Poor Elsie

Chickens are SO MEAN.  I guess I already knew that, but the last several weeks have provided further evidence to the cruel, cutthroat nature of hens.  Elsie, being smart for a change, started molting two weeks ago.  I consider this a smart move, because she will have all her new fluffy feathers by the time the nights actually get into the thirties.

But then again, maybe it's a defense mechanism because she knows her place in the pecking order.  Being at the very bottom, she generally gets bullied and is last to the food.  She also doesn't get to cuddle with the other three when they go to roost at night.  Abby, Frannie, and Pearl are all snuggled up together and poor little Elsie is stuck a few feet over, all by herself.  Normally this is ok, but when you're half naked and sleeping in a coop that gets to 43 degrees at night, risk of hypothermia is a real concern.  So she's smart for doing it now and not when it's 33 degrees in the coop at night, which is what it will be in the next few months.

So to compensate from the lack of love she's get getting from her own species, she's been getting some much needed love and affection from us this last week.  I came home to Shawn cuddling her in the living room the other day, and she's gotten some alone time, away from the others with the feeders.  She's been looking and feeling a little skinnier lately, and spends half the day up in the coop to get away from the constant pecking that the others are inflicting on her.  So she's been getting extra bowls of food in there to keep her company.  We've also been cooking her up some special meals: scrambled eggs with sunflower seeds and carrots, leftover beans and rice with corn meal, and extra piles of corn scratch that she can eat in peace away from the others.  She needs lots of protein and fat right now to help with the regrowing of her feathers, and she's getting there.

But MAN, chickens are mean.  I hope she dishes some back to the others when they decide to start molting in the next couple weeks.  But then again, she's so sweet, I'm sure she'll still get bullied.  (Sigh.)

Poor sweet Elsie.

She was looking like a porcupine for a while.

Integration Complete!

Though not completely harmonious as of yet, the babies have officially moved in to their permanent quarters.  Frannie is totally fine with it, though Abby still has yet to let them hang out in the run.  But I can confidently say that the babies are moved in and it will all be ok.  Honestly, it feels so good to say that because for a little while there I thought it was going to be hopeless and that we were going to have to eat Abby.  But Abby saved herself by accepting the fact that these new additions are here to stay.

Since I wrote about it last, we went through a couple more stages of integration where I isolated the two groups in separate parts of the run and coop and also allowed them to be together unsupervised for an hour or so at a time.  I was nervous about the unsupervised time together but I shouldn't have been.  Abby did bully them a bit, but the babies are full grown now and the coop is big enough to allow for space for them to get away.

Don't get me wrong.  The two groups are not friends.  Well, Abby at least isn't and will likely never be friendly with Pearl and Elsa.  But Frannie is when Abby isn't looking so it's ok.  Knowing the integration is complete is a huge weight lifted off my shoulders!

And Pearl is going to lay any day now... so excited!

Secret buddies.

Can we live here?

Several days ago, we officially started Mission: Chicken Integration.  They've been hanging out in the yard, unsupervised, without any issues for the last couple weeks so we decided it was time.  I also want to get the integration complete before the babies start laying eggs in the end of October.  And since I'm not working I can spend plenty of time playing rooster and preventing a bloodbath.

We've experienced plenty of surprises as well as stresses.  Here's what has gone down so far...

Night #1:  Shawn secretly tucked the babies up with Abby and Frannie at night.  (Diurnal birds generally have terrible eyesight in the dark so neither party had any idea.)  We were nervous so we checked on them again before bed, but everything was ok.

Morning #1:  I went out there early in the morning as it was getting light out to make sure I would be there when they woke up.  The ladies were down off their roost, and left as soon as I opened their door.  Babies were still roosting and were fine.  They had a hard time getting down though.

Night #2:  Same as night #1.

Morning #2:  I went out there early again and this time the babies were down on the ground off the roost and Abby and Frannie were still up.  I opened the door the connects the coop to the run and they went out, but Abby followed quickly and attacked Pearl.  Luckily I was able to open the run up to the outside and the babies escaped.  Pearl had another bloody comb... poor baby.

Night #3:  Samesies.

