Category: Predators

Danger from the sky threatens the tiny residents of 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.

The Lollipop Guild: tough and incredibly cute, all in one pint-sized package

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.

Naughty munchkins all in a row . . . plotting how to take over Oz ~ er, Jenotopia

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:

Tempting the wild beast with treats

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.

Gold-necked Belgian d’Uccles in the foreground, and bantam Chinese cochin in the back

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:

Penny Pretty, a bantam Chinese cochin pullet

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.

My secret love: fluffy cochin bottoms

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Sharing a snack: Lucy Liu and two Gangstas

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.

Lucy Liu the Ninja chicken: beware the flying kick

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.

A distant speck in the sky . . .

. . . quickly emerges as a beautiful and fierce predator looking for lunch.

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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Ah, Munchkinland . . . I can hear it from my kitchen window.

White clematis opening in the morning

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.

Canada geese in the sunrise

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 ~

Sweeping the run

~ 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.

Hen breakfast

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.

Morning cappuccino in my favorite cup

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.

My Helper

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.

Garden statue and roses in the morning (see the chickens on the other side of the fence?)

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Bess and Sister wander through petal-strewn yard

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.

Hens enjoying the shade

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.

Basil growing by the day in the new herb garden

RT and I also worked on finishing the tomato cages for the vegetable garden.

Young tomato plant about to be caged

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.

“Wolf” in the field

Got sheep?

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.

If looks could kill . . .

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.

Collecting eggs

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.

Summer screen door for the coop: spoiled hens?

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.

Sleepy Edna and Bess relax with me in the grass ~ and are eventually joined by Sister and Baby Mija

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As I return to my projects, I notice one of our local hawks checking out the hens ~

Hawk scouting out some nice, fat 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 ~

There’s nothing like the smell of meat on the grill

Or if I am feeling ambitious, I might make a souffle or something experimental ~

Goat cheese souffle

~ 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!).

Just a little something juicy

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?

Wait a minute ~ is that a tractor in our subdivision?

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.

Yep, that’s definitely a 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.

Maple leaves in sunset

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“HAIL to thee, blithe spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art . . .”

– Shelley, To a Skylark

Ever since I was a child birds have been an important part of the natural landscape to me. My mother and grandmother knew all the birds and their songs, so perhaps that is why I tend to notice them around. Our birds were out in full force this weekend: when the Saturday rains cleared, the skies were full of songbirds, migrants, raptors, and our local garbage men, the Vulture Brothers. There were so many skyborne carnivores that at one point I put the girls inside so I would not have to be so vigilant watching them scratching around out in the yard—we had three red-tailed hawks, our little Peregrine, and the Vulture Brothers within ten minutes. They were all so beautiful wheeling around in the white, shredded clouds that I finally put down my garden tools and started taking pictures. I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to soar up in the clouds, feeling the wind against my face, looking down over the newly-greening landscape ~

Vulture Brother catches a thermal

The sky was certainly a beautiful setting for an afternoon flight!

Beautiful clouds drifting overhead

The red-tailed hawks did not like me photographing them, and they wheeled away when the camera came out. As they whirled up into the clouds, being the sap that I am I could not help but think of the John Denver song “The Eagle and the Hawk” from one of my favorite old albums . . . come on, all you folks old enough to remember this ~ just look at those pictures of the sky and sing it with me! Stand up so you can be sure to project over the cube walls, screaming children, or whatever else threatens to curb the freedom flow enamating from those lungs:

I am the eagle, I live in high country
In rocky cathedrals that reach to the sky
I am the hawk and there’s blood on my feathers
But time is still turning they soon will be dry
And all of those who see me, all who believe in me
Share in the freedom I feel when I fly

Come dance with the west wind and touch on the mountain tops
Sail o’er the canyons and up to the stars
And reach for the heavens and hope for the future
And all that we can be, and not what we are ~

(Words and music by John Denver and Mike Taylor)

There, now perhaps you have captured a bit of what my sappy self felt when looking at the sky on Sunday. Now doesn’t that feel better?

As I made garden preparations in the side yard, I noticed the home of a slightly smaller member of the bird community. This little nest was hidden in a roll of barbed wire left on the old farm fence at the edge of the property. Its resident had chosen a seemingly inhospitable spot for a home, but after painstakingly lining the nest with hair, yarn, and soft bits of grass she created a tiny haven protected from the world.

