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Category: Housing
Danger in Oz
It was inevitable.
The first day I walked out to the new Banty Playhouse and saw a row of tiny chickens waiting for me on the front porch, that song from the Wizard of Oz sprang to mind: “We represent the Lollipop Guild . . .“. Not the Lullabye League, mind you; these little chickens may be ladies, but lullabye certainly does not apply to them.
No, the little gents with tough faces and pug noses shuffling along are the ones I think of when I see my little feather-footed chickens who don’t really know they’re small.
The mini chickens are all settled into their playhouse, so Hen Mama has a bit more time to visit with them and enjoy their antics. I have had people ask me, “Why bantams?” Standard-sized chickens are surely sufficient for the average egg-eating chicken owner, and they are plenty entertaining. Then there is the issue of cracking two to three bantam eggs for every standard one in recipes. Why, then, should I bother keeping smaller birds?
Well good golly Miss Molly, just take a look at this face:
Bantam chickens eat less than standard-sized birds, and they are easier to keep clean than standards. Their size makes them somewhat easier for children to handle. More importantly, though, bantam chickens are just plain adorable. They move faster than standard-sized birds, they tend to be more active than standards, they come in hundreds of shapes and colors, and their little personalities are sweet, curious, friendly and precocious. Wading into a flock of these bouncing, peeping little munchkins is gooood stuff after a long week at work.
All the gals currently in the Banty Playhouse are feather-footed breeds. Besides having an entire flock with cute, fuzzy feet, the more practical side of the coin is that keeping birds with somewhat similar features helps prevent them from picking at whatever is “different” from the other kids.
Most of the girls are still pullets, meaning they are not yet old enough to lay eggs. Egg-laying usually comes between four and six months of age, depending on breed, time of year they were hatched, and other factors. The four gold-necked Belgian d’Uccles are pullets, but as they are approaching egg-laying age their combs are getting larger and redder. One is even starting to “pose” when I speak to her or pet her, which tells me she may be very close to lay ~ perhaps even in the next week or two.
Penny Pretty is not quite so close to laying, and she is also going through a bit of a molt (seasonal feather loss) ~ so her face and comb are lighter pink:
Even though I am cleaning up lots of fuzzy grey feathers from the coop floor, Penny is still fluffy and huggable. Unfortunately, she does not like to be hugged. She does like to sit with you ~ or on you ~ and enjoy your company, though. Just no squeezing, please.
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In the picture directly above, you can see two of the gold-necked pullets and Lucy Liu, my black bantam Chinese cochin. Lucy is already laying, so her little curled comb should appear red ~ but as she is my nosy girl, her face and comb are usually covered in muck and food crumbs. Lucy is also a Ninja chicken, and at dinner time I have to be very careful to hang on to the feed cup. When I walk in the coop, a sudden black blur flies through the air and Ninja-kicks the cup out of my hand. She is also known to grab snack bags and run off with her stolen goods ~ and if you ever see a cochin run with those fuzzy slippers, you enter a whole new dimension of cuteness.
Now, this munchkinlike cuteness is all well and good, but as munchkins know, Oz is not without its dangers. February is just unfolding, and January had its share of hard weather. Those animals who do not have a Hen Mama to feed them are finding food scarce, and those who prefer meat are wandering ever-closer to Munchkinland for a look.
Lord Red-tail has visited several times this winter, usually around mid-day. He circles and hovers, possibly wondering what birds are doing living in such fine, color-coordinated quarters. Dame Edna is often the one to call attention to his visits, dependably sounding the alarm and ducking for cover if the larger girls are free ranging in the yard.
This winter we also have a juvenile Cooper’s hawk who does not approach from high in the air. He watches from the trees or flies lower between the pines to sneak a peek at the ladies. He is still young, though, and he always gives away his position with his distinctive peeps.
The sky hunters don’t just appear in the daytime: just the other night RT surprised an owl taking a mockingbird 20 feet from the Banty Playhouse. I am sure the girls heard the commotion ~ and as I have heard Owl calling at night in all seasons, I know he hunts here regularly.
