R.I.P. Brownie

As was expected, Brownie didn't make it through the night.

"She had got the cancer and died on a Tuesday."

She was well-loved by three little children.
We will miss you Brownie.

Brownie Update

Several people have asked how Brownie is. I've been holding off on an update hoping for good news, but alas there is none. She's still with us, but I fear not for long.

Brownie is smaller than the other hens and seems to have a growth on her right breast. I don't know if the growth is her problem of if the other chickens have been pecking her and preventing her from getting food. Most likely, it's a combination of both. We tried isolating her in our dog's old crate and giving her own food and water, but it hasn't helped.


She is at the point where she is even too weak to eat or drink. We took her out of the crate and returned her to a nesting box where she would be dry and warm ... and as comfortable as possible. Poor Brownie.

I'll keep you posted.

Freebird

If I leave here tomorrow, will you still remember me?
Well...will you?

I'm trying to free range the chickens as much as possible, but given that I have a big hungry black lab, I'm somewhat limited in these efforts. Yesterday afternoon, I let the chickens out because the kids wanted to play with them and I wanted them to eat bugs and scratch and do chicken stuff. We locked up the big black beast to ensure the birds' safety and all was pastoral bliss until it was time to get the chickens back in the coop. Usually, with a little persuading and gentle nudging, I can get the birds back in with minimal effort....but not last night.

That great juniper bush that the chickens like to scratch under? Well last night I spent a good 20 minutes running in circles around it trying to get the chickens out. I got about half the birds in and then two would run out as I tried to usher two more in. I finally had the sense to quit before I got any more frustrated, but then there was the issue of the barking black beast who really wanted to escape the garage and run free. The dog would just have to wait.

About 45 minutes later -- the kids had been fed and tubbed -- I put the beast on a leash and set out toward that @#*&%^@* juniper to get the chickens back in. This time I was armed with not only a big hairy beast, but also a kiddie fishing net that we use to catch minnows down the cape every summer. Sure the chickens ran away from the dog, but only to the other side of the tree. Even with the fishing net, once again I'm running in circles and getting no where (but hey! that's a typical day for a stay-at-home mom). After 25 minutes of more insanity, I admit defeat.

In a semi-irritated panic, I text my friend Catherine, the guru of all things fowl. She tells me to wait until it gets darker when the chickens slow down and actually want to go to bed. Oh, but she also mentions to make sure that I get to them before something else does... No worries. Never mind that I abut 92+ acres of wildlife land (wildlife meaning the many animals that like to eat fresh chicken). Sure enough, I go out just as the sun is setting and the last three chickens are desperately trying to find a way into the coop. With a little shuffling, I manage to get them back in. FINALLY! All are safe, and I can stop practicing my circle of life speech to explain to the kids what happened to the chickens.

Apparently, you can train the chickens to come running by shaking a bucket of chicken scratch. Alas, I don't have any chicken scratch, but you can bet your sweet bippy that I am going to get some immediately!

Needless to say, the chickens aren't leaving the coop today.

'Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
And this bird you cannot change.
And this bird you cannot change.

Worra, Worra, Worra

Just went out to put the chickens in for the night and I'm worried about Brownie, one of our Speckled Sussex. Brownie is smaller than all the other hens and she always sleeps by herself in one of the nesting boxes, where all the others are now roosting at night. She definitely is at the bottom of the pecking order, but otherwise seemed to be pretty healthy.

Tonight when I went out to lock the hens up for the night, all the hens had gone in...All but Brownie, who was sleeping in the grass by herself. So now I'm all paranoid that something is wrong with her and that she may not be long for this world.

Did I mention that after Google, Brownie is Charlotte's favorite chicken. She's very mellow (or perhaps sick) and lets the kids hold her without a fuss. I'm really hoping she's ok.

I'll keep ya posted. Ugh.

OMG, TDD

The darned dog just tried to eat one of my white leghorns. It was awful, and my heart is still pumping like crazy. I think the bird is ok. It seems like my wrist got the worst of it. I just don't know what I am going to do with the beast. Ugh.

Blowin' in the Wind

Sometimes my kids come up with really funny ideas! Just this afternoon, the chickens were running around the yard and the kids were on the swings. Flynn thought it might be fun to have the chickens play along by roosting on the trapeze bars. The chickens kindly cooperated (Google and an as-yet unnamed white leghorn). They liked the roosting, except for when the kids started to swing the bar. Then, not so much.

All Quiet on the Western Front

The chicks really are no longer ... they are all grown up! They've been outside for a few weeks now and are thriving. Surprisingly, we have not lost a single chick apart from the small accident we had way back on day two. As a complete novice, I was really expecting to lost at least 25% of my flock in the first couple of months, but everyone is doing well. Let's hope I didn't just put the whammy on me.

Life in the coop is much more peaceful than in the brooder. The birds have more room to stretch. There are roosts in the hen house. AND the chickies just love scratching in the dirt. My kids will even look for slugs to feed them. Yummy.

I love this picture. It's Liam holding one of the buffs. Something about both their expressions crack me up.

By the way, we've named some of our buffs -- Butterscotch, Ginger, and Mary Anne. I think one of the White Leghorns will end up being Mrs. Howell! All this is lost on my kids, but it does tickle me!