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The Easter Egg Hunt was Early This Year Thanks to Chicken Antics

One of my Americana hens decided
she wants to be a mama.  Lacking a
rooster husband, she will not be able to fulfill her dream, but her chicken
brain does not realize this minor detail will prevent motherhood.  Her desires led us on an early Easter
egg hunt for her beautiful blue-green eggs. 


She stopped laying eggs during the fall, but in mid-January,
I saw her sitting on the nest inside the coop,  and I planned to check on her later to see if she
had laid an egg.  She let me know about her
egg-laying success with a cacophony of cackling that went on so long I checked on her to
make sure she was okay.  Unlike the
peaceful clucking depicted in children’s books, this was a cackle, a “BA-aaaCK!”
which she repeated for five or ten minutes until she was sure all the other chickens
knew about her egg.
I keep them inside a portable fence, made of electrified netting, that I move regularly.  I don’t let them free range because of the threat of predators and the mess they create.

My chicken was proud of her egg, so proud that on subsequent
days, she flew out of the pen by flapping her way from the roof of the house
across the fence and away from the other chickens to roam the yard to find
places to lay her eggs.   My daughters
came looking for me, yelling, “There’s a chicken under the playhouse!”  Because of the low clearance under the
structure, we couldn’t get her out, and I told them she’d leave when she was
ready to leave.  I looked for eggs, and
couldn’t see any under there.  For weeks,
this hen got out of the pen nearly every day. 
 I should have trimmed her wings
but I never managed to find the time to clip the flight feathers, which does
not hurt the chicken, to keep her from flying over the fence.
One reason I don’t let my chickens freely range is that they make a mess of the flowerbeds

After yet another escape a few weeks ago, I looked under the
playhouse and saw a cache of eggs.  At
first, I thought there were five or so, but as I removed them, I kept seeing
more eggs.  Eventually I removed 13 eggs
from under the playhouse, making it the most exciting egg hunt I have ever
attended.  My daughters enjoyed seeing
the enlarging pile of eggs, colored a perfect Easter egg blue.
Some of the eggs I nestled among the blooming thrift as if hidden for Easter

When chickens decide to go “broody,” or decide they want to
hatch some babies, they collect eggs in a nest until they believe they have
enough, and then they sit on the eggs for the several weeks it takes to hatch
the eggs.  My hen hadn’t accumulated
enough eggs to suit her, apparently, because she left the nest to return to her
house after she laid the eggs.


It doesn’t matter to the hen if there is a rooster or not,
but of course the eggs won’t hatch unless a rooster fertilizes them.  Maybe, when my girls are old enough to escape
an angry rooster, we’ll get one.  Seeing
the life cycle would be interesting.


Everyone wants to know if we ate the eggs.  We tested their freshness by putting them in
a glass of water; if they sink, they are fresh, and if they float, they are not
fresh.  All the eggs sank, and we are eating
them.  It was winter when this happened,
and although we’ve had some cold nights we have had plenty of days in the
sixties and seventies. 


Eggs are designed to hatch, and the chicken won’t sit on
them regularly until she’s accumulated a pile of sufficient number, so the eggs
from which chickens hatch under natural circumstances may have sat in their
Mama’s nest for weeks before she began to incubate them.  In modern agriculture, where farmers ship
eggs across the country by tractor-trailer, constant refrigeration is
necessary.

My hen is now back inside her pen with the other chickens.  I enlarged the pen and moved the house away
from the fence, and she seems content.  I
remove all the eggs every day; she’s less likely to try to have more babies
than if she were able to keep eggs in a nest. 
 Of course, with chickens, you
just never know what they will do next.
 
The escaped chicken, returned home and dust-bathing
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How Many Roosting Chicken Does it Take…

…to break the top out of an apple tree?  Did you guess three?  You are correct.  I just have to learn the hard way about chickens.  I have never been around birds, besides wild birds, before I began keeping chickens, and I have been having a difficult time understanding how they operate. 

After the fiasco of the wing feather trimming and being injured by the chicken scratching my eyelid,  I thought I had reached an understanding with the chickens:  I won’t try to catch them in the daytime, and when I come for them in the evening just before sunset, they will behave. 

The dogs, cats, and cattle I have been around have either been tame or else guided by their stomachs.  Cows will follow a bucket, and can even be trained to come when called.  Dogs and cats of course will come to you, at least when they feel like it.  

On Saturday, I needed to move the chickens and their house below the garden so they could have fresh pasture.  Just before dusk, I released them and moved their house and fence below the garden from its previous home above the garden, which was out of their line of sight from the old location.  They saw me move it, but were not interested in following me.  I tried to shoo them down there, I tried to catch them, and I even enlisted the help of my husband.  We managed to catch four of them, but the other five were ran wildly around the orchard.  Not wanting to terrify them, we decided to leave them alone until dark.

The chickens in their yard, enclosed by portable electronet fencing

I went outside several times, but they remained elusive.  Meanwhile, they managed to fly up high enough into my apple trees to peck at and knock off a couple of apples, which they chased around and played with as if they were balls.  Finally, when it was becoming dark enough that I was afraid I’d lose them in the shrubbery and would have to use a flashlight to find them, I came outside and heard loud squawking.

Three chickens were attempting to roost in my two-year-old dwarf apple tree, and they succeeded in breaking the central leader branch out of the top of the tree.  The poor branch is no more than 1/2 inch in diameter, and is not meant to bear the weight of any creature.  It snapped, and this frightened the chickens.  I managed to catch a couple of them, and to stuff them into the cat carrier I use for chicken transportation.  I didn’t realize another of the escaped chickens had taken refuge in the carrier until I stuffed her flock-mates in on top of her.  I plucked another one from the mantle of our outside fireplace, where she had decided to sleep, and finally, at almost my bedtime, all the chickens were in their new, clean yard and pen.

I have made a new bargain with the chickens.  I will not try to catch them except in the late evening, like our other bargain.  And, I will not move their house out of their line of sight from the original location without keeping them inside it during the moving process, even though that is difficult.  It bewilders the little chicken brain to have to work so hard to find her house.

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Catching chickens

Catching chickens is not fun. I am new to chicken-keeping this spring, and I want to make sure my nine hens have a clean, fresh area to graze. Today I moved the elecronet fencing and their chicken tractor, a portable bottomless pen, from the area above the garden, in the apple orchard, to an area of fresh grass below the garden. During this process, the chickens all left the pen and headed for the compost pile.

Not in possession of much intelligence, the chickens couldn’t seem to find their home. My 5-year-old daughter, Ella, and I tried to catch the chickens, a sight which was humorous for any observers and helped me work off the calories from the Caesar salad I had for lunch with the physical exertion required. Chickens are fast, and they are agile. I am not.

Eventually, we did catch them all, installed them in their relocated home, and gave them some corn as a peace offering for the experience. When I last saw them they were busy looking for seeds and bugs in the grass, and I hope they have forgotten the trauma of the move. Next time I will move them while they are still contained in the chicken tractor after they have gone to bed or before I let them out in the morning.