Tie a Yellow Ribbon

We're not having a good night at ole Peterson's Peeps:
We're missing three chickens.

The kids let the chickens out this afternoon to scratch in the yard and forgot to prop open the door to the coop. I was in and out of the house and it didn't occur to me to make sure the door was still open.

Normally, with the door open, the chickens put themselves to bed for the night, and I go out at dusk to lock everyone up safe and sound. Because the door was closed, they couldn't get into the coop. I found four of the chickens (the two roosters and two hens) standing at the door of the coop trying to get in through the chicken wire. I found one of the buffs sleeping on a foot-high rock and another one roosting in a nearby tree. The last bird, a white leghorn, was sitting on top of the monkey bars on the kid's swingset (how she got up almost 9 feet in the air is beyond me). Right now, I am still down two white leghorns and one dominque.

I have searched high and low looking for the three remaining missing, but have had no luck. Either they are hiding/roosting for the night and will be back in the morning or they made for a nice dinner for a lucky raccoon or fox. Let's hope it's the former and not the latter. I don't know how the kids will handle losing three all at once. I'm pretty upset by it -- and angry too as this was preventable.

I'll update you in the morning.

Roasting

Red Tailed Hawk

It has been a hot summer in the Northeast, and I feel bad for the chickens always being cooped up. Today, I decided to keep the black beast inside and let the chickens out. They are very happy foraging in a clump of trees overgrown with lots of bramble. It keeps them out of the sun (and safe from hawks) and gives them lots of opportunity to scratch up bugs and what not.

My dad stopped by to drop off a power washer and as has become his habit, he stops to see the birds before he checks in with the humans of the house. First thing he said to me, "You have two roosters." Now mind you, he is smacking his lips as he says this. While I have NO plans to eat any of my pet chickens, my father can only see a delicious roast chicken dinner every time he looks at those birds. Adding insult to injury: the roosters are significantly larger than the hens, making them seem even tastier. And he knows that we're really only interested in keeping hens as we worry that roosters may be too loud for our neighborhood. Our neighbors aren't that close, but we have a good relationship with them and would like to keep it that way!

The Chicken Whisperer recently blogged about keeping urban/suburban roosters responsibly, and honestly, it seemed like a lot of work. Essentially, you need to crate the rooster every night in your garage. This means that every night, you need to catch that guy and transport him somewhere else. Folks, most roosters aren't so nice, don't want to be caught, and certainly don't want to be held while you move them to their own version of solitary confinement. Oh and they have really sharp pointy toes that scratch like the dickens. We will see. Luckily, I have another month or two before the guys start crowing.

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.