…like looking out the back door and seeing a chicken stroll across the driveway. I moved them to greener pastures yesterday, but apparently the wings I trimmed about six weeks ago have grown back sufficiently to allow them to fly over the fence in search of even better food. Achieving another developmental milestone, Ella, 5, helped me catch those it was possible to catch, and helped hold the wings out for me to trim them. Presently, seven of the nine are back in the pen, and the other two, which were too wild to catch, were decorating the porch of my husband’s newly built Man Shed with their droppings.
Tag: trimming chicken wings
The Chickens Have a Crew Cut
After the chickens escaped yesterday morning, I put Scott, my husband, on notice that he was going to have to help me clip their wing feathers again. I never gave the renegades any food all day, and hunger did bring one of them home, but the others apparently found enough goodies in my flowerbeds and under the wild bird feeder to sustain them. They also made an absolute mess of my flowerbeds, a situation I remedied this morning by planting some annuals and putting out new mulch. I will have to wait for the hosta, which had just recovered from its last chicken attack, to grow new foliage, though.
Chicken-keeping is supposed to be my responsibility, but clipping chicken wings is definitely a two person job, and Scott agreed to help me, even though chicken-wrangling is not his favorite activity. At about 8:30 PM, when some of the chickens had already gone to roost, we plucked them off the roosts and clipped their wings very short. I firmly cradled the birds on their backs, in my arms, and he spread out a wing and trimmed an inch or two off of each feather. We looked carefully for the bright red-veined feathers, called blood feathers, that contain a blood vessel, but didn’t see them. If we had seen them, we would not have cut those wings. Cutting their wing feathers is like cutting our hair or fingernails; it doesn’t hurt them, but the haircut is not attractive. The known escapees got a shorter hairdo than the ones who hadn’t flown out, but everyone got a trim.
By about 8:50, we had taken care of eight of the chicken’s wings, except the one Barred Rock who defiantly refused to come back into the pen and instead was trying, unsuccessfully, to fly high enough to roost in the dogwood tree near the pen. I tried to grab her, but she ran off to the patio again, and hid under the bushes. Scott held up an old bath towel we were using to wrap around the chickens while trimming their wings towards her as if he were taunting a bull at the Spain’s running of the bulls, and, admitting defeat, she lowered her head and ran as fast as she could to the safety of her house. She began gobbling food, but I interrupted her feast to grab her, wrap her in the towel, and give her the shortest haircut of all the chickens.
This morning when I let them out of their house, no one followed me back to the house, and the last time I saw them, they were all pecking around in the pen at the grasses and bugs in the yard. I even set out a new hosta plant, beside the one they destroyed, because I think my chickens are finished escaping, at least until their wings grow back.
The Wing Clipping Was Not Successful!
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| Chickens do not belong on the patio: the patio became a favorite playing spot for the chickens, and that’s why we got the electrified netting. |
My kind neighbors came to my house yesterday at dusk and helped me clip the chicken’s wings, and I paid them for their troubles with a head of broccoli fresh from my garden. Although they were supposed to be docile at dusk, we still had to chase some of them, but we accomplished the task without bloodshed or trauma to the chickens. After straightening out their rumpled feathers, they climbed to their perches and settled in for the night. I thought my chicken-chasing days were behind me. I have chased many cows in my life, but no chickens until the past month or so. Chasing cows is much easier than chasing chickens, although at least when I chase chickens I don’t have to worry about them turning around and trampling me.
This morning, I released them from their house, and watched them peck contentedly at the new grass in the yard for a few minutes. I filled their water, and turned to go into the house, relieved that I would not have to worry about them. As I walked away, two chickens flew over the fence as easily as they did yesterday, and two more followed them. All of them followed me towards the house as if they thought I wanted some chicken company for breakfast. At least the other five are apparently unable to fly well enough to scale the fence. Those escaped four have been destroying my flowerbeds all day, and they didn’t even have the courtesy to kill the first Japanese beetle of the season I presented them, but instead allowed it to fly away after pecking at it a few times.
At first, I did not give them water in hopes they would return home, but because the temperature is at least 95 degrees outside, I eventually took them some water. I didn’t take them any food though. Lack of food for a day won’t kill them, and I hope hunger will bring them back to their house. Of course, they might find too much tasty food in my flowerbeds to worry about their feed. Tonight at dusk, my husband and I will catch them again, and give them a super-short wing trim.