Hidden home sweet home

And of course, a reflection on all these wonderful birds would not be the same without mention of my lovely ladies. Here they are in a moment suspended in time: that one second of pause as they considered the plump bunch of grapes I offered them.

Moment before chaos

The rest wasn’t pretty: hens snatching, grape juice flying, lots of squawking and clucking. I should have worn a gauntlet glove. But the girls do so enjoy their grapes ~ just like their mama. Of course, I prefer mine aged a bit.

As I type this on Monday evening I can hear Lady Cardinal through the open window calling her husband home, reminding me it’s nearly time to put the hens to bed. On the east side of the house the song sparrow sings from the tree outside my bedroom window, as he will again in the morning. I love the rhythm the birds give to the yard, to the woods, to my life. They remind me of the seasons, and better yet ~ of all the possibilities.

*** Want a quick way to differentiate between the silhouette of a vulture and that of a hawk? Hold your hand out flat and spread your fingers apart: vulture wingtips. Now close your fingers together: hawk wingtips. Eagles fall somewhere in between ~ but they have been known to eat carrion. :) ***

When I went out to feed the hens their warm breakfast, I scattered some extra hay around the run so they could keep their little tooties warm and protected from the frosty ground. As I did this, I heard a chirping sound from the corner of the yard–and when I stepped out of the run to see who it might be, I found myself looking at the little hawk who has been hunting these parts. He sat on the old farm fencepost at the back of the yard, chirring and carrying on for so long I thought he might be injured. He wasn’t, of course–just irritated that I had interrupted his breakfast. He flew lazily along the frosty ground until he disappeared between the houses in the new subdivision behind me. He was a little thing, no larger than my hens, and slender, too–whether from youth or hunger I do not know.

In any case, the girls have been very good, and have kept us “in eggs.” I just love the gorgeous speckles on Dame Edna’s eggs:

Fabulous!

Sister’s and Baby Mija’s eggs were very long and very squatty today (respectively)–don’t you think they look a little like Laurel and Hardy?

Don’t see it? How about now:

And we don’t want to leave out Bess’s egg ~ here’s a nice, festive look:

I really do have important things to do. Really.

As I sat with the girls on the patio Saturday and worked on the blog, I noticed one of our red-tailed hawks drifting by and thought I should post a reminder about chicken safety. Everything likes to eat chickens. Even in a subdivision like mine there are predators aplenty: the neighbor’s cats, roaming dogs, raccoons (very bold and clever), possums, skunks (which will terrorize chooks and eat their eggs, but aren’t really fast enough to harm hens), snakes (also egg-eaters), and various hawks and falcons. We created the hen playhouse and run with security in mind, and I feel pretty good about its safety. However, when the girls are out in the yard, we are with them. Not until I have a secure chicken tractor will the chooks roam the yard without me. They are just too delicious to stay outside alone! Farmers with chickens as livestock can afford a certain amount of loss to stock. My four lady-pets and I are not willing to accept such a loss.

Until the hen tractor is finished (which, of course, presupposes that it has been started, heh heh) the girls will just continue to roam the yard during the day when we are home. At first I was not sure whether I would be able to let the hens outside the run without them just flying/running off—I have read stories on many other blogs and forums of folk spending hours chasing chickens around trying to get them back into coops. I handled this issue like I tend to handle other animal issues: slowly, and with observation of their actions. I waited until the girls had been with me a couple of weeks, and I had established myself as the Bringer of All Good Things. I then tried letting them out for just a little while early on a Saturday, so that I had plenty of time to catch them if need be. We slowly evolved to the schedule we have, and I wait to feed them until I want them back in the run (and I only feed them in the run). Generally they go back in the run when they are tired, hungry and ready to be back in their “safe place.”

A few Saturdays ago a nighthawk swooped down from around the side of the house and perched right on the gate next to the chicken run—while I sat on the patio! He had been chasing the flock of little sparrows that has been camping in the big rose bush, and when he missed his target and noticed the chooks he made a u-turn and landed right next to us. If I had not been there to hiss and chase him off, who knows what would have happened? He was not any bigger than the hens, so I am not sure if he could have taken one down—but Red-tail certainly could. And so chook-sitting is our answer for the time being. We are usually outside on the weekends anyway.