A couple of days ago in the grip of a fog, or a transit or karma, I watched my truck roll away into oblivion. I was only part way through my chores at the time, so after finding my way home to another vehicle I decided to go to Agway for bales of shavings for the chickens.
It's often risky to go into a store after any kind of trauma. I bought a chicken house. It was not cheap, but I didn't have to build it and it's weasel proof without having to pile layers of heavy objects against a shed door that teams of raccoons have been working all night to destroy.
The store agreed to deliver it the following day giving me time to move bits and ends out of the way. Buck was unusually aggressive that morning jumping at everything, hissing and leaping. After a particularly disagreeable encounter, I backed him and his ladies into the garden and barricaded the opening. Their attention was happily consumed for hours rolling in the dirt, lolling about under the jerusalem artichokes, crowding the dahlias and eating everything else.
Having no idea how to introduce them to their new home, placed to get solar gain in winter, shade in summer and ventilation all the time, I thought maybe it would be easy.
After the delivery I let them out to patrol as usual and left the door to the new coop open with grapes immediately visible, water, food and some greens. Stella, the smartest hen and the most curious went in to have a look around. She stood in the doorway, then carefully examined the amenities. Buck soon marched over and went in to have a look. This was promising, but about an hour before dark - it was getting plenty dark already from the coming storm, they were standing underneath the house, or the car everywhere but the new dry shelter. I chased them around the yard for about 40 minutes with a hose in one hand and an umbrella in the other chivvying them out from under cars, sheds and bushes. One hen went in to the coop, so I closed the door and thought "Hell with it. I'll just start over with a new flock", and went indoors. At real dark, I went out with a headlamp and a towel to try to grab the chickens one at a time from the old shed where Buck had led them, beginning with Buck. I thought he'd be the most difficult judging from how deftly he eluded my grasp earlier in the day. I've watched Casey get Buck on the ground and then pick him up, he makes it look easy, but when I tried it, Buck twisted his head around in the direction of my thumb breaking the hold as though he'd had some Judo training. Also, the roost is at eye height. It felt hazardous to be grabbing a feral chicken in the dark where he could go for my head without having to have decent aim. I have tried to grab him with a towel before, and he has just taken the towel away from me. I decided to move slowly and point the headlamp in his face. He offered no resistance whatsoever. Was this because he was sleeping? No idea. The hens made more noise. I had decided to leave them in the house for a day or so to ride out the storm but they were so quiet I had to go down and check on them. Buck is generally noisy all day but particularly in the morning, and there was not a sound coming from the coop, I thought they might have died, or maybe I left a door open and they'd been eaten, but they were just standing around looking thoughtful. After the storm, and before they get their freedom again, a fenced in yard is next.
It's often risky to go into a store after any kind of trauma. I bought a chicken house. It was not cheap, but I didn't have to build it and it's weasel proof without having to pile layers of heavy objects against a shed door that teams of raccoons have been working all night to destroy.
The store agreed to deliver it the following day giving me time to move bits and ends out of the way. Buck was unusually aggressive that morning jumping at everything, hissing and leaping. After a particularly disagreeable encounter, I backed him and his ladies into the garden and barricaded the opening. Their attention was happily consumed for hours rolling in the dirt, lolling about under the jerusalem artichokes, crowding the dahlias and eating everything else.
Having no idea how to introduce them to their new home, placed to get solar gain in winter, shade in summer and ventilation all the time, I thought maybe it would be easy.
After the delivery I let them out to patrol as usual and left the door to the new coop open with grapes immediately visible, water, food and some greens. Stella, the smartest hen and the most curious went in to have a look around. She stood in the doorway, then carefully examined the amenities. Buck soon marched over and went in to have a look. This was promising, but about an hour before dark - it was getting plenty dark already from the coming storm, they were standing underneath the house, or the car everywhere but the new dry shelter. I chased them around the yard for about 40 minutes with a hose in one hand and an umbrella in the other chivvying them out from under cars, sheds and bushes. One hen went in to the coop, so I closed the door and thought "Hell with it. I'll just start over with a new flock", and went indoors. At real dark, I went out with a headlamp and a towel to try to grab the chickens one at a time from the old shed where Buck had led them, beginning with Buck. I thought he'd be the most difficult judging from how deftly he eluded my grasp earlier in the day. I've watched Casey get Buck on the ground and then pick him up, he makes it look easy, but when I tried it, Buck twisted his head around in the direction of my thumb breaking the hold as though he'd had some Judo training. Also, the roost is at eye height. It felt hazardous to be grabbing a feral chicken in the dark where he could go for my head without having to have decent aim. I have tried to grab him with a towel before, and he has just taken the towel away from me. I decided to move slowly and point the headlamp in his face. He offered no resistance whatsoever. Was this because he was sleeping? No idea. The hens made more noise. I had decided to leave them in the house for a day or so to ride out the storm but they were so quiet I had to go down and check on them. Buck is generally noisy all day but particularly in the morning, and there was not a sound coming from the coop, I thought they might have died, or maybe I left a door open and they'd been eaten, but they were just standing around looking thoughtful. After the storm, and before they get their freedom again, a fenced in yard is next.
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Glad to hear from you, but criticisms will be ignored. It's the beauty of the web. I will answer all friendly remarks. Buck handles the rest.