Morning #3:  The babies were down again, this time I brought the older ladies down and hung out in the coop with the doors closed and sat in between the two parties.  The babies were clearly nervous about being in such close quarters with their attackers and Abby and Frannie were clearly upset that the babies were in their home.  Abby tried sneaking by me to beat Pearl up but after about 15 minutes, I had enough and let them all out.
  
Night #4:  I went out to find Elsa pacing back and forth nervously with no sign of Pearl.  Guess where she was?  Up on the roost in the big coop!  Shawn and I were wondering what would happen so we put Elsa up with her sister and waited for the other two.  Not surprisingly, Abby hopped up and started bullying Pearl so we had to intervene.  We hung out for about 10 minutes as Frannie joined and all four settled down in the near-dark.  Overall, feeling pretty good, since Pearl is so smart.

Morning #4:  I walked out and immediately heard sounds of chicken attack.  When I ran over and opened the door, Abby and Frannie burst out and I found Pearl and Elsa cowering in the corner.  No blood.  Whew.  I wonder how long that was going on for?

This is going to be a long stressful road...

Morning #1: Staying out of the rain together.  Don't be fooled.  They're not friends.

The Phone Book

Yes, this is a phone book, and yes, it is sitting in the middle of my yard.  Why, you ask?  Well, old country wisdom, of course!  This idea came by way of my grandmother talking with her friends about my difficulties with integrating our babies in with the other hens.  Apparently the reply to this was "what, she doesn't use a phone book?"  Apparently this tactic is common knowledge among older ladies living in Auburn, CA.

The whole idea behind the phone book is that when laid out in the yard, the wind will flutter the pages.  The hens should take complete offense to this and attack the phone book, thus creating a common enemy among all the ladies and a sense of camaraderie because they all hate/fear the same thing.

Maybe this works on country chickens.  My city chickens, on the other had, just see it as an obstacle that they need to climb over to get places.  No offense taken, whatsoever.

On a brighter note, the two gangs are sharing closer pieces of grass now, and they can be left to roam free in the yard without supervision.  No chickie first aid needed in a while.  Most of the attacks have ceased as well, though if Shawn or I pay any attention to the babies (like hand feed them garden greens and such,) and not do the same for Abby and Frannie immediately after, the older ladies attack the babies with a jealousy-filled rage.  So now we just have to sneak the babies special snacks.

Pretty soon we're going to start the final phase of mission: chicken integration by putting the babies up to roost with their aunties at night.  It'll be a covert operation that happens after dark, and I'll probably lose sleep over it, hoping and praying that the ladies don't kill them in the morning.  I'll probably get up at the ass-crack of dawn just to get out there to greet them all in the morning to keep the peac.  I'll keep everyone posted on how that goes.

Tribe Wars

I'm beginning to worry that maybe the two tribes of chickens will never be able to live together.

I've had to employ my chicken first aid skills twice in the last week, thanks to attacks on the babies by their aunties.  The first one happened last Sunday, when Shawn let all 4 out to roam around.  They had been fine with each other over the last couple weeks, so we gave it a shot.  Several hours later, he found the babies hiding in their coop, with Pearl's comb all torn up.  Since we weren't able to see what happened, we were hoping that maybe she just ripped it on something like Abby did a while back.  I cleaned it up with some hydrogen peroxide, slapped on some Neosporin, and she was healing nicely.

Until yesterday.

I decided to give playtime another shot yesterday, since I would be outside with them as I watered the garden and stuff.  Things we going fine for a while, and they were all ignoring each other.  What got my attention was Frannie standing in the middle of the lawn, by herself, doing her agitated growling noise.  I looked up to find no one around.  When I went around to where the chicken coops were, I found Abby in the babies' chicken run, and the babies in their coop, Pearl's comb re-torn, but with about twice as much blood dripping down her face.  (sigh.)  You can tell that Abby cornered Pearl in the corner of the run because it looks like a murder scene with blood in the ground and the posts.

I put Abby in timeout, rescued the babies and cleaned up the wound the same way, but it doesn't look as good as it did last time.  I hope she's ok. 

Nonetheless, the big ladies are in a timeout today, and the babies get free range of the yard.  We're mad at Abby.

And here's Nikolai enjoying our 78 minutes of summer.

What. A. Stud.