Let us out!

I worked in the office today, which the ladies were apparently displeased about, since they knocked over their feeder and managed to spill all of their water while leaving the waterer upright.

They also doubled in size, again. How do they do that?

All was forgiven when I took off the mesh brooder lid so they could stretch their wings (literally...the first thing they do is hop on the edge of the brooder and flap flap flap flap flap. Then flap some more.

Poor things. I promised them that they could spend all day today in the coop. Then I gave them fresh food, and they immediately transformed into velociraptors.

Cooped up, redux

It was chilly yesterday morning and allegedly going to hail in the afternoon, so the ladies were stuck in their basement brooder confinement.

I took off the top at lunch so they could stretch their wings and perch on the brooder sides. I had my back turned, thinning some tomato starts that I had sitting on the clothes dryer, when I heard something slightly odd. I turned, and there was Miss Buttons on the floor. Overshot again. At least she didn't start carrying on, although she did the usual protesting when I picked her up.

We've handled the ladies since day one (only not too much the first few days while they were getting settled). Yesterday I started petting them without actually picking them up. Babette allows it for the longest before moving away, and Lady M is getting used to it, too. Miss Buttons is, well, Miss Buttons.

We're still aiming to have the henhouse ready for permanent residence on Saturday. Fingers crossed!

Fun with chickens

The ladies broke a new coop record by spending a full 12 hours outside yesterday. It rained off and on, but they didn't mind. In fact, they seemed quite fascinated by the sound it made on the coop's metal roof.

As soon as we released them into the coop, Lady M, Coco and Babette flew up onto their roost. Miss Buttons tried...and failed. Repeatedly. That poor chicken has great wing power, but really bad depth perception, or something.

Her response to failure was to peep as loudly and pathetically as she did the day I put her back in the brooder first. My goodness, the drama!

So, to the fun part. After dinner, instead of the usual grass blades we feed the little monsters through the coop mesh (yes monsters...there is nothing ladylike about how they go after those slender green blades), we offered a small clump of about four or five blades, with a bit of root and dirt attached. Lady M was the first to grab it, and this is what happened next:

Run run run run run run run. Change direction. Run run run run run run run. Change direction and nearly knock over the feeder. Run run run run run. Run over Babette. Run run. Change direction.

And so on, and so on. Miss Buttons stayed in hot pursuit, eventually getting the clump away from Lady M. This is what happened next:

Run run run run run run run. Change direction. Run run run run run run run. Change direction and nearly knock over the waterer. Run run run run run. Run into Coco. Run run. Change direction. Repeat. Repeat.

Again, better than television. Well, maybe except for "Lost." And NBC Thursday nights. But I digress.

"One grass clump, please, and make it snappy!"

Cooped up

Yesterday was an indoor day for the ladies, as no one was home during most of the day, and I was not prepared to leave them totally unattended in the coop until the henhouse has locks on the doors (even though they aren't using the henhouse yet).

I'm sure the ladies were quite ready to be out by themselves, but again, I was not.

All we have left to do before they can fully move in is build a ramp to the henhouse door, install the door over the door opening, put two roosts inside and get locks for the latches. We'll install the nest boxes and the external door to the nest boxes in the next month. They won't be laying anytime soon, anyway.

An Awfully Big Day

Yesterday was the ladies first full day outside. 10 a.m., out. 7 p.m. in. A good time was had by all.

Saturday we traipsed down to a farm supply store south of Seattle to buy a bale of straw plus adult chicken-sized feeders and waterers. The husband was bummed that we didn't go for the galvanized models, which would have looked cooler, that's true. But the plastic ones were much less expensive, plus I've read in a gazillion places that the plastic ones are much easier to keep clean. And clean is important.

I also bought some scratch (aka treat food for chickens), which three of the ladies are pecking at in the above photo.

We got the coop one step closer to full-time occupancy by putting another coat of paint inside the henhouse, installing the main exterior door, cutting the opening to the hen-only access door from the coop, and installing a long roost in the coop (which the girls only used briefly).

The day's highlight was when I came to check in on the chickens after moving some compost around in the front yard (the perfect antidote to a chemistry homework induced near-aneurysm, as it turned out). As I was walking toward the coop, I could here this almost ecstatic trilling sound. "What the heck?" I thought, as I crept forward.

Coco and Lady M were taking their first dust bath. The had dug a shallow hole next to the cement blocks on one side of the coop yard, and were wallowing like little feathered piglets. The hole wasn't very wide, so I swear they were half on top of each other, but boy did they look happy.

Babette busied herself picking bits of debris off her two sisters, and Miss Buttons pecked at her food and went about her chicken business like nothing special was going on.

I watched before about five minutes before getting the husband. We watched for a while more, before I bailed to resume my chem homework. He watched for several more minutes, before the two silly ladies finally got up and shook the dirt out of their feathers.

Better than television, I tell ya.

And yes, when we brought them in, they went right to sleep. They were tired!

Signs of spring

It's such a happy, hopeful feeling to plant seeds in the ground, watch them sprout and develop. These are Easter Egg radishes.

