The New Girls

Hello friends, it’s been a little while, but I’m happy to finally come back to chicken news (one of my favorite topics) from Carriage House Farms.  So here goes.

The first time we received baby chicks in the mail, it was a joy like no other. At that time, I don’t think I was ready for such a hands-on learning curve, or to experience the loss of some as we have since then.  Recently, I read about ‘Muffy,’ a Red Quill American Game hen, who was the oldest living chicken on record, living to the ripe old age of twenty-three and a half years old, followed closely by ‘Peanut,’ a Belgian d’Uccle mix, who died just four months shy of her 22nd birthday, and I was determined that our laying hens would have similar longevity.  Hoping for the same long life for our chicks, I was woefully unprepared when my first hen died.

As some of you may remember, my introduction to chicken death began with Betsy, my sweet Ameraucana girl.  She was diagnosed with pendulous crop, and I couldn’t save her no matter how many hours I spent massaging it and limiting her food intake.  A crop is like a pair of old underwear.  Once the elastic goes it never snaps back.  This meant slow starvation because the chicken could not push food from her crop into her stomach and through her system.  Betsy remains the only chicken that John and I buried on our property.  The others I will discuss, received a cremation on our large ‘burn pile,’ with a toast (either beer, cider, or wine) and a few words said.  Every time is hard because these chickens become much-loved pets.  (Photo of when we took Betsy to the vet to be humanely put to sleep).

Next came Luckie Blue, my beautiful, wild rescue girl.  One day I heard her purr.  Hmmm, I thought, that’s kind of weird.  As time progressed the purr became worse, and by the time I Googled it and found out what it could be, it was too late.  When I found her lying on the floor of the coop one morning, I screamed a little.  Even though it took almost up until her dying day to let me touch her, even for a second, she was the Alpha of the flock, and she was a good and just leader in how she dealt with the other chickie girls.  A wild and unsocialized rescue chicken with a good heart to the end.

The loss of my next two chickie girls, Dina, my Cream Legbar, and Lacey, my gorgeous Silver Laced Wyandotte, is very painful to write about.  Dina had been ill for a while, and I could not figure out what was wrong with her.  Finally, I discovered what the problem was, but again I was too late.  On an icy cold morning, I found her under the coop.  Sadly she died the day before the medicine I had ordered for her arrived.

Lacey had been bullied for a long time by Brit, our biggest chicken, who is a bully and a coward (but I still love her).  Finally, one day, I took Brit and her BFF Goldie, who is the smallest, meanest hen (still love her too), and removed them from the coop, putting them both in the ‘prison coop’ for about three weeks (I sometimes call them Laurel and Hardy after the old-time comedians that always got themselves into trouble).  After those three weeks, I felt the punishment had gone on long enough, so I put the two mean girls back in The Hen Den.  I was worried that they would become bullies again, but I shouldn’t have been.  Lacey was not having any part of their nonsense.  Her feathers had finally grown back in from where Brit had pulled them out, and she had a renewed confidence, giving both Laurel and Hardy the biggest smackdown of their lives.  I cheered for her from the sidelines.  “Way to go Lacey girl!”  And then she assumed the role of Alpha and became another good and just leader.

I loved that brave girl. It broke my heart the day a Mastiff, who belonged to a renter in the neighborhood, bypassed my electric fence through a gap I had neglected (this is all my fault), got into the run, and decided to ‘play’ with Lacey, who saved the other chickens by confronting the enormous dog while the others all ran away.  I could not believe my eyes when I saw that dog through my sunroom window shaking Lacey like a rag doll.  I ran out there but it was too late.  I’m sorry, my beautiful, brave girl.  You should still be around today.  The renter, however, is not.  Shortly after that, he was booted from the neighborhood.

Lastly, we get to Pearl, my sweet Pearl White Leghorn.  Pearl laid a ton of large white eggs which is what her breed is known for.  One day, I found an egg the size of a goose egg in one of the nest boxes and could not believe the size of it.  Yikes!  That must have hurt, I thought!  Kind of like delivering a twenty-pound baby!  It was shortly after that I saw her hunched in a way that chicken keepers know there is something very wrong.  I picked her up, preparing to soak her in warm water because I thought she was egg-bound.  That’s when the egg gets stuck and won’t come out, but it wasn’t that.  I noticed that she was a few pounds heavier than she normally was, and that’s a lot of extra weight for a little chicken.  Of course, I googled it and found out what it was.  She would never lay again and had something called ‘water belly’ which was a terminal illness.  Her abdomen was slowly filling up with fluid, and we had an emergency on our hands.  I was afraid that if we didn’t get her help quickly, she would die before the weekend was over.

