Dad's Favorite Chicken

Dad and Bunty

I Bet You Missed Hearing About The Chickens

When it gets hot out, they laze around like beauty queens with their wing feathers spread wide.

Today Conor found an egg that is literally no bigger than a peanut M&M. 

Clare, Brian & Theresa.  This is most likely the hen that laid the M&M.  This is Scrappy, formerly known as the feral or wild chicken, or the African Game Fowl.  She's getting pretty old; those unusual eggs most often come from immature or older hens.  Nobody else has been able to catch her since we found her in 2009, but Theresa (r) can catch her almost at will.

And finally, check out the huge, hairy spider we saw on the ceiling of the coop.  I had no idea they existed so big around here.  :-(

One of These Things is Not Like the Others

Remember this song from Sesame Street? This version is really old school...




Anyway, I only bring it up because today when Andy went out to feed the chickens and gather eggs, he came back in singing that song. And then he showed me THIS:


The first question I had to ask was, "Is she dead?"

That egg in the middle is 4.3 ounces. The average weight for a jumbo egg is 2.5 ounces.



One of those lovely ladies out there is a real overachiever.

Chickens Are So Selfish

Every evening, an hour or so before dusk, we go out back and let the chickens out of their pen, so they can get some exercise and fresh food. We also really enjoy watching their antics.

We wait until near dusk because we live in town and although we want them to have some free-range time, we can't let them out too long without supervision or they might get into the street or bother the neighbors. And quite frankly, an hour of idle chicken-sitting out back is about all I can stand. Stuff to do, you know, stuff to do.

That really is quite the backyard flock, isn't it? The original wild chicken, our six older hens, plus the nine hens I mail-ordered (and the thirteen roosters that came free with them), and nine older hens in my next-door neighbor's old pigeon coop. We feed and water the older hens (as well as collect their eggs).

When the light starts fading, they begin making their way back into the pen. The white chickens are always the first to bed.

Chickens like to get as high off the ground as possible. We used to have a roost about two feet off the ground, but then I got the bright idea to put one up by the ceiling, with a ladder to get up there.

At first, only the white ones went up there. But now it's becoming quite the hot spot.

The problem is that the chickens are all so selfish. They only think about themselves. As soon as they get up the ramp, they settle into a comfy spot and won't budge. Since there's only one ladder, this can pose a problem.

Shove over, willya?

Traffic jam.

Then there are those who are never satisfied, even with the high roost.

P.S. Some of the chickens in the pictures are no longer with us, thanks to a neighborhood dog. We lost one of the three white, one of the three orange, two of the five black, and two roosters. The white chickens are my husband's favorites.

Murder on a Tuesday Morning

I don't have any pictures to accompany this post. You'll thank me.

Yesterday, we lost six chickens to a neighborhood dog. It was a fairly large but skinny husky that got out of his yard. He found the chicken coop and seemed to regard it as some sort of chicken vending machine. We really don't know how he got at the chickens, since there were only two small corners where the wire was not completely attached. The chickens never bothered getting out before - how on earth could a big dog get his head (or whole body) in? I guess I grossly underestimated the power of a determined predator.

However he did it, Sarah saw him kill a chicken around 10:00 a.m. and came to get me. By the time I got myself up there, two more chickens lay dead in front of the coop.

At first inspection, it appeared that we were missing ten chickens from the coop. Six of these were found, dead, lying in various places in the surrounding field. They weren't mutilated, just dead. The rest were still unaccounted for until later that afternoon, when we found them pecking around outside of the pen. The dog must have pulled them out alive, and they were able to escape into the woods.

Brian was good enough to dig a hole and go around, collecting the casualties with a shovel, while I closely inspected the chicken coop, tightly securing anything that looked small enough to get even a paw through. Then I sat out back in a car, staking out the place, waiting for the criminal to come back for his next fix.

In the meantime, Sarah went on Facebook and lo and behold, there was a picture of the murderer, posted by his distraught owner. Apparently he always came back right away whenever he got out before. Of course, that was before he discovered the chicken dispenser.

Sarah called the owner, who came up to our area. I never got to meet her, but she found him without much trouble. She told Sarah that he's a very friendly dog who wouldn't hurt anybody. She didn't offer to make restitution for the dead chickens.