The trials of Miss Buttons

Today was the first time I took the ladies, in their brooder bin, out to the coop by myself. We were all traumatized.

Usually, the husband does this task, but I was home and he was not, and it was supposed to be a lovely afternoon. I quickly discovered that my wingspan is less than his, which made the journey up the basement stairs, down the deck stairs and along the garden path quite a trial.

Then, less than two hours later, the gentle breeze turned to bluster and the partially sunny sky turned to dark clouds. Time to bring in the ladies.

I learned an important lesson. Do NOT, under any circumstances, put Miss Buttons back in the brooder first. I have never heard a chicken make such an unholy racket. I thought Babette (the youngest by about a week) made a fuss the first time she was separated from her sisters, but she had nothing on Buttons.

I'm quite sure the peeping ("PEEP, PEEP PEEP PEEP PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!") could be heard for blocks, if not miles. Good grief!

Naturally, while this was going on, the other three girls decided to congregate in a corner of the coop under the henhouse (which has about a 2-foot clearance). It took me what feet like forever to snatch Lady Marmalade, after luring her with a blade of grass ("Come heeeeere, my leetle chicken."). As always, Babette was the last one in (wily little thing), but she does have the handicap of not liking to be left alone in the coop, which at least reduces the radius of her mad dashing.

But now all is well, and forgiven, naturally.

Moving day?

After finding enough clues online that chickens as young as 5 weeks can be moved outdoors (depending on type of housing, weather, presence of heat lamp, etc., etc.), I’ve decided to start transitioning the ladies to life outdoors this weekend. We’ll put down a nice bed of straw in the run, spread out coffee chaff in the henhouse, and of course install the locks on all the doors.

For about a week, they’ll spend nights indoors, and on the day I’m in the office I’ll probably leave them inside, too. Then we’ll transition to nights outside with the heat lamp. At least that’s the plan. A lack of clear guidance means I’ll be watching the chickens’ behavior, and the weather forecast, closely. Like a chicken hawk.

Bring me some figgy pudding

Actually, I'll take my figs fresh.

We have two fig trees in our back patio area. One in a bed along the house where it gets southwest exposure and reflected heat (good in our Western Washington climate), and the other is in a pot, which we can move as needed. Hard to believe the figs are developing already, with the chilly spring we've had.

That's a (badly) espaliered Victoria plum tree behind it, fyi. We had our first few plums last year, but it looks like we could have a bumper crop this year.

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N

That’s what yesterday was for the ladies, as they got to spend most of the day outside. As I painted the inside of the hen house, it was quite entertaining to listen to their constant peeping. I can’t wait to have them as companions while I garden.

Every once in a while, all four would suddenly go silent. I’d poke my head out to find them all watching a flying insect with laserlike focus. Or, I would realize that a plane or a goose was flying by overhead. It’s a whole big, wide, world out there, ladies. Not that you’ll get to see most of it.

All that fresh air and exercise tired the wee chickens out. Within a few minutes of moving them back indoors, they were snuggled down in their pine shavings and closing their eyes. “Turn off the lights on your way out, will you” Lady M said. OK, not really.

Loosey goosey

My flowering gooseberry shrub. Maybe this year I'll actually do something with the berries. One can hope!

The great outdoors

It was a lovely warm spring day yesterday, so the ladies got to check out their future digs for the first time. We’ll put straw down in the outdoor run before they actually move in, but they didn’t mind pecking around to see what they could find in the dirt.

They were peeping up a storm when we carried them out to the backyard in their brooder (you would think they were being plucked alive, or something). When we let them out into the run, they clustered together, looking at us like, “What the what?”

That didn’t last long, though, before they realized, “Hey, it’s roomy out here!” Silly ladies.

Wait! It gets worse!

So I went to another urban chicken class yesterday, this time hosted in the back room of my neighbor’s coffee shop in Belltown. Again, I asked my basement-to-coop-transition question. I liked this answer even less…24 weeks!

Oh, no!

Look at this chicken…

This is what 4 weeks looks like (give or take a few days). And 20 weeks is an average age for the start of egg production (I say average because I fully accept that the ladies will begin laying whenever they darn well feel like it, and not a day sooner…and I’m fine with that).

I feel like I’m flying blind a bit here.

Let’s all crowd together now…

Second sowing

Lettuce and beets and carrots, oh my!

Now that spring has sprung a bit more, I planted those delicious veggies, along with curly endive and scallions.

Oh, I can't wait for fresh garden salads!

I have to wait how long?

I went to an urban chicken class at my local park, and one of the big questions on my list (one that I had not been able to get a good answer to from book or online research) was: How long do my chickens need to live in my basement?

I wasn’t too happy about the answer. 16 weeks! That’s almost 4 months!

“Uh…can they live in a tub that size for that long?” I asked, pointing at the identical tub in a corner of the classroom. Apparently so.

But they keep growing! According to some online sources, they could be 7 pounds each by 16 weeks.

Gulp.

What are YOU lookin' at?

The chicks are growing like little weeds. I swear, every time I check on them, they’ve sprouted a dozen more “real” feathers. Look at Lady Marmalade perch on the edge of the brooder box? Isn’t she sweet?