Fried Eggs?

Heat wave has just struck the area and will stay with us through the fourth.

Collected the eggs in short order today, as I wonder if they would end up fried if I left them in the hot coop.

My birds are 'all weather' birds, and by 'all weather' I mean they love an overcast day in the upper forties with no wind and not much else!

Still, they'll endure as they have every year previously. Never the less, when I got home from work, I rushed out some frozen vegetables straight from the fridge.

When I tossed the frozen tid bits into the run, they rushed for them like usual. But pecked gingerly once they realized just how cold the treats were. Lily gave me a troubled look and said "But why? The peas hurt my face. Why would you give me peas that hurt my face?"

Poor thing.

No matter, as they thaw a bit, the flock will eat them and cool down a little at the same time.

This weekend, I'll be sure to pick up some fresh watermelon for them as well.

When It's Time For Bed

Each evening the bedding down ritual is the same, though herself and I are not often present to bear witness.

It is incredibly convenient that chickens naturally put themselves to bed as the sun wanes to a certain point. In cold weather, shortly after dark, all ne has to do is close the peep door and then open it again in the morning to let the flock out of the coop for the new day dawning. There are even solar powered or timer powered devices for those fancy coop types to open and close the door with the timing of the sunlight. In warm weather, it's well enough to just leave the door open and let the flock come and go as you please (provided your run is secure from predators!)

Well, yesterday herself and I happened to be sitting on the porch enjoying a fine summer evening at just the right moment.

The gathering darkness had sent all of the hens into the coop as usual. Except for Hortense. As usual.

Every night it's the same. Coq Au, after a long day of keeping watch, listening to the petty disputes that arise amongst the girls, and being generally angry has had just about enough and is often the first to drift in and settle on a good spot on the roosts. He's followed shortly thereafter by several of the girls who nestle in on this side or that of him. A couple of hens mill about outside for a time chatting away with the day's gossip, or plotting dark lots that exist only in the minds of chickens.

They drift in by and by and with a little shuffling, they find suitable spots on the roost.

Hortense likes to stay out late and enjoy the evening solitude for just a little longer. In our first year with the flock, I was vaguely troubled by this. Is she at the bottom of the pecking order? Is she getting picked on? Nope. Seldom, if ever. She seems to delight in the company of the flock just as much as she does in her alone time, and they never seem to pay her comings and goings much mind at all. It's just the way she is.

Whether she is gifted with exceptional night vision or just stubborn about bed time, I can't say. When she does eventually drift in, it is usually pretty dark and she must find her own spot in the roost.

We don't peek in, lest we disturb the nightly bedding down ritual, but we can hear the sometimes uncomfortable 'conversation' that ensues.

Hortense: "psst, ease over, will ya? I want to squeeze in up there."

Myrtle, in her drowsiness: "Huh? How's that? Sod off, I just got comfortable."

Hermione: "If you wanted a spot you should've cone to bed earlier!"

Hortense: "Alright then, coming up anyway, ready or not!"

You can hear her leap up followed by the gentle thud of she missing her mark, or perhaps knocking a sleeping hen off in her attempts to squeeze in. Mind you, there is room for all, but they have a way of spreading themselves in such a manner as to make the least efficient use of the space as possible

The argument goes back and forth for a good ten minutes and I can only imagine Coq Au's growing frustration over the disturbance.

On the rare occasions where I have peeked through the window at just the right time, Coq Au can be seen keeping quiet, keeping his head down, and wisely not getting involved in the squabble.

Well, they work out there own politics eventually, peace is restored, and another successful day of 'chickening' draws to a close.

Good night, my little flock. I'll see you in the morning.

A 'Father's' Pride

The sun high upon us this morning and quickly heading for it's near solstice zenith.

A little bleary eyed, I walked out this morning with morning treats for the flock. In my shorts and flip flops.

I let the flock out of their run and into the yard. I distributed breakfast.

Although he's been relatively calm and quiet lo, these past many months, Coq Au decided to have a 'go' this morning.  So grateful he was unable to connect with my bare legs! Never the less, I was required to offer a sound kick with my flip flopped feet to encourage the onslaught to cease. One kick drove him back a couple of feet, he came gain, a second kick, and then agitated 'peace'.

As unnerving as a rooster attack always is, I am strangely proud of my baby boy. He still has it in him!

Happy father's day.

Renewing Magic.

I remember when I was very small and my parents had first obtained our own little flock of chickens just how magical t was, as a small child, to go into the coop to collect the eggs.

