Cannibals, Golf Balls, and Mustard Eggs

We were naive when it came to keeping animals, almost as naive as we were about having children. This didn't mean we thought it would be easy, we just knew we'd be up to the challenge. It would be fun.

Nobody told warned us that chickens are cannibals. We learned it quickly enough, as soon as one hen cut herself on a sharp bit of fencing. We rescued her in time, but just. A feeding frenzy had begun to form around her.

Nobody warned us that chickens sometimes eat the eggs, too. Once they start, it's a hard habit to break, and ours started this summer. Finding an eaten egg now and then is frustrating enough, but to find only one whole egg in a nest of egg shells and sticky remains is maddening. It's not like we're not feeding them enough already!

It became a crisis the other day when I watched one hen pull another one off her nest so she could peck open the egg. I swore. Loudly. I chased all the chickens out of the chicken house and went in and swore some more. My husband decided it was time to consult the experts and get some advice. He googled it. These suggestions are supposed to work because, as everyone knows, chickens are really stupid.

We tried putting golf balls in the nesting boxes. The idea is, if they peck at the golf balls, they don't get anywhere and don't get the reward of eating an egg. It didn't work. Seems our hens figured out the difference between an egg and a golf ball and started their own golf tournament in the chicken yard. Smart asses.

We then blew out a few eggs and filled them with mustard. We let the hens peck them open. Supposedly, hens do not like mustard and this would clearly teach them to avoid eating eggs. However, the hens quickly figured out which eggs were stuffed with mustard, ate the other ones, and offered the mustard eggs for sale on Craig's list as a delicacy.

It was suggested that the hens might need more protein in their diet. I was wondering why they wanted to read the back of the chicken food bag. The advice given on the internet was to feed them some cat food. This will give them the protein they are lacking and they will not need to eat their eggs. They love the cat food. They like it even more with eggs.

The last suggestion was to eat the chicken who are eating the eggs. This would be hard to do. Literally. Ever butcher and clean a chicken and get it ready to eat? It's gross, smelly, and makes you want to become a vegetarian or at least continue buying chicken already packaged and ready to cook. Besides, we have chickens so we can get eggs. If we eat the chickens, we wouldn't get eggs.

We have one more thing to try. A YouTube video shows how to make nesting boxes with painting trays - you know, the trays where you pour the paint when you're using a roller. A 5" wide board was placed on the back side of the tray and this was further blocked off by a wall. The idea is:

Chicken lays an egg. Egg rolls down the tray and through a slot just big enough for eggs and into the deep end of the paint tray where they are kept out of beak's reach. Theoretically, this should work. It means spending the next few weeks trying to figure out how to build the new nesting boxes, but if it works, it'll be worth it.

Maybe. I won't count my eggs yet.

Death by Watermelon

Okay, first the good news.  Josephine is back after an attempt to hatch eggs in our back shed.  She was hiding very well, but something found the eggs when she dashed off to get a bite to eat.  When I finally found her, she was looking sadly at a few small pieces of egg shell, the only evidence of her hard work.  She's safe and sound and now laying her eggs in the nesting boxes.

Now the bad news.  Earlier this evening, I was looking out the window and saw chicken legs pointing into the air.  That's not good.  Chickens will sometimes lie down in odd positions while they take a dirt bath, but I've never seen one sleep on its back.  I figured something had to be wrong and it was.  Our old white hen was dead, unmistakably dead.  The little x's on her eyes were a dead giveaway.  What could have happened?

My husband, Chris, had come out with me.  He said something about compost and food scraps and that he didn't think anything had hit the chickens.  When I figured out what he was talking about, I looked into the pen. There was a large piece of watermelon on the ground, which obviously had been in the food scrap bucket when Chris had tossed everything over the fence.  The watermelon must have bounced and turned lethal while no one was watching.

I briefly considered finishing the job and preparing the old hen for dinner. This was an old hen.  She was so old, she even laid wrinkled eggs. And she was scrawny.  If this had been one of our large hens, there would be no way I would have passed up the opportunity for good chicken soup, but this one?  Chris convinced me it wouldn't be worth the time and effort... not to mention the smell.

As we dug the hole and buried her, the other hens started cackling, much in the same way they do when they lay eggs.  Maybe they were worried.  The old white hen hadn't laid an egg in a few weeks.  The others must have decided not to take any chances.

We'll see how many eggs we get tomorrow.

