Plan B

(continued from the previous post,  FREEZING PHOEBE )

So. The ice-pack trick had no effect on Phoebe's perpetual broodiness.  

I planted a glacier of ice packs in the nest box and she found her way around it, squeezing onto a tiny bit of bedding that remained in the corner.  So I rearranged the ice packs and then she scratched and tore them and the ice melted and dripped out and that was fine with Phoebe, who sat blissfully upon the whole soggy mess.

So I moved on to  Plan B:  The Broody Pen.

As it was suggested by several chicken-friends, I fashioned a little pen for Phoebe just outside the run.  She had water, food and safety, but she had no nest box to sit in. 

This appeared to be a comfortable setup, but for Phoebe it was a heinous torture chamber. She paced and fluffed and ranted and panicked.

In response to her distress, all of the ladies stood beside her at the edge of the run, and there they remained, compassionately close to the little jailbird. Because a flock is a flock, even if one member is doing hard time.

At night, I placed her back into the nest box, under house arrest until morning when I took her right back to the correctional facility. 
  
It took only three days to rehabilitate this little gal from 

to 

On that third day, she stepped out of the nest box, stood up straight, and returned to her esteemed position at the very bottom of the pecking order. 
When I opened the gate that morning, Phoebe accepted a peck on the head from each of her friends, and then tore out across the yard to trash my garden with her team.  

Everyone was happy to have Phoebe back.  

Well, almost everyone.

Freezing Phoebe

O.k. I just can't take it anymore.  

Little Phoebe is wasting her entire summer hiding in the nest box all puffed up and insanely broody. She has barely seen the light of day since late May. Her beady eyes are getting beadier, and every day she looks less like a respectable Speckled Sussex and more like a cupcake. 

It's time for an intervention. 

So last night I froze several gallon-zipper-bags full of water, and right now I'm heading to the coop to implement this diabolical plan.

Come out and seize the day, my little lunatic chicken! 

Lucy and the Ghastly Nuggets

I had read about hens accepting young chicks and caring for them, and I was eager to see if Lucy, having already raised a chick of her own, might take a shining to these wee nuggets.

So on a nice warm day, when they were exactly two weeks old and their Marek’s vaccine was well-integrated into their immune systems, I scooped up the chicks and whisked them outside to greet the sun ---

  

and to meet an honest-to-goodness chicken. 

Once the chicks were situated on the lawn, I carried Lucy over to take a look. 

I placed her beside the cage.

For a moment, she ignored them  -  but only for a moment.

 

Then Lucy lifted her head, raised her hackles, and shrieked like a banshee.

  

The nuggets just stared at her. 

Lucy was terrified. I wonder if she even recognized them as chicks.

She turned and lumbered away from their cage, and scrambled to the safety of my lap. 

Only when she discovered the tag on my pants

did her hackles settle 

 

and her panic subside. 

 

After a while she glanced up to find that those freaky little nightmares were still there. 

Poor Lucy. The prospect of enduring motherhood again nearly sent her over the edge.

I carried her back to the safety of the coop and the reassuring company of her geriatric companions.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

  

Once the chicks had grown and it was time to integrate them with the old ladies, I worried for Lucy.....as I always do.  Her disability is evident, and the youngsters might very well choose to pick on her.   

But Lucy held her own. 

  

She and Lil'White share the position of Top Chicken in the coop, and the nuggets have not contested their status.  

 

They stick pretty closely together, these little gals -  they're a sub-flock within the big flock. 

  

They don't aim to bother Lucy. 

But Lucy's peaceful afternoons beneath the forsythia

 

are no longer so peaceful.

And in the coop, I've noticed young Dorrie choosing to stand right beside Lucy --- 

---just because.

Dorrie reminds me of Pigeon.  

I told Danny this, and he replied, "Maybe she IS Pigeon."

Pigeon or not, I think Lucy's in for another big adventure.

Fern's Amazing Rubber Egg

They say that one nest box is all you need for three or four hens. But when one of your hens is Lil'White, that's another story.


Lil'White hogs the nest box.  Always has.  


Sometimes she pretends to be broody, like this: 

Ouch!


...I swear she's faking it. 


Last year I made a new coop for my five gals, with TWO nest boxes.   
One for Lil'White, and one for everybody else.   


For some reason, everybody preferred Lil'White's nest box, so there was still a line of anxious hens waiting their turn.

Then I had a clever idea. 

I placed a rubber egg in the unused nest box to make that box appear desirable.


Instantly, that second nest box was deemed eggworthy by the flock, and we never had a problem with a long queue again.   


But another problem did creep up:

Her name is Fern.


Right about the time of the rubber egg, Fern stopped laying.
Until that time, she was laying beautifully -- 

Her petite blue eggs were regular treasures... maybe three or four a week.  


The shutdown of little Fern's internal egg factory was a mystery.


There are several reasons a hen might take a break from laying during the summer -- hot weather, a molt, broodiness, poor health...   I didn't see signs of any issues or problems in Fern.  

She was still the little whippersnapper she'd always been. Still getting into trouble.