All in all, it was a very eventful start to a very stressful day, and it didn't get any better after that. It was one of those days when you're just glad it's over.

Feel free to run screaming if you just can't take another chicken picture.


Noelle proudly presents . . . . our chickens.

This is Blackie, or Oreo, or Ariel, or whatever...the Barred Rocks are impossible to tell apart, so they all might as well be named Blackie. The black ones are the easiest to catch of the younger hens, so of course they're an easy target. They are also fairly calm and patient when being handled. Good thing.

The first batch of chickens didn't seem to grow up as gracefully as these seem to be. This Barred Rock hasn't gone through an awkward stage - she just looks like a miniature hen.



Same for this Partridge Chantecler.


This is a Buff Chantecler. From the top, she looks like a perfectly normal miniature hen.

But look under her skirt! She has the prettiest, fluffiest little butt ever.

Wow, that WAS weird, even coming from me.

These are the older ones: White Leghorn and Golden Comet. Just look at the difference in body size. Although both breeds are prolific layers (we hope), the Leghorns will only reach 4 1/2 pounds.

This is one of the male Buff Brahmas. Each one is feathered differently in shades of tan, red, brown, gray, white and black, but they all have feathered feet. They look like little Clydesdales.

Theresa, the Chicken Whisperer.

We've been letting them out every evening just before dusk. That's about all the chicken babysitting that I can stand.

Dang it... I forgot to put that hammer away.

You talkin' to me? You talkin' to ME?

Chicken Ghetto

We still don't have a chicken coop, and we haven't even started to build one. Time is running out. The nights have been warm enough that the first batch of chicks have been outside full time for two weeks, and the new batch of chicks will be inside for another month at least. Until we get a permanent home set up, this is our makeshift substitution:

a Little Tykes Playhouse


an adjustable baby gate

stacks of lumber and firewood
stumps for roosting

an old rabbit hutch and a broom for a perch

and yards and yards of chicken netting.

Sarah calls it the "chicken ghetto."

Welcome to the projects, baby.

It doesn't look that bad in person. The chicks are loving all the room to run and flap, plus there's a rotting stump that is chock full of insects.


You're still ugly. Grow some real feathers.

OMG Chickens

I posted about our six chicks a little while ago. What I didn't mention is that after doing some web research, I chose two more breeds and ordered 8 more pullets, 4 each of Barred Rocks and Chanteclers, chosen for their gentle temperament and egg production.

We received the email two days ago that our chicks were on the way, and the post office called early this morning to say that we could come pick them up! We quickly got the brooder ready and prepared to head to the post office, but before we could leave, the postman drove around the corner. Since we're early on his route, he decided to do us a favor and bring them out to us!

The box is here! We're so excited!

Wait a minute...that doesn't look like 8 chicks...

Let me check the invoice...what's this? Males included for warmth?

You mean we have 9 females and 15 males?

Baby roosters??? What in the world are we going to do with 15 roosters?

This brings our *little* backyard flock to a total of 30. =8-O

I don't know how I feel about the way they use male chicks as live "packing peanuts." With laying breeds, everybody orders the females, so most male chicks are unwanted. Sometimes the male chicks are dropped into an incinerator as soon as they are sorted by sex.


Just look at this sweet little fluffball.

Incidentally, when we opened the box and started to take the chicks out one by one to dip their beaks in water (dehydration is a big danger during shipping), they started peeping so loudly that the wild chicken was attracted by all the noise. She usually stays away from us and consequently, from the house, but she came right up to the door when she heard the peeping.

Fast Track to Salmonellosis

Six chicks joined our entourage during Easter week. They were NOT an impulsive Easter gift; in fact, we've been planning for a long time to get some laying hens. This was just my way of forcing my husband's hand.

Three are White Leghorns, three are Golden Comets.

They were cute and fluffy for a while.

Now they're gangly, scrawny, half-grown chickens.

You're not pretty.

Well, you're kind of pretty.

Mom, can I hold my chick?   You've gotta catch it first.

You can't hide in there forever, you know...

Oh, yes we can...

Dozing in the sunshine

Okay, now this is just ridiculous...