As chicken keepers know, these little birds are relatively defenseless against most predators. Stories of flock loss through predation are very, very common. Our answer is shoring up security through strong coop walls, reinforced vent and window openings, predator-proof fencing, and defense against digging intrusions. Keeping a sharp eye out for entry attempts is also a good way to stop problems before they start. A few simple precautions like this help protect my munchkins from sky-borne dangers (we have water buckets for witches, too) ~ so I have more time to enjoy my little friends and their extra-large cuteness.
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Saturday in Suburbia
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| Categories: Background, Chickens, Food, Gardening, Feed, Housing, Predators, Miscellaneous Stuff, Eggs, Dogs, Cat, Critters, Wine 
Another Saturday has come and gone on the Jenotopia suburban wanna-be-farm. The animals and I passed the day with a nice mix of work and play, so I thought I would share a slice of our typical weekend day.
My weekend day starts just before 6 a.m., when I groggily climb out of bed and prepare to feed the chickens. I am not a morning person, so this part of the day is sometimes a bit bumpy. Once I am awake, I am always glad to be up, though, as the mornings are beautiful here. This time when I came out of the house I was greeted by the sight of a small flock of Canada geese winging their way overhead.
By now the hens have heard me coming down the steps, and I hear their clucking and complaining (“Let us out!”). I’d better get to it! I quickly sweep up the run before their breakfast ~
~ and then I collect some scratch grains and grit (tiny gravel) to go with their gourmet breakfast of greens, fresh corn on the cob, chopped parsley, and broccoli.
After the chickens and dogs have been fed, it’s my time: I enjoy a double cappuccino on the patio as the sun comes up.
Suddenly I feel the tickle of whiskers on my elbow, followed by a small, wet lick: Thaney, my perpetual, obsessive Helper, reminds me she is here and available for whatever comes up . . . especially if I happen to bring a biscotti out to the patio.
Sometimes I will come back in and do some writing or work photos ~ but not yesterday! Instead I lingered over my coffee, enjoying the roses waving in the breeze and watching the chickens out in the back yard.
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The hens wander around in the morning sun, grazing on grass and picking bugs and worms out of the yard. On the weekends they will spend most of the day in the yard, munching and napping.
As I drink my coffee I look around and notice 500 things that need to be done. When my fidgeting gets unbearable I pull my boots on and get to work. This weekend I worked on weeding and finishing the stepping stones in the new herb garden.
RT and I also worked on finishing the tomato cages for the vegetable garden.
While we worked, the dogs ran around the field behind the house sniffing interesting things, chasing birds and digging mole hills, and rolling in mysterious substances.
Manny’s combination of age and tendency to get into mischief render him housebound these days; while I am outside I can hear him shouting at me from the window.
By now the sun is reaching its peak, and it’s getting a bit hot. The hens have been busy laying eggs during their play time; I collect eggs from the coop before they get too warm.
In early afternoon we work on other projects, like preparing the coop for really warm weather. I dreamed up a nice, secure screen door for the coop, and RT helped make it a reality.
When it’s time for a break, I sometimes sit in the grass and watch the chickens. They always come over to investigate, and sometimes they will sit around me and nap in the shade.
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As I return to my projects, I notice one of our local hawks checking out the hens ~
Girls, maybe it’s time to go back into the covered run!
The afternoon passes quickly, and some weekends we will fire up the grill and cook outside. Sometimes we do something fancy, and sometimes it will just be the nice simplicity of burgers ~
Or if I am feeling ambitious, I might make a souffle or something experimental ~
~ but no matter what we cook I will uncork a nice little wine (although the egg dishes will always call for something white, not red!).
After dinner we’ll let the hens back out, and I will walk the gardens with the dogs and my wine glass. We’ll survey the progress we made, and ~ hey, what’s that?
Yes, my neighbor is also a frustrated wanna-be farmer, and he is riding his beautifully-restored tractor up and down the street after dinner. I swirl my wine and envy his tractor.