After laying those big eggs, I think she somehow damaged herself internally, where the plumbing didn’t quite hook back up the way that it should.  In the meantime, it was Friday, and too late to take her to the vet, so there was only one thing we could do to help her.  John and I went to the feed store in town, bought a large syringe and a big gauge needle, and prepared to drain the fluid out of her ourselves.  It was pretty terrifying the first time we did it, but after it was done Pearl lost almost half of her body weight and was feeling like herself again.  On Monday we took her to the vet, and he gave us a ten-day dose of tetracycline to give her and was very good about refilling the prescription whenever we needed it.

We quickly got over our discomfort in draining Pearl which we had to do every four weeks or so.  Then she would happily rejoin the flock, pecking and scratching just like a healthy chicken.  We did this for a year when I noticed that the draining wasn’t helping as much anymore, and I knew she would probably not be with us for very much longer.  One morning, she was in a nest box and her breathing was heavy and labored and it looked like she was sleeping.  I left her alone, not wanting to poke and prod her anymore, but by the time we came back from the gym an hour and a half later, she was gone.  I was happy we could help her have a pain-free and active chicken life for an additional twelve months, but I sure do miss that good-natured little chicken.

In the last four years, I learned quite a lot about chicken behavior and illnesses, and, out of necessity, I have put together quite a substantial medical kit, along with a giant Rubbermaid tub full of feeders, waterers, various netting and plastic tarps, and anything that I find that might help us raise and take care of our chickens.  It will always be an ongoing mission and I continue to add to that kit.

Last year, around this time, only Laurel and Hardy were left from our original girls, so John and I agreed it was time to add to our flock again.  Instead of ordering chicks through the mail this time, we decided to go on an overnight road trip and drove the few hours up to Webster City, Iowa, and the next morning we headed to the hatchery and picked up another peeping box.  I peeked in to make sure the chicks were alright and then closed the lid quickly, keeping in the warmth as we drove back home.

Oh, my goodness, they were cute!  This time we got little ‘Dotty,’ a Silver Spangled Hamburg, ‘Cookie,’ a Cuckoo Marans, ‘Polly,’ our Buff Laced Polish with big poofy hair, ‘Indy,’ a Whiting True Blue, ‘Emmy,’ a Whiting True Green, who instead of laying green eggs ultimately gave us pretty pink ones instead, and finally beautiful ‘Buffy,’ a Buff Orpington, who is the friendliest most attention seeking chicken I have ever known.  (The green goo in the first photo below is the hydrating feed they give the chicks for their journey.)

A few days after getting the chicks home, I noticed that Cookie my little black Cuckoo Marans chick was limping badly.  I thought maybe she had injured herself jumping around with the other chicks as they often do, so I gave her a tiny sliver of baby aspirin and it seemed to help her.  I should have kept that up however, because one day, just before we went out, I noticed her poo looked a little like scrambled eggs.  That is never good and is a sign of infection.  I decided that when we got home, I would shave off slivers of an antibiotic tablet and start giving her the tiny pieces to get her well, but it was a sad day when we got home and found her lying on the floor of the brood box.  We were too late once again.

Baby chicks grow so fast and before you know it, your little cotton balls have quickly become pullets. They start laying eggs at around 4 to 6 months of age.  As long as their fluffy down has grown out and they are fully feathered, they can go outside.  I keep mine inside for longer than most, handling them every day so they get used to us.  By doing this they become what I like to call 'chicken dogs,' becoming very social and friendly chickens who don't mind being handled, picked up, and petted.  It makes things easier too if I have to catch them to treat them for something.

The chickie girls love The Hen Den and the big secure area they have to run in, catch bugs and dust bathe.  Chickens are much smarter than most people think, and since the ‘summer picture’ below was taken, I have added a stack of logs and another perch to the run.  I continue to think of boredom-busting things I can put in there that will keep them busy and entertained so they don’t pick on each other.

We have very extreme temperatures here in the Kansas City area.  In the summer it can reach as high as 110 degrees, and in the winter, it can plunge to -13 as it did here two weeks ago.  So far though, the chicks are handling it well.

Recently, we had our very first winter storm of the year, and this happened (photo below).  I looked out the windows before I ventured out to the coop and was reassured when I saw the wild birds at the feeder.  If they can handle this weather, then hopefully the girls can too.  I suited up and trudged out there, worried about what I would find, but they were fine.  I’m sure waking up in a whiteout was quite a shock to the chickie girls, who aren’t very fond of snow to begin with, but they took it in stride just like they always do.  More importantly, they were very happy to see me, and especially the plate of roasted red beets, peas, and mealworms I brought them!

I am still on a quest to have my chickens live to record-breaking ages.  So far Laurel and Hardy are almost on their fifth year and are still laying eggs!  Hopefully, the other chicks have good genetics, too, but we shall see.  I will continue to do my part, helping them as much as possible, but there is always that learning curve, and it is a process.

Until next time . . .

K.