(Closeup: Fern waits for Lil'White to resume pecking her on the head.)


Fern must have had her reasons for not laying eggs, and I supposed she'd get back to laying pretty soon.


Sure enough, after a few weeks, Fern did start marching into the nest box each morning. 

She preferred the box with the rubber egg. 

Every day, she settled in and hunkered down.


And when she was done, she stepped out onto the upper perch 

to formally announce her accomplishment. 

The problem:   
There WAS no accomplishment.
Fern wasn't laying anything.  
No blue eggs. No eggs at all. 


She still isn't laying, and it's been FOUR MONTHS.


For four months, she has been going through the motions, daily. 

...looks like Daisy's been here already.

Does Fern think she's laying a rubber egg every day?


If that's what's going on in her tiny little head, that's okay with me. But I really am dying to know.


If she never lays a cute blue egg ever again, that's okay too.  She won't end up in the stewpot because I still appreciate all the redeeming qualities that make her...well... Fern.


I guess Fern is just a bit unusual...


But, then, aren't we all?

Build a Coop in THREE HOURS?

Heck, why not?  

Terry Golson and I thought we'd give it a shot.

She recently ordered a batch of fresh new chicks, and is hoping their delivery will coincide with one of her hens going broody.  

She needed a little coop to house the chicks and their new mom. 

We only had three free hours to get the job done.   

I was up for the challenge. 

Marky and I tumbled into Terry's back yard with our big bag of power tools, and everyone got down to business.

Lily ran circles around Marky, Terry brewed a big pot o' joe, and I sketched a coop plan on paper, based on the materials Terry had to work with.

Ingredients:

2 steaming cups coffee,

1 busted old go-cart,

1 slightly rusty bunny cage,

2 cups assorted drywall screws.

_____________________________

With saber saw on medium speed, 

chop go-cart into manageable pieces

and random chunks.

Using any means imaginable,  

affix go-cart pieces to rabbit cage, 

and sprinkle generously with drywall screws.

Stand back and sip coffee liberally.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

  

Terry and I performed our coop-creating feat before a large audience:

Lily, Scooter and Marky feigned interest until they each nodded off and tipped over on the warm sunny lawn.

Candy and her flock lined up to observe.. but what really captivated them was the grass seed that Terry had sown on the opposite side of their fence, just out of reach.

The goats, Pip and Caper, were mesmerized by the entire performance. Man, those boys are easily thrilled.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

The result of our labors:

a little broody coop in 3 hours!

....and with a bit of paint, 

anything

is

possible.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  . 

But wait-- there's more!

Click here to go to the blog at HENCAM.COM ,

where TERRY is telling this very same story,

in HER own special style.
(and see her critters, in real-time)

Enjoy!

GOOD MORNING

...continued from previous post: EGG EMERGENCY

Lucy got straight to work raising her little one.

Hear Lucy?   Budup.. budup..
When she finds a treat in the corner, she has a different sound for that.  the chick knows exactly what she's talking about.

The chick stayed put inside the nestbox for only a day.

Then it toppled off the ledge.   I couldn't figure out how to babyproof Lucy's coop, so I put together a new home for them -- something easy and safe and quick:

This:

becomes this:

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

This:                             becomes this:

. . . . . . . . . .



. . . . . . . . . .

Lucy looked like any new mother..

.....happy and exhausted.

 . . . . . . . . next post:  LESSONS

BUDUP

...continued from the previous post, BROODY LUCY

 Lucy continued to sit faithfully on her eggs and chant, 'budup".    While I'd read that a broody hen hops off the nest once or twice a day to get some food and to stretch her legs, Lucy wasn't able to get up.  The lack of movement weakened her twisted toes, and she just couldn't lift herself.  So a couple of times a day I helped Lucy off the nest.  I'd hold her for a bit until her legs stretched out and she could stand on her own.

She'd gulp down her food and guzzle some water, then she'd expel the most revolting poop, and then hobble about for a little while pecking at grass and enjoying her brief time outdoors. 
This was the moment Hatsy waited for.

 She'd make a beeline for the open door of Lucy's coop.  

She'd step gingerly inside and  utter a few sweet words to the precious eggs.

Then she'd scoot them around a bit with her beak and try to sit on them.  
She tried, but never did master the art of egg-sitting.

  One of the eggs would inevitably pop out from under her.

When Lucy returned to her nest, all it took was a look from Lucy to get Auntie Hatsy off the eggs.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

Although  we knew that only one of those eggs was fertile, I didn't want to cause Lucy any distress by removing the infertile one. I saw no harm in leaving it in the nest...

....until one night while cruising the chicken-websites, I read that a bad egg left in the nest could actually explode.  I grabbed a flashlight and scurried right out to Lucy's coop and removed the festering time bomb. 

She never missed it. I guess chickens can't count.

Lucy sat and sat - chanting  budup - budup - budup - day in and day out. 

Lil'White was only mildly interested in Lucy's business, while Hatsy's curiosity verged on obsession. 

At times Lucy appeared a bit annoyed with her little red friend.

  

.  .  .  .  .  .coming next:  A HARROWING MORNING