook, but he was immediately drawn to the only pekin this breeder had. This tiny feather footed chick stumbled forward, gave us both the once over and then had a peck at my finger nail. Baby pekins are almost insufferably cute, and of course I melted. They are also much easier to sex, and this baby black mottled was definitely a girl. As I gave her a cuddle, I was dive bombed by the friendly pigeon. Hubby had seen it coming and ducked. What a gentleman, eh?
So, I am pleased to tell you that we now have a new black mottled pekin pullet by the name of Maeve. The husband even named her. I knew he'd get the bug eventually!
I decided to widen my search area, and managed to find two places that had birds. One place had three kinds of pekin, black, black mottled and buff. No frizzles. The other place had frizzled silkies. No pekin. Oh, and they were both nearly seventy miles away. Damn.
Now, the ever tolerant husband must have got sick of me going on about finding a new chook. He nodded and smiled in all the right places as a rambled on about various distances, couriers and possibly getting the bus. With a resigned air, he told me to grab the kids some snacks and get in the car.
I will just take a moment here to say just how fabulous the ever tolerant husband is. Yesterday, he drove a hundred and forty mile round trip just to pick up a chicken. The man is a star. Or possibly certifiable.
So, we set off in search of the silkie frizzle. The lady had sent me a lovely picture of one of her young pullets, and I was quite smitten. We barralled along the country roads, attempting to find the most obscure little village imaginable. Several phone calls and wrong turns later, we pulled up outside the breeders cottage.
And what a cottage! It was a gorgeously charming little rough stone place, honey coloured and cosy looking. Two blonde ringleted children were playing out the front, surrounded by assorted fabulous birds. The breeder waved at us from the spot where she was wrestling a guinea fowl, and we went through the gate into this bird utopia. I was in heaven.
Introductions were made, and I rhapsodised over her set up. The boys ran off to play with her children on a huge trampoline, and we discussed all things fowl. It was all going terribly well, and I couldn't wait to meet my new pullet.
Suddenly, from behind us, there was the most bizarre noise. Turning around, we were greeted with a truly terrifying sight.
Tom the turkey stag was seriously annoyed, and seriously big. He stood tall, wings spread and dropped to the ground, feathers all raised in a threatening display. The tips of his wings dragged over the grass, making a really creepy ticking sound. He seemed to hover about the garden, like some feathery dalek. To be fair, no turkey is particularly good looking, but Tom looked like someone had turned his head inside out. This turkey was huge, slightly deranged, and apparently wanted to fight and/or mate with us. Yikes.
One of the breeders children casually walked past this psychotic vision and nudged it with a ruler, at which point he hovered off in the other direction. Nervously calling to the boys to stay on the trampoline because, gosh, isn't it fun?! (Nothing to do with the giant insane christmas dinner, noooooo), we wandered around various pens looking at her impressive collection of birds. I have to confess, I would have enjoyed this experience a lot more if I hadn't felt it necessary to keep one eye on the hovering turkey, who kept sneaking up on us with creepy speed. I casually dropped my handbag from my shoulder so that the strap was in my hand, ready to batter the evil Tom around the chops if he made a mad dash towards me, or tried to eat my children. He settled for gobbling at us periodically, and looking scary.
The breeder dropped down on her haunches to show me the silkie/frizzles parents, and I dutifully copied her. The turkey hovered behind us, a bit too close for comfort, and when the ever tolerant husband issued a manly scream I thought he'd been turkeyed. However, it was merely that the breeders friendly pet pigeon had decided to sit on his head.
Finally, we went to look at the chooks for sale. I fell in love with one of the little silkie/frizzle chicks, and picked it up. It instantly pooed on me, and then decided to be ambiguous about it's sex. Silkies are notoriously hard to sex unless they either crow or lay an egg. Now, the husband is extremely tolerant, but the idea that he might have to do this crazy journey again to return a cockeral was too much even for him. Reluctantly, I put her back and considered hubby's choice.
