No Pictures of Lily.

No Pictures of Lily.

I've been trying to get a nice picture of Lily (of the valley). She's a very sweet hen and a little shy. More than any of the others she is turning into a little 'daddy's girl'.

When the flock is out in the yard, and I'm puttering about, she follows me everywhere. Sometimes I give her treats just for her, sometimes not. But when I turn and she's there, she patiently allows me to stoop down a bit and give her some gentle pets.

Thus far I've failed to get a nice picture owing to the fact that when I'm out, I seldom have my phone on me. When I am interacting with Lily, I even more seldom wish to interrupt our time by stopping to take a photo. At any rate, with my poor picture taking skills, I doubt the photo would look like anything more than 'just another picture of a little black hen'.

Old married couples like my wife and I develop cute, funny, romantic things together that are 'no big deal', but are part of the language of love. One of these things for herself and I is that in the evenings, I'll read to her. No big deal ... just some evenings we'll sit at the kitchen table to unwind and I'll read out loud to her. When she was small, no one really had the time to read bedtime stories to her. I can't go back in time for her, nor would I want to, but I darn well can read to her now.

One day, as I was reading, the kitchen window was open. During a pause in the story, we heard a small coo and slowly peeked out. Lily was all by herself, right outside the window. She was riveted by every word in the story and completely happy to sit and listen while the other girls were off foraging to their heart's content. She's NOT going to be getting her own 'story time', but she is more than welcome to sit and listen, too!

Mourning and Moving Forward.

Mourning and Moving forward.

The last two days have been tough since the loss of Matilda. I suspect she may have had parasites as well as being egg bound and one condition complicates the other. Any flock, even in the cleanest of conditions, can occasionally get parasites and once discovered, they must be treated. With young hens it usually isn’t an issue. With older hens who have already exhibited laying issues it can be more devastating and it is a hard lesson to learn in such a way.

I have read all of the experts and newbie alike who keep backyard fowl and in the best of care the odds are that at some point you are going to lose a hen along the way to disease, physical condition, predators, infighting, or any number of causes, but the loss is still hard to bear.

At just under three and a half years, she was no longer young, but too young to go. My only consolation is knowing she spent her final hours in quiet comfort, as best as could be provided, while I went through the usual steps to treat egg binding … but sue was too far gone. I am wrestling with feelings of regret that I should’ve spotted her trouble a day or two earlier, but with her age and the condition appearing chronic, it may have only been a matter of time before she was egg bound and suffering once again.

I am renewing my efforts for a balanced diet and am now administering a dewormer into their watering font as a precaution. I don’t KNOW that she had worms, but merely suspect. No one else is showing symptoms or issues, but I am being extra cautious. Plus have added a little DE into their feed and coop to combat the possibility of any other parasites.

Coq Au is showing signs of grief too, in his own way. He has a whole flock to look after so his grief can not consume him, but as he stands vigilant amongst the flock, I catch him looking wistfully into the distance. I wonder if he’s watching and waiting for Matilda to come home and that breaks my heart.

While out of the run and into the yard, the rest of the flock are hanging closer together. I wonder if the other hens aren’t keeping a close eye on one another now that they realize one of their own is gone.

The hard thing about pets … especially of the outdoor/livestock variety, is that even under the best circumstances, one gets away from you. As prepared as I am for these moments, it is still hard not to be a crybaby about it. As they age, other hens will pass. Of that I am sure. But if the gods be good, not for a long time yet.

In other news … the babies are doing GREAT and the circle continues.

Bruce sent me these photos of the babies out on the farm and finally all settled into the big girl coop with the rest of their new family!

Upon hearing of our loss, he graciously offered on of the young hens back to me, and I am eternally grateful for the offer … but they have their own family now and there is no need to separate them further. As welcome as a new (returned?) life would be, and as much as they would be a new love, they could not replace Matilda.

Meanwhile, here is a picture from the flock in the yard today … if you are having trouble telling which ones are Beulah and Molly (the two babies we kept), it is because they are growing so fast and almost have full voting rights with the flock! Will be two months at least before they start laying and by then the dark of winter will be upon us and the hens won’t be laying much. That will give them an extra season of on and off laying so their bodies can ease into it.

