Chickens

The Rosies

 

The Rosies are a unique group of rescue hens. I've seen corporate chicken/egg farmers' hens before, but I've never witnessed anything like this.

 

I will not go into the specifics here of the unfathomable horrific condition these poor hens were in when I received them in February--that will be another article.

 

 

 

But, now they are thriving, loving their environment and producing eggs, eggs and more eggs. :) 

Self-service eggs for sale  ORGANIC, GMO FREE, PESTICIDE FREE, HORMONE FREE.

 $4 doz//$5.50 for 18

And, are they yummy. The Rosies free-range  which produces eggs with half the cholesterol, twice the vitamin E, 2 to 6 times the beta carotene (vitamin A), 4 times the omega 3, half the saturated fat and 4 to 6 times the Vitamin D.

Farm location: 37009 W. 156th Street Rayville, MO    816-319-2924

 

 

 

        

Mable

My beautiful Mables

As I’ve mentioned before, I always wanted a little red hen named Mable.  The first summer we owned Rocky Creek, I saw an ad in the paper about laying hens for sale.  I was very excited and although I only had a small brooder house and a make -shift fence, I couldn’t wait to fill it up with my first chickens.  I stuffed the inside with sweet straw; lush grass covered the pen; they were going to love it.

As I pulled into the drive of the farm, I could see a large dirt pen full of hundreds of chickens.  No grass here.   As the man began to catch them, chickens squawked and feathers flew.  Then I noticed it: clipped beaks.  I was horrified.  Having never seen it before the sight of half-beaked chickens shocked me.  It’s a common practice in the chicken industry; it keeps the chickens from pecking one another.  When there are too many chickens for the space they occupy chickens will be brutal to each other; much like people.  I went there to buy laying hens, but it felt like a rescue.  I purchased 15 Mables.

As the days wore on, the Mables settled in their new digs. They loved scratching in the straw and strolling in the grass.  After a couple days, I let them out of their pen to free-range.  They were “free” to eat worms, chase bugs, munch on grass seed and explore to their hearts content.   They strolled around the farm singing their little hen songs.  They loved it.  I loved it.

In the following months I purchased other breeds--each breed having one name i.e. Millie, Tillie, Marion, Mable, etc.

Through the months I endured trials of dog, coyote and hawk attacks.   I only had three Mables left.

My Sweet Little Flock

All my chicks come when called; they come running, flying and squawking to me; a horde of 54 little feathered souls.   Mables are sometimes first, sometimes last but they always come.   They still sing their special little songs that are so distinguishable from all the others.  They stay right at my feet during the entire feeding process and always follow me into the chicken house for their special treat.  I have a lot of red hens but the three Mables would always be special.

I count my chickens once a month and didn’t lose any all winter.  This spring so far I had lost two; both Tillies (Araconas –The Easter Egg Chickens, so-called because they lay colored eggs).  They just disappeared; no feathers in the grass, no clue.  Just gone.  I blamed coyotes.

Four 30 x72 Garden Plots

Spring time is garden time.  Every day is spent hoeing, digging, pulling weeds, planting seeds, transplanting plants, fertilizing, spraying (organic only!) and praying that everything will grow.   Today I had just taken a break and stood watching the chickens; Raven our beautiful black Jersey Giant rooster was crowing to his little hen-harem (each rooster has their own gaggle of hens).   He was leading his flock toward the goat barn when all of a sudden a red flash come tearing down the tractor road across the barn lot, past the chicken house and right into the main yard.  The chickens sounded the alarm; they all started their DANGER alert squawk.  A bright red fox in turbo mode only three feet behind a frantic Marion (New Hampshire Red) flew across the yard.   I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I screamed for all I was worth for Farmer Gary.  He was digging holes for my vining crops (pumpkin, watermelon, cantaloupe and squash) which I was getting ready to plant after my break.  This is a new garden this year so the ground is hard and resisting any change.  Gary has head phones on and is digging and rocking out to his favorite radio station; at first my screams go unnoticed.  But even electric guitars and a wild drummer are no match for a farm girls screech when her animals are in danger.  

Marion - Rhode Island Red

By this time the fox had lost her focus and run off into the woods leaving behind a bewildered Marion and a furious farm girl.  Gary and I spent a few minutes being amazed that the fox was so brazen as to come into the yard just a few feet away from us.  It did answer the question as to the great pile of chicken feathers we found last week right by the house.  

We went back to our garden.  I should have known.  Foxes don’t give up.  A couple hours later I looked up to see her run through my herb garden and up the hill beside the cellar.  I only saw her back side and that marvelous tail flying triumphantly behind her.  I didn’t see what was in her mouth.

I called my chickens; they came flocking and squawking.  Raven, the black Millies, the red Marions, the Easter-egg Tillies, Napoleon, Randy and Big Hoss.  Two Mables.  I called and called.  I went to the neighbors where she likes to steal dog food.  Still just two Mables.  I kept them penned up; it was only an hour till regular supper time.  And, called some more.  Two Mables.

That fox, that shifty, low-down, sly little sneak of a fox had gotten my Mable.  Snatch and grab.  The peril of free-range.  Yes, the fox is beautiful and I have admired her in months past catching mice in the snow.  And, she probably has a den of little ones to feed.   But right now, at this moment she is nothing more than a chicken-eating varmint.

Bad, bad fox!!

Josephine

Josephine: a black Cochin.  This is a very docile gentle breed.  We LOVE her.