This is the first time that the husband has ever shown any real interest in choosing a chook, but he was immediately drawn to the only pekin this breeder had. This tiny feather footed chick stumbled forward, gave us both the once over and then had a peck at my finger nail. Baby pekins are almost insufferably cute, and of course I melted. They are also much easier to sex, and this baby black mottled was definitely a girl. As I gave her a cuddle, I was dive bombed by the friendly pigeon. Hubby had seen it coming and ducked. What a gentleman, eh?
So, I am pleased to tell you that we now have a new black mottled pekin pullet by the name of Maeve. The husband even named her. I knew he'd get the bug eventually!
Labels:
breeder,
chickens,
Maeve,
pigeon. silkie,
turkey
Friday, 27 March 2009
Adventures in Chicken Hunting
I spotted an ad in my local petshop last week, while the sadness at losing D was still raw. Today, feeling much more chipper, I decided to call the number on the ad which claimed to be selling 'laying hens and bantams, all sorts'. It was a mobile number, and getting the answer phone, I left a short message and my number. My friend and I went off then and had a brief adventure involving casing a house and a flat tyre, but that's not relevant, so I'll pick up the story at the point where the lady called me back and said I was more than welcome to pop around and view the birds.
Denise knew the street where the hens were located, and we pulled up outside a typical (for where I live) terraced house. We were taken down a long, narrow garden, where at the bottom were several small sheds. I could hear the hens from the street, and I could smell them from a good ten feet away.
In two sheds, there were maybe thirty birds. Mostly cross breeds, with the occasional utility thrown in for good measure. In short, not pets for the garden. Several cockerals took umbridge at being disturbed, and set about crowing to show us how hard they were. The hens were all nervous and flighty. I knew fairly soon after we stepped through the hedge to the sheds that I didn't want any of these birds. So that left me with that curiously English problem of having to say no.
I made a show of examining a few birds, made a few half hearted attempts at implying I wasn't interested, then panicked. I began to seriously consider buying one of these completely unsuitable hens just so I could leave without causing offence. I asked some questions, stalling for time. Desperately, I looked through the heaving flock in a bid to pick out the smallest/healthiest/least vulture like bird available. Even that hen was far too big for my other girls. Pekins have very short legs, and these hens all looked like they were on stilts. I had visions of my ladies squawking up the garden as this amazonian hen, with her ginormous pins, goose stepped after them to deliver vicious head pecks.
Realising that the conversation was floundering, and that the lady of the house was looking at me expecting me to make my choice, I settled on a flat out lie. I casually stated that I hadn't brought a box with me to take any hens home (LIE! Denise had brought her cat carrier) and that I had to talk to my husband first (LIE! He didn't even know I was out prospecting a hen purchase). I followed up with the ultimate load of chicken guano: I'll call you (BIG FAT LIE!!!!)
I can still smell the ammonia. I think that it singed my nasal hair.
Denise knew the street where the hens were located, and we pulled up outside a typical (for where I live) terraced house. We were taken down a long, narrow garden, where at the bottom were several small sheds. I could hear the hens from the street, and I could smell them from a good ten feet away.
In two sheds, there were maybe thirty birds. Mostly cross breeds, with the occasional utility thrown in for good measure. In short, not pets for the garden. Several cockerals took umbridge at being disturbed, and set about crowing to show us how hard they were. The hens were all nervous and flighty. I knew fairly soon after we stepped through the hedge to the sheds that I didn't want any of these birds. So that left me with that curiously English problem of having to say no.
I made a show of examining a few birds, made a few half hearted attempts at implying I wasn't interested, then panicked. I began to seriously consider buying one of these completely unsuitable hens just so I could leave without causing offence. I asked some questions, stalling for time. Desperately, I looked through the heaving flock in a bid to pick out the smallest/healthiest/least vulture like bird available. Even that hen was far too big for my other girls. Pekins have very short legs, and these hens all looked like they were on stilts. I had visions of my ladies squawking up the garden as this amazonian hen, with her ginormous pins, goose stepped after them to deliver vicious head pecks.