 
The seasons of the year move on. The seasons of life move on. The circle moves forward.

With Great Sadness.

With Great Sadness.

It is with great sadness that I must report that we have lost Matilda. She passed quietly this afternoon after being egg bound with complications. She spent her final hours in warmth and comfort as I was administering emergency care.

She was over three years old, past her prime, but not 'old' by chicken standards. Losing her in this way is devastating and I do not yet have the words.

Rest in peace, my sweet-faced hen.
Matilda - April 2, 2014 - September 21, 2017

Rabbit.

Rabbit.

The flock is prone to getting themselves into trouble in my small yard and a big thank you to my long suffering neighbors over the state of their bush. Only on a rare occasion has a stray hen wandered into the street, but never the less in tight suburbia it means they only get out of the run and into the yard when one of us is home.

Even so, puttering around the house (read that as: ignoring important chores and work to idly surf the interwebs) causes me to be distracted for long stretches and they can still find a little trouble. A couple of hens will stray from the main flock and be off to who knows where. So, I periodically go out for a physical ‘beak count’.

One day the count went like this:
Chicken, chicken, chicken, rabbit, chicken, …. RABBIT???

Through the spring and summer there has been a rabbit hanging around our flock. I mean right in the midst of the foraging flock, rooster and all. Nobody, not even Coq Au, is ever remotely troubled by the presence of the rabbit right in the thick of foraging space.

Like an ungrounded romantic, my mind immediately anthropomorphized the situation and created a fanciful tale of how the rabbit and the flock were friends, carried on long conversations about the doings of the yard, and was some sort of mix between ‘Watership Down’ and ‘Wind in the Willows’ … or at least Warner Brothers. I smile when I see the rabbit, and she doesn’t seem overly skittish of me, but neither does she come too close. That is okay by me, a wild creature should be wild, lest she become too ‘used to’ people.

I explained the situation to my wife including my fanciful assessment of their relationship and she blithely, but rationally, suggested that the rabbit is there for safety because the rooster will alert everyone if there is a predator overhead.

Of course. The rabbit probably also enjoys a little of the left over treats as well. Nature finds a way, even in the confines of a small back yard where domesticated chickens and (mostly) feral rabbits coexist.

But my fanciful mind still wants to believe that they are the best of friends!

Couldn’t get a good photo of the rabbit amidst the girls, but here the best photo my poor skills with my camera/phone-pocket computing device could muster.

Evacuating Chickens.

Evacuating Chickens.

The specter of Hurricane Irma looms large over the state of Florida and has triggered the largest evacuation in US history. Among the lives at risk are animals as well humans. Some concerned resident of Key West has rounded up at least a few of the famous feral chickens and is taking them along for the ride to safety.

I can't imagine rounding up some ornery, fiesta, wild roosters and bundling them for their own safety, but that's exactly what this Key West resident with a huge heart has done!

Story here: http://www.msn.com/en-us/lifestyle/whats-hot/this-photo-of-chickens-in-the-backseat-of-a-car-evacuating-from-hurricane-irma-is-going-viral/ar-AArtqKf?li=BBnbfcL&ocid=iehp

Here is some info about the feral chickens of Key West from 2014:
http://news.wfsu.org/post/key-west-chickens-local-nuisance-or-beloved-

My thoughts and prayers go with those in the storm's path right now ... my wish is for life and property to be spared from the savage winds and flooding rains! Be safe, people!

Famous NJ Hen.

Fellow NJ resident and his girl Blanche make the big time in this Affinity commercial!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hcLMivxOW3Q&feature=youtu.

Ten in the Bush.

Ten in the Bush.

With most of the babies now gone – Quick update on that, Bruce reports that the babies LOVE pork chops – Molly and Beulah are doing well. They are finding their way with the flock, but they do get a little bullied here and there. This is the same thing that Petunia and Lily went through when they were young and is all part of growing up with the flock but I still keep a close eye on the doings.