The evening winds down, and the sun begins to set as we listen to a little Miles Davis on the patio. The hens quietly come in to roost and the dogs are nodding off, bellies full of whatever weekend feast we enjoyed. I will go to bed with aching weekend-warrior muscles, tired but happy after spending a day with herbs and chickens, dogs and tomatoes and juicy red wine.
It was a good day.
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Coop Improvements
If you’re in the States you’ve probably watched “This Old House” on PBS at one time or another. You may have even foolishly thought, “Hey, I could do that. I just need a few tools . . .” In your enthusiasm, you may have not thought about the fact that you would not know how to use those tools even if you had them.
And how many of you have tried a home improvement project anyway ~ despite enjoying an abundance of ignorance about the basics of carpentry, masonry, plumbing, roofing, and/or landscape design? Hmmmm? Be honest.
I am one of those folks. I freely admit to plunging into one project after another despite having no schooling in the construction arts. Or it it science? See, I have no business laying my hand on a saw. That doesn’t drown my enthusiasm one single bit, and I continue to dream up projects to fill my evenings and weekends (and torture RT).
Sometimes the projects even work out. The hen playhouse and run are two examples of this foolishness. When I realized that it was actually still standing after a couple of really bad storms, I figured the design was pretty sound and decided to share our work for other crazy cube-dwelling folk who don’t like to relax on the weekends. Check out the coop plans here; there will be more to come as I finish documenting our little projects.
Last weekend we made a few updates to the coop and run, including a larger perch for the girls. I also got rid of my high-tech bungee cord door holder in favor of a door spring.
RT even installed a nice, new interior door handle for me!
Luckily we had plenty of help while doing our projects. There is never a dearth of managers around to tell us what to do.
See? There’s an awful lot of fun to be had if you don’t dwell on how little you really know. Just get out there and try ~ you may be surprised and amazed at what you can accomplish.
And if it doesn’t work out, well, you’ll probably have a funny story to tell. Just don’t hurt yourself.
The Big Blue Guy
My family tries to get together for family reunions as often as is reasonably possible for so many diverse and busy lives. These gatherings—or gatherings of any kind, for that matter—are confusing for kids, who often do not know who’s who, and do not understand that this nice lady’s brother is your grandpa, and between all these confusing relationships and all the strange people and the other kids shouting and the food and the confusion (and did I mention the confusion?), well . . . it’s just all a lot for a kid to take in.
My second cousin (my cousin’s son, the grandson of my uncle, who is my mother’s brother—got it?) was quite a little fellow several years ago at one such gathering, and he had a nice time playing with Big Daddy Soupski. It was quite a long time before Little One came out to my parents’ place again, and a lot of childhood events had passed in his young mind since that day. He could not remember BD’s name, or even who he was by relation—but since he remembered the sweatshirt BD had been wearing he just referred to BD as the Big Blue Guy.
Today the high temperature was nearly ten degrees colder than the 33 F the weather service predicted, and the night’s icy drizzle hardened into a clear glaze of ice on everything: the trees, the back door, the windows, the hen house latch, the roof, the patio steps, and—as I unfortunately discovered when I tried to leave for work—my car. I fed the hens some warm cream of wheat and veggies for breakfast, but I left the house worried about the girls in the wind and snow. The snow picked up on my way in to the office, and it was beginning to look like a pretty icy, nasty day outside—not Buffalo nasty, but nasty enough for folk here in the mid-South.
Enter the Big Blue Guy. (Come on, you knew that was going somewhere, didn’t you?) Around mid-morning ol’ BD Soupski got in his big blue truck and came over in the icy weather to put up a super-warm garage work light next to the girls’ favorite perch. The hens went from shivering in the corner of the run to happily warming their tushies next to the nice lamp.
Now, the hens probably don’t really know who BD Soupski is, or why he comes around—but I am willing to bet they are pretty happy to see the Big Blue Guy.
And so am I. Dads are nice to have around.