Realising that the conversation was floundering, and that the lady of the house was looking at me expecting me to make my choice, I settled on a flat out lie. I casually stated that I hadn't brought a box with me to take any hens home (LIE! Denise had brought her cat carrier) and that I had to talk to my husband first (LIE! He didn't even know I was out prospecting a hen purchase). I followed up with the ultimate load of chicken guano: I'll call you (BIG FAT LIE!!!!)
I can still smell the ammonia. I think that it singed my nasal hair.
Thursday, 12 March 2009
The pecking order
When I just had Maude and Mabel, I used to think that Maude was the top hen. She seemed the most confident, the most likely to come haring up the garden for treats, and the most likely to land on visitors shoulders, scaring the crap out of them. Mabel was more aloof, preferring to watch all of her sisters shenanigans from a distance. Even when we threw Doris and Belinda into the mix, I still thought that Maude ruled the roost. Both of the older chooks gave the newbies a bit of a chase and put them in their place, but it was still Maude that was the show off. I have since learned that an outgoing personality has absolutely nothing to do with hen hierarchy.
Once Delilah and Mini arrived, it became apparant very fast that Mabel was top hen. She strutted around, hackles raised, bellowing at the top of her lungs her displeasure at these new chooks being in her territory. She herded the other three members of her flock away from the interlopers, and anyone who tried to make friends with them got a severe duffing up. Her favourite game became chasing the new girls around the greenhouse in a Benny Hill stylee.
Within a month of the new arrivals, the pecking order was established. Mabel is top hen, and gives the others the occasional peck on the head just to remind them. Next comes Maude. Doris, Belinda and Delilah seem to be somewhere in the middle, and poor little Mini is at the bottom.
Being bottom hen is a bit rubbish. She has to eat last, go to bed last and rarely gets any of the treats. Belinda is particularly fond of grabbing a beakful of her neck feathers if she gets too close, and Doris thinks chasing her is the best fun ever. Upsetting as this can be to watch, it's normal hen behaviour. Mini isn't mature yet, so she automatically has less importance in the flock. Hopefully, when she comes into lay, she'll grow some metaphorical balls and peck back, and they'll learn to leave her alone. She is, already, more integrated in the flock than she was, and is beginning to steal bits of bread and tear off up the garden with them. My little girl is growing up, and learning that being a devious bitch might be the only way of getting her fair share. Good on her.
A recent development in the pecking order involves Mabel jumping on the others' backs, in imitation of a cockeral. The first time she did this, Doris let out a bewildered squawk. The second time, she crouched. I presume that this is just Mabel asserting her authority, and not an indication that I have a rampant lesbian chicken on my hands. Time will tell.
Once Delilah and Mini arrived, it became apparant very fast that Mabel was top hen. She strutted around, hackles raised, bellowing at the top of her lungs her displeasure at these new chooks being in her territory. She herded the other three members of her flock away from the interlopers, and anyone who tried to make friends with them got a severe duffing up. Her favourite game became chasing the new girls around the greenhouse in a Benny Hill stylee.
Within a month of the new arrivals, the pecking order was established. Mabel is top hen, and gives the others the occasional peck on the head just to remind them. Next comes Maude. Doris, Belinda and Delilah seem to be somewhere in the middle, and poor little Mini is at the bottom.
Being bottom hen is a bit rubbish. She has to eat last, go to bed last and rarely gets any of the treats. Belinda is particularly fond of grabbing a beakful of her neck feathers if she gets too close, and Doris thinks chasing her is the best fun ever. Upsetting as this can be to watch, it's normal hen behaviour. Mini isn't mature yet, so she automatically has less importance in the flock. Hopefully, when she comes into lay, she'll grow some metaphorical balls and peck back, and they'll learn to leave her alone. She is, already, more integrated in the flock than she was, and is beginning to steal bits of bread and tear off up the garden with them. My little girl is growing up, and learning that being a devious bitch might be the only way of getting her fair share. Good on her.
