Saturday, June 29, 2013

The Ungrateful, Unlucky and Unneeded

There are always two or three chickens that feel they must roost on top of the half-door in the barn instead of going with all their other chicken buddies in the coop at night.   So every night I have to hand carry one or more flapping and squawking birdbrain into the coop.  And last night while clutching one of the hens under my arm, I suddenly felt a warm spot on the side of my leg.  Ungrateful wench.  I should have kept her out of the coop and let the coyotes make a snack out of her.

Earlier in the week I noticed that the lonely chick was wandering around on it's own just before dusk, peeping like mad.  I didn't see the mother hen anywhere so tried to corral him and put him in a pen for the evening as not to become yet another coyote snack.  After about five minutes of fruitless and maddening chasing of the little peckerhead, I asked Paul to help me catch him.  To which his reply was something like, "We want survivalist chickens, if he can't survive, we don't want him".  And I agreed.  The fact that he was more than likely a cockerel made the decision easier.  The next morning after letting out the "good" chickens (i.e. those smart enough to go into the coop at night) I walked around looking for the chick, but didn't find him.  He was neither lucky nor of the "survival" type I guess.  I did, however, spy his mother who either decided to roost with the other good chickens or hid out someplace else without her offspring during the night.

As for the Unneeded?  When I went to shut up the chickens for the night, I opened the door and caught a hen in the act of pecking an egg that was laid in one of the nest boxes and there was fresh yolk on that one which meant she ate at least one other egg.  I immediately grabbed her and flung placed her in the small kidding pen until I decided what to do with her.  And when I say "decided", I mean what type of side dish we will be serving with her.


  1. too funny as I can SO relate. had the little bastages poop on my head one night while securing their coop. Now, I take a broom and clear the roosting "Rung" so that no chicklets are over my head when I reach down to close their little pop up door.

    Tina H

  2. Aren't chickens fun? (They don't call 'em bird brains for nothing.) In our chicken house, there's a spot where the chickens can get under the roosts and into the dropping pit. Care to guess where several are laying their eggs now? Yes, there is a little wire/screening work that needs to be done.

  3. Makes me glad mine are so well-behaved...hahahahahaha.