Right. Well, may I first point out that, understandably, it is an entirely different process to adopt two teenaged girls than it is to acquire four newly hatched infants. Good grief! When you add in that Fern and Betty are both molting and hideous, (and know it) and are deeply annoyed by pretty young things with intact feathers--well, my happy, peaceful little flock of biddies is a thing of the past. The in-fighting and grumbling is hilarious, the eternal chasing and pecking of our littlest gal, Lucy, is not so entertaining. Jason the--forgive me, Honey--sensitive rooster is having difficulty keeping the peace and has grown protective of Baby Girl, as he calls Miss Lucy.
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| Lucy is too busy running to pose for the camera often! |
Lucy is the Welsummer, our very own little Dutch girl who will soon be laying us eggs with chocolate-brown shells. While she isn't very flashy from a distance, her feathers are actually beautiful lacy variations on browns, orangey-tans, creams, and rusts which run around her body in bands of color. The roosters of this breed are the archetypal rooster on the cornflakes box, with the truly snazzy iridescent plumage.
Lucy is younger than Ethel, and very decidedly at the bottom of the pecking order, due primarily to being physically smaller. She is speedy and can corner on a dime, which probably infuriates the hefty bullies puffing along behind her. She spends a lot of time alone, because that is easier than being chased, although that seems to be slowly changing the longer she is here. She is also a talker. You may recall that I have a soft spot for chickens who will talk to me. [Oh, christ. You may also recall that I really do try to remember that other people will be reading this, and therefore watch the crazy-chicken-lady talk. Sheesh.]
Anyway, Lucy does not allow me to pick her up without a chase and/or panicky uproar during the day...but once I catch her (or at night when everyone is sleepy) she is very calm and curious and quietly has a lot to say. I am accustomed to big heavy ladies, and she is still small and sleek. Tucked under my arm, she tilts her head to look me in the eye and gives me soft little comments about what it is like to be Lucy. Since she is picked on so thoroughly, we all have a bit of a soft spot for her.
Ethel is beautiful. And plump. Her breed is one of the classics in American backyards, the Barred Plymouth Rock or simply Barred Rock, with characteristic black and white horizontal pinstriping. Her colors are striking, and she is wonderfully rounded and chubby--however, she also cracks me up because her red, regal comb flops over, strongly reminiscent of a beret, and gives her a very dashing, devil-may-care look that I don't think is terribly representative of her personality. She did, however, manage to muscle her way onto the roost after only a few days of living here. She is a different color variation on Fern's breed, and Fern--if you recall--is one big biddy.
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| Ethel and Roxie |
I apologize about the blurry photos...but then again, with her thin stripes, even curvy Ethel is difficult to capture without enough of a blur to make you feel a seizure coming on:
Sorry. :)
Within a few days of joining the flock, Ethel started laying her big, pinkish-brown eggs, which are, not surprisingly, very similar to Fern's. Ethel was also quick to start hanging out with the older ladies, since the brunt of the pecking-order-fallout seemed to be geared toward Lucy. In hope of treats, Ethel will allow me to get much closer to her than Lucy does and can even be convinced to eat out of my hand.
The best time, with either of the new girls, is at bedtime. Lucy really, really thinks that she should be allowed to sleep in the nest box, since the roost is a terrifying gauntlet of potential peckers. I, however, am not convinced--the best way to keep a nest box clean (and therefore the eggs that follow) is to keep the gals from sleeping there. Lots of...er...digestion happens while the girls are sleeping, if you catch my drift. And so, when we lock up the flock, either Jason or I get the pleasure of snuggling little Lucy for a moment as we transfer her to the roost for the night.
Not only is the snuggling part fun, but the grousing and bitching from the roost after we smoosh Lucy in the middle of all the complaining feathers is completely hilarious. We immediately rush over to turn out the light (which eliminates pecking, since they can't see) and usually stand there for a second to listen to everyone grumble and stamp around while they readjust on the roost, with an occasional rasping squawk for punctuation and emphasis. Roxie, of course, is the loudest, but everyone is completely annoyed and sounds like they've been smoking for fifty years.
Better than TV, folks, better than TV.
While I had read, prior to adopting older girls, that a young chicken who has been raised by a hen rather than a human will never be quite as trusting, it is far clearer when you witness it every day. Lucy and Ethel and I are very aware of each other, careful around each other, and not lacking a degree of curiosity and intrigue regarding each other--but there is an insurmountable cautiousness to our interactions that is noticeably absent with the older girls. While Betty may have no intention of letting me pick her up, this is based on her personal preference and will, not because she is fundamentally scared of me. While there is definite fear evident in Lucy and Ethel, it is also interesting to me how quickly and completely they settle down in my arms. My original gals will tolerate being held at length with far less grace, perhaps because they aren't living in fear of humanity. Who truly understands the poultry psyche, I ask you?
Another factor in our changing flock is the reality that I have had significantly less time to just hang out with the gals since Lucy and Ethel have joined us.
*sigh*
This is both a symptom of cooler weather and working to juggle my new job while still teaching at the preschool garden and writing (ta da!) a book on backyard chickens. Oh, and I still have those three short papers to turn in for school. And Christmas to figure out, in Year Two of DIY. Sorry, sorry. Back to the point: maybe the new girls and I just need a little more time to get to know each other. [After all, the general gregariousness of the flock has declined without our chicken-human ambassador, Ramona--it must be said. Sobered up, we have.]
In any case, we are all here together and ready for winter. I've ordered a base heater for their galvanized waterer, although I imagine I will supplement just a little with the heat lamp still, on the worst of the bitter nights to come. The coop has undergone its biannual clean-and-disinfect extravaganza, using a shovel, shop vac, and vinegar/hot water-wipe-down.
The accumulated bedding, half composted already, is used as mulch for the garden beds next in rotation, and in the spring can be turned under the soil prior to planting if needed. A 4-5" layer of clean straw is fluffed into place, and the cozy coop is ready. I'll continue fluffing it, to sift the solid material to the bottom to start composting, and occasionally adding another layer of clean straw all winter, until it is close to 12" deep and a nicely insulating floor for the gals. The deep litter method of bedding the ladies is a great way to manage your manure and fertilize your garden.
Another fun addition to our chicken routine has been the partnership we've struck up with one of my student's home brewing operations. They needed a place for their boiled grains, after extracting what they need for superior beer...and my ladies are mighty partial to any sort of carbohydrate, if you recall. Bliss ensues. Recycling at its finest!