A recent development in the pecking order involves Mabel jumping on the others' backs, in imitation of a cockeral. The first time she did this, Doris let out a bewildered squawk. The second time, she crouched. I presume that this is just Mabel asserting her authority, and not an indication that I have a rampant lesbian chicken on my hands. Time will tell.
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
First egg!
I remember coming across the first egg back in January with absolute delight. I saw this little, perfectly formed ovoid shape and assumed that a) hubby was playing a trick on me, or b) the kids were playing a trick on me. But no! Delilah had laid her/our very first egg! It was a ridiculously joyous occassion, and I really hope that none of the neighbours are in possession of a video of me literally dancing around the garden with glee.
The egg was boiled, photo's were taken (I kid you not) and the the other members of my family had a spoonful each. They proclaimed it the best egg ever, and I gave Delilah an extra raisin for being such a clever girl. After that, there was no stopping her, and she now regularly gives us 5/6 eggs a week.
Maude was the next to start laying, just a fortnight after Delilah's debut. Her eggs are almost white, and bigger than D's mini eggs. Two weeks later, and Mabel joined the layers club. With three hens laying, I was getting around 14 eggs a week, far more than we'd eat, so I gave a few boxes to the neighbours.
Just this week, Doris and Belinda have started laying. They seem a little intimidated by the bigger girls though, and have taken to laying eggs in unusual places rather than use the nest boxes. I'm not quite sure what to do about that at the moment.
So now I only have little Mini not contributing to the food chain. I don't expect her to start laying for a couple of months yet, as her head gear hasn't reddened up nor does she crouch. By the end of May, though, I expect to have six hens a laying!
The egg was boiled, photo's were taken (I kid you not) and the the other members of my family had a spoonful each. They proclaimed it the best egg ever, and I gave Delilah an extra raisin for being such a clever girl. After that, there was no stopping her, and she now regularly gives us 5/6 eggs a week.
Maude was the next to start laying, just a fortnight after Delilah's debut. Her eggs are almost white, and bigger than D's mini eggs. Two weeks later, and Mabel joined the layers club. With three hens laying, I was getting around 14 eggs a week, far more than we'd eat, so I gave a few boxes to the neighbours.
Just this week, Doris and Belinda have started laying. They seem a little intimidated by the bigger girls though, and have taken to laying eggs in unusual places rather than use the nest boxes. I'm not quite sure what to do about that at the moment.
So now I only have little Mini not contributing to the food chain. I don't expect her to start laying for a couple of months yet, as her head gear hasn't reddened up nor does she crouch. By the end of May, though, I expect to have six hens a laying!
Life with chickens
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So, I jumped in at the deep end, and learnt on the job. Maude and Mabel settled in quickly, happily pottering around the garden and scoffing all my favourite tender plants. And decimating the greenhouse. The kids were fascinated for about five minutes, and then their attention was caught by something else. The ever tolerant husband grudgingly admitted that they were sweet, and weren't turning the garden into a farmyard. I had well and truly caught the bug, and talked the other half into aquiring another hen.
During my chicken research, I had come across silkies. Silkies are an unusual looking chicken, with fluffy feathers and black skin. They are also supposed to be gentle and good around children. I tracked down a farmer who said I could have one of his young hens for a fiver. Bargain!