Josephine is a widow.  Her friend and mate, Napoleon, met his Waterloo a couple summers ago when he was no match for the Fox  Who Lives On The Hill.  She is the last of her kind--at least here at Rocky Creek.  All of our other Cochins have succumbed to one predator or another--a side effect of free range.

Anyway, Josephine decided a couple weeks ago tha tshe wanted to be a mom.  I tried to discourage her because it was so darn cold.  But, her little four-year-old-self persisted and when the weather decided to zoom up to seventy several days in a row, I acquiesced. 

Some prospective chicken mothers (brooders)  don't take kindly to being moved from their original nest to a different location.  No matter if their original choice is not conducive to chick hatching.  So, when I readied her little "brooder house" (with the help of FarmBoy Gary and Bob (the tractor) I prayed she would accept it.

I picked her up gently from her original choice in the hen house; she didn't even fuss.  Chochins are just sooooo sweet.  When I put her down in her new digs, she protested slightly.  She fussed with the Pennies through the cage and walked the perimeter with a agitated gait.  There are two nests to choose from; I put straw in both and added 3 eggs in one.  As a test.  I didn't want to fill up the nest with eggs because if she decided she didn't like the new nest the eggs would have gotten too cold last night.  Yes, it's been going from 72 during the day to 29 and night. Go figure.

I checked on her throughout the afternoon and she was ignoring the nest.  But, by the time I shut up all the chickens at dusk, she was happily ensconced in her maternity room.  So, today when I gather eggs I'm going to give her a full nest. 

Oh, and don't worry about those 3 I put in yesterday.  Hens have a way of getting eggs to all hatch on the same day.  I teach about that in my Animal Husbandry classes.  (I have one coming up check it out here--it's the Backyard/Barnyard Chicken class: SPRING 2015 CLASSES

Check back for Josephine's journey to Motherhood.

 
Game of Thrones

Randy is my Ameracauna rooster.  As with all my roosters they were supposed to be pullets.  I guess the chicken sexers can have an off day, too.  Randy is beautiful, white with brown lowlights, a tight little rose comb and tail feathers that fly in the wind when he runs.  As an adolescent he bothered the hens incessantly-hence his name.  He was shy around the other roosters and always stayed on the perimeter of chicken gatherings.

Randy, an Amercana rooster

Raven, a Jersey Giant rooster.

Raven is true to his name and breed—Jersey Giant--and is jet black.  He was 6^th in line to the Alpha male role but was catapulted to first when his brothers gave the ultimate sacrifice for the deep freeze.  His tall red comb and large crimson wattles signal a warning to stop other males in their tracks.  He struts and prattles and woos the hens; he calls them over to share sweet morsels of worms and other creepy crawlies he finds in the ground.

Randy with his diminutive demeanor had managed to keep under Raven’s radar.  But, one day Randy came of age.  He passed some unseen rooster threshold and became a man.  Something changed that only Raven could see and Raven didn’t like it.  Randy couldn’t get anywhere near Raven or Raven’s little band of hens without getting attacked.  Raven thoroughly flogged Randy if he even looked at him or heaven forbid, a hen.  Randy learned to keep his distance.

Then, after months of this behavior, Randy had had enough.  He began to fight instead of flee.  For days they challenged one another.  I’d break them up and a couple hours later they’d be at it again.  After about 5-6 days they had a knock-down-drag-out and Raven retreated to the barn area leaving Randy the victor.

Randy crowed his little heart out and proudly took over the provider role by finding tidbits for the hens and marking them as his own.  Raven actually hung his tail, those proud plumes dragging in the dirt.

 When I fixed feed Raven came over to the barrels.  Normally I don’t allow chickens around the feed barrel area (Cassie, my Australian Shepherd enforces this rule) but Raven was so “broken” in spirit I couldn’t help but give him a little bit of oats.  Whereas before he would cluck and strut and call in the girls, now he ate in total silence.  It broke my heart.  I told him he was reaping what he sowed.  Chicken karma.

I have a small brooder house close to the chicken house.  I use it to raise chicks and as extra housing when I don’t have babies.  I had opened up the door to let the hens scratch around and loosen up the “layers” in preparation for spring cleaning.  (See www.rcvfarm.blogspot.com for my layering story)  When I closed up the chickens for the night I found Raven taking solace in the brooder house…all alone.  No hens.  Just a broken little man stripped of his ego.   I closed the door to keep him safe.

It’s been about a week.  Two days ago they started fighting again.  Yesterday I found Randy sulking in the chicken house, his beautiful rose comb torn and oozing blood down his face.  I went in search of Raven.  He was out by the barn; bleeding but walking around.  They both looked pathetic.  Is this any way to act?  Heavens to Betsy.  Why can’t you just get along!

Last night when I got to the brooder house it was empty.  I walked over to the chicken house; there was Randy on a roost on one side of the room and Raven on a roost on the other side.  Both soundly sleeping with hens all around them.  I feared they would be fighting at daybreak.  But, when I opened the door they weren’t anywhere near each other.  They ran out with the hens eager to be the first to find a bug.

It’s storming today.  I checked on them and Raven is in the brooder house with a gaggle of hens and Randy is in the chicken house overseeing the laying of eggs.  So, at least they aren’t fighting.  Today.

I pray they will learn to coexist.  To give and take.  To set the ego aside and live in peace.  I pray the game of thrones will be over and they will each take a group of hens and live amicably.   We’ll see.  I’ll let you know.