Yesterday, I had the flock out in the yard and settled in for some lunch and long weekend relax time. After a time, I heard Molly crying outside. I knew that sound … the heart wrenching sound of a lonely child. Normally when one of the chickens take to squawking over this or that and my wife wants me to check it out, I know straight from the sound that it is an egg song, or a slight political debate. Sometimes, when I hear a certain growl, I’ll go check to make sure there are no predators about. This time, I heard the sound first. The soft sob of a frightened child-chick.

I went outside and quickly discovered the two siblings were with each other, safe, and under a small bush and away from the rest of the flock. Part of the normal bullying is to chase them away when they get underfoot, and sometimes they are right there with the flock basking in their company. The cries were not of a serious sort as they had each other and were safe. A few meal worms and all was forgotten.

So where was everybody else?

A quick perusal of the property revealed that they were all parked in around a different bush.

My neighbor’s bush.

Again.

With rake in hand I marched over to find the entire rest of the flock buried as deeply as they could settle themselves under that bush enjoying the best dust bath they’ve had in days. Dammit, but there are PLENTY of dust bathing spots and PLENTY of good bushes right here in our own yard! Try as I might, I can not completely break their habit of invading the neighbors en masse and ruining their topiary! To their credit, Bob and Barbara delight in my flock nearly as much as I do and their dog, who hates all of humanity, is especially calm and patient with the chickens, but this isn’t fair to them!

Once again, I knelt down and upon seeing me and my rake, most of the flock reluctantly stepped out from underneath, shook off the dust, and sauntered off for more peaceful environs.

Except Hermione.

Ever encounter a ‘blank stare’ on a person? That ‘thousand yard stare’ of someone within whom there is absolutely nothing going on inside for that moment? It is the kind of staring that my wife and I engage in each dawn while the coffee starts to sink in. There is a different ‘blank stare’ sometimes, though. It is the stare you sometimes see on a person when there is a particularly tense situation going on. Their face is blank slate, yet underneath is an unwritten sense of vitriol, or defiance, or malice … depending on the situation.

Of these two types of ‘blank stare’, chickens EXCELL at the first type. No one can stare more blankly than a chicken. Hens are particularly good at this, roosters less so. Coq Au almost never gives me a ‘blank stare’. He is more inclined to have his anger written all over his face, all over the increasing tension of his body posture. But hens can stare blankly with true practiced professionalism.

Just to contrast this, cats for example, are seasoned ‘blank stare’ experts of the second variety. My cat Moonkie, like many other cats, will stare blankly with a cat-like malignancy WHILE they are slowly knocking something off of the table. You are actively yelling at the cat to get off of the table and also not to DARE to knock that thing off. Their stare is directly at you, acknowledging that they do indeed hear you, but world be damned, they are going to calmly sit on the table and knock that thing off anyway, thank you very much.

99% of the time, a chicken’s blank stare is of the first sort. That blank stare is bodily stating ‘there is absolutely nothing going on in this chicken’s head right now’.

Hermione, having scratched out a deep recess in the dust under the bush and having flattened herself into it in a moment of complete relaxation gave me a blank stare. But it was a blank stare with an underpinning of defiance that rivaled the depth of the ocean.

She was sitting closely to where I knelt. Closer even than any of the other hens who had now given up on the idea of the perfect dust bath and had already moved on.

“Hermione, you KNOW you’re not supposed to be under there!”

Hermione stared.

“You’re ruining Bob and Barbara’s bush, now MOVE IT!”

Hermione stared.

At this point I felt akin to a fool for reasoning with and even chiding a staring hen, so I moved the rake in gently. The rake, slid along the ground, touched her.

Hermione stared.

“You gotta be kidding me?” I nudged with rake.

Hermione stared.

I pushed a little more forcefully with the rake and she slowly arose and went in DEEPER under the bush! Her steps were slow and deliberate and STILL she stared.

I swept that rake deep under the bush and eventually ‘convinced’ her to move on. She took slow, deliberate strides across the yard staring the whole way until she eventually joined the flock.

Not sure which is more dangerous, a ‘smart’ hen, or a ‘defiant’ hen. I’m beginning to fear that Hermione may be a unique combination of both!