Except she wasn't. She was evil. My eldest son named this chicken psychopath Alice, a lovely sweet name wholey inappropriate to the honking, screeching mentalist that was penned up in the back garden. Alice hated people, showing her displeasure with open beaked hisses and vicious pecking if you came within range. Alice also hated chickens, repeatedly trying to duff up the other two until they perched awkwardly on top of the drinker, refusing to come down while the crazed Alice circled underneath with that Jack Nicholson from 'The Shining' gleam in her eye. After a mere 48 hours, we decided Alice had to go. Using tea towels and a bucket, we managed to secure her in a box and the hubby took her back to the farm. I suspect she is continuing her reign of tyranny on some other poor hens as I type.
A few weeks after the Alice episode, I somehow managed to talk hubby into getting two more pekins. I did this sneakily, by telling the kids that they could have a hen of their own. I tracked down a wonderful breeder, and 6 weeks after Mabel and Maude arrived, we had a 6 week old red hen called Belinda, and a 6 week old blue hen named Doris.
Introducing chickens to an existing flock is a tricky business. There is always a fair amount of chasing, pecking and bokking. I took it very slowly, initially just letting them all see each other while in seperate pens. After a few weeks, they free ranged/ chased each other around the garden. Five weeks after Belinda and Doris's arrival, they were all in the same coop and the pecking order was established. To my knowledge, no hens were injured during this process, and it worked well for us.
So, now I had my little flock. They waddled happily around the garden, scoffing everything in site and leaving surprisingly large deposits all over the decking. They also started to make proper chicken noises, other than the chick 'meep' sounds they'd arrived with. Surprisingly loud chicken noises. Oh dear. They favour a bok-bok-bok-BOKKKKKK!! kind of call rather than gentle clucking. Basically, everyone now knew that we had hens.
During my chicken research, I had come across silkies. Silkies are an unusual looking chicken, with fluffy feathers and black skin. They are also supposed to be gentle and good around children. I tracked down a farmer who said I could have one of his young hens for a fiver. Bargain!
Except she wasn't. She was evil. My eldest son named this chicken psychopath Alice, a lovely sweet name wholey inappropriate to the honking, screeching mentalist that was penned up in the back garden. Alice hated people, showing her displeasure with open beaked hisses and vicious pecking if you came within range. Alice also hated chickens, repeatedly trying to duff up the other two until they perched awkwardly on top of the drinker, refusing to come down while the crazed Alice circled underneath with that Jack Nicholson from 'The Shining' gleam in her eye. After a mere 48 hours, we decided Alice had to go. Using tea towels and a bucket, we managed to secure her in a box and the hubby took her back to the farm. I suspect she is continuing her reign of tyranny on some other poor hens as I type.
A few weeks after the Alice episode, I somehow managed to talk hubby into getting two more pekins. I did this sneakily, by telling the kids that they could have a hen of their own. I tracked down a wonderful breeder, and 6 weeks after Mabel and Maude arrived, we had a 6 week old red hen called Belinda, and a 6 week old blue hen named Doris.
Introducing chickens to an existing flock is a tricky business. There is always a fair amount of chasing, pecking and bokking. I took it very slowly, initially just letting them all see each other while in seperate pens. After a few weeks, they free ranged/ chased each other around the garden. Five weeks after Belinda and Doris's arrival, they were all in the same coop and the pecking order was established. To my knowledge, no hens were injured during this process, and it worked well for us.
So, now I had my little flock. They waddled happily around the garden, scoffing everything in site and leaving surprisingly large deposits all over the decking. They also started to make proper chicken noises, other than the chick 'meep' sounds they'd arrived with. Surprisingly loud chicken noises. Oh dear. They favour a bok-bok-bok-BOKKKKKK!! kind of call rather than gentle clucking. Basically, everyone now knew that we had hens.
The first post! Introduction
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Well, I've finally managed to work out what a blog is, and get this far. I'm quite pleased with myself, actually. So, here's a bit of background.
I wanted a dog. Really, really wanted a dog. Even got so far as choosing a puppy. Said puppy then licked my eldest sons face, and he turned into Quasimodo. Not good. It was a dramatic way to find out that he was allergic to dog saliva, and put a halt on dog ownership. I was disappointed, but rallied myself and announced that we would get a cat.