The rational mind knows this is a natural, normal part of living, but for a small child it is still a magical event. Long after the magic had worn off for me, my cousin still had that magic when she came to visit and would often ask to go out to check for the eggs.

That was decades ago. Half a lifetime ago. For herself and I, the first eggs fro our is flock were a new kind of magic and if you've read the early postings on this blog, I am sure you've read about the excruciating wait we went through followed by the sheer elation of those first eggs from our hand raised babies.

Yesterday, the seven year old daughter of a friend was visiting  and she asked if she could go visit the chickens. I hadn't collected the eggs yet, so I asked her if she'd like to help me do that.

Out we strode to the coop, and with the hens and particularly the rooster momentarily distracted by a fresh handful of cracked corn, I opened the nesting boxes for our young guest to check. She was delighted to find the eggs and collect them herself. She proudly brought the eggs inside to show her mother and beamed as if she had laid them herself! The eggs were cartooned and sent home with them to enjoy.

Children raised with chickens may not quite understand this thrill, nor children raised in the city with no exposure to these experiences at all. But for a young child, old enough to know what's going on, this first experience is positively magical.

Moreover, it is a reaffirmation of the magic of my own long past experiences and makes me feel utterly refreshed to seethe wonder on the face of a child.

Had an odd thought concerning the yearly ritual of children hunting for Easter eggs. Some chickens will lay eggs in random places if they're not used to laying in a box. The spring is when they start laying again after a brief winter shut-down. I wonder if some frustrated ancient farmer in northern Europe had a flock of hens laying 'willy nilly' and decided to make a game of it by sending his children out to hunt for the hens' best 'hiding' places around the farmstead.

Silly thoughts for a Sunday morning.

Will Never Learn.

I'll probably never learn.

Yesterday I came home from work and, with a goodly amount of daylight left, thought I'd let the chickens out into the yard for some exercise and wild scratch. Hither and fore they roamed without a care and nary did they once stray to the neighbors yard. Thus, I went about my business inside while they found an old, untilled flower bed that had last years' flowers coming up again. Lots of new shoots and bugs to eat there!

After a time, I realized my wife would be home soon and I should think about getting some dinner together for her. I am, perhaps, the worst cook. I cook only just so well so as not to die and my wife is eternally patient and grateful for a hot meal that she didn't have to cook herself ... No matter how terrible it might taste!  Needless to say, knowing the task would require my full attention, I brought out treats, pitched them in the empty run, and set about to gather the flock.

Already they had spit apart from the safety of numbers - much to Coq Au's consternation. So I rounded up two or three groups and herded them toward the safety of the run for the night.

Initially the usual complaints were being issued.
"Hey, it's still light out!"
"Quit pushing, I'm going!"
"But I was gonna go scratch around the compost for a while!"

And so forth. The whole, long way. At least until the lead hen spotted treats in the run, then the mad dash begins.

One inside, I took a quick beak count. Six hens and one angry rooster. We're short two hens.

Coq Au was already agitated and bordering on apoplectic over the missing hen and he, now on the other side of the closed run door, could do nothing other than pace and complain.

"I know, I know!" I said. "Keep your feathers on, I'm gong to get them!"

A quick trip around the side of the hose found Lily who had just discovered she was all alone. Charging forward as fast as her waddling legs could move her, she huffed and puffed back to the run for the safety and comfort of the flock. Coq Au was partially satisfied, but one was still missing.

I had just began the search wen herself pulled into the driveway, all smiles at finally being home from work. I clued her in to the missing hen, but by now we knw the drill. We don't panic, we just know where the usual places are that she might be hunkered down in.

Who was missing? Hortense of course. The eternal 'me time' girl.

I checked by the compost, no luck. We looked under the canoe, nothing. My wife searched the thick knotweed while I peeked under the shrubbery in front. No sign.

We were just about to start getting worried and I began to take another circuit around the property.

It's just not that big of a property. Sure, she's one small hen, but she should've been found by now.

Half a loop later and she was in that old garden bed, wedged under some weeds/flowers, whatever ... In the failing light of the evening sun her black feathers blended in perfectly to near invisibility.

And she was dirt bathing.

"I hoe you're proud of yourself, you had us scared for a moment!" I said as I picked up the relaxed and unmoving hen.

"Y'know what? Yer darn right I'm proud of myself! I had a long luxurious dirt bath while everyone else was being corralled in. Sorry/not sorry!"

Oh well, she missed out on treats! "That'll teach her!" I briefly, but foolishly thought. Then I remembered that you really just can't teach a chicken anything.

Especially Hortense.