The hubby and I trotted off to the local RSPCA shelter, and chose a gorgeous little kitty. She was adorable. We all fell in love, and the kids thought she was the bestest cat ever. Sadly, the next day the hubby was unable to breathe. Literally gasping for air. Bye bye kitty.
All of this aquiring pets only to have to take them back was quite demoralising. The kids were upset for about five minutes, and then wandered off to watch Ben 10. I was seriously peeved at my nearest and dearests inability to tolerate dog spit or cat fur, and might have sulked a bit.
Now, during some hormonally unbalanced stage early last year, I had toyed with the idea of chickens. It seemed like a good idea; gently clucking fat hens would wander around the back garden eating worms and aphids (the bane of a rose lovers life). When I mentioned this plan to the hubby, I got an extremely adament 'No'. As he pointed out, we don't live on a farm. Or even in the countryside, really. Also, chickens look vaguely threatening up close. A bit like dinosaurs.
However, about a week after we returned Sassy the kitten (See! She was named and everything!) he had a change of heart (I suspect the fact that living with me was a bit like living with a harpy at the time had something to do with it. I was thirty last year, so a bit mental with significant birthdayness) Hurrah!
Then began a long, drawn out process of deciding which kind of hens to keep, and also what to put them in. After a few weeks of research, the coop was ordered and I'd decided that pekin bantams were the birds for us. After a quick word with the neighbours, I set about finding a breeder.
Pekins are small fluffy chickens that look like they're wearing huge bloomers. They are also docile, easy to handle and allegedly don't dig up the garden too much (Allegedly. We'll come back to this point later) They're not the best egg layers in the world, stop laying during the winter months all together and frequently go broody. None of this put me off. In July 2008, I collected two 9 week old millefleur pekins.
I wanted a dog. Really, really wanted a dog. Even got so far as choosing a puppy. Said puppy then licked my eldest sons face, and he turned into Quasimodo. Not good. It was a dramatic way to find out that he was allergic to dog saliva, and put a halt on dog ownership. I was disappointed, but rallied myself and announced that we would get a cat.
The hubby and I trotted off to the local RSPCA shelter, and chose a gorgeous little kitty. She was adorable. We all fell in love, and the kids thought she was the bestest cat ever. Sadly, the next day the hubby was unable to breathe. Literally gasping for air. Bye bye kitty.
All of this aquiring pets only to have to take them back was quite demoralising. The kids were upset for about five minutes, and then wandered off to watch Ben 10. I was seriously peeved at my nearest and dearests inability to tolerate dog spit or cat fur, and might have sulked a bit.
Now, during some hormonally unbalanced stage early last year, I had toyed with the idea of chickens. It seemed like a good idea; gently clucking fat hens would wander around the back garden eating worms and aphids (the bane of a rose lovers life). When I mentioned this plan to the hubby, I got an extremely adament 'No'. As he pointed out, we don't live on a farm. Or even in the countryside, really. Also, chickens look vaguely threatening up close. A bit like dinosaurs.
However, about a week after we returned Sassy the kitten (See! She was named and everything!) he had a change of heart (I suspect the fact that living with me was a bit like living with a harpy at the time had something to do with it. I was thirty last year, so a bit mental with significant birthdayness) Hurrah!
Then began a long, drawn out process of deciding which kind of hens to keep, and also what to put them in. After a few weeks of research, the coop was ordered and I'd decided that pekin bantams were the birds for us. After a quick word with the neighbours, I set about finding a breeder.
Pekins are small fluffy chickens that look like they're wearing huge bloomers. They are also docile, easy to handle and allegedly don't dig up the garden too much (Allegedly. We'll come back to this point later) They're not the best egg layers in the world, stop laying during the winter months all together and frequently go broody. None of this put me off. In July 2008, I collected two 9 week old millefleur pekins.
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