Spring Shuffle

In the past few years, it's become popular to have backyard chickens.  Lately, miniature goats have also found their way into the hearts of city dwellers.  That urbanites have become fond of these cacklers and bleaters, just warms the cockles of my heart.  We've been urban farmers for over twenty years.  All those new enthusiasts are simply catching up to where we are.

Wow.  We, the Reinhart family of Wheat Ridge, Colorado, are trendy.  

I enjoy talking to the newbies about their chickens and hearing their excitement.  When they learn how experienced we are, they flock to us with their questions:

What happens if one of my hens starts to crow?  Uh...that one isn't a hen.  My hens don't go inside when it snows.  Is that okay?  Yeah.  They're not the smartest birds on the block.  What do I do with a rooster?  Chicken noodle soup?  The conversation usually ends there.

I'm sure we had as many questions when we first started out, too.  

Winter is slow on our urban farm.  There's still plenty of work to do, but it's really just keeping everyone fed, watered, and protected from the elements.  Spring is when everything starts up again.  Hens start to lay eggs, Josephine looks for a place to hide a nest, all the bird's feathers come in fresh and new, Napoleon the Rooster starts attacking our feet with a vengeance, and Gussie the goose keeps all the predators away. 

Before this starts, there is the annual Spring Shuffle.  No, it's not a dance, though sometimes it seems as if someone has choreographed the whole thing.  Every bird in the yard has to find their place.  One wouldn't think it would be so challenging or creative.  It's different every year.

This year, we've had some interesting changes.  One of those changes, we implemented ourselves.  Gussie now has a pen to himself.  In the interest of my calves and the protection of our guests, he is in solitary confinement.  He's less aggressive without the females and we don't have to worry about an accidental hidden nest presenting us with a brood of new goslings.  We have four geese.  Enough is enough.  

The rest of the geese and the female duck are out in the main yard where they can scrounge around for any food they can find.  They keep the weeds down while they're at it.  The female geese are exceptionally docile and often follow us around the yard.  

Our chickens stay in the enclosed chicken yard.  There are exceptions.  Napoleon goes where ever he pleases.  He is the undisputed ruler of the farm, and if you don't believe him, he'll let you know by crowing loudly into your ear from his perch on the fence post.  

Josephine, our banty hen, also goes where she pleases.  Our son found her hidden nest under the rabbit cage one night.  He became suspicious when he heard the rabbit clucking away contentedly.  Peering under the cage, he found Jo the ventriloquist, sitting on her nest.  We can't reach it, so perhaps we'll have a brood of banties this year.

Then there are the odd ducks, so to speak.  One is a hen who has decided to keep Gussie company in his confinement.  It's unusual to have a friendship between a chicken and a goose, but I won't argue.  So far, so good.  Then there is Little Goose.  She is one of last year's goslings who has suddenly decided she'd rather stay in the chicken yard with the hens all day, rather than graze in the big yard with her mom and sister.  Again, I'm not going to argue.  It's peaceful out there.

Now we're getting eggs.  Out of sixteen hens, one duck, and three female geese, we got thirteen chicken eggs and a goose egg today. 

It's spring!  

These Gardening Boots should last awhile!

After looking all over the place for a good pair of backyard muck boots, I ran across these at our local ARC Thrift Store.  They were brand new, with tags attached and cardboard still inside each boot.

Steel toes, shin guards, thick insulated rubber,

Thorogood Hellfire Structural and Hazmat

real honest to goodness Firefighter boots!

Okay, Napoleon and Gussie, let's see you try attacking my feet and legs now!

ARC Thrift Store price:  $9.99/pair 

I got a pair for Emma, too.

Online price (Anclote Fire and Safety):  $249.00/pair

They even come with a one year warranty, though it only covers normal firefighting use. 

Oh, Hawk!

We've been very lucky at our little urban farm.  Because of the geese, we've had no problems with foxes, coyotes, raccoons, or neighborhood dogs.  Our flock of hens, ducks, and geese, have thrived and multiplied.  So far, we've had almost no trouble with predators.

That may be changing.  The other day, I looked out the kitchen window in time to see a large hawk swooping down into the chicken yard.  I ran out the door in time for the bird's second run.  Fortunately, both were unsuccessful.  Emma and I managed to call the chickens into the smaller enclosure that is covered.  The ducks, having the run of the yard, were able to find a place under the bushes where they were out of sight and relatively safe. I wasn't worried about the geese.  They can manage on their own.  The hawk swooped down one more time, landing on our roof, then flying up into the trees next door.

It took Emma and I awhile to catch our breath and stop shaking from the adrenaline rush. We were grateful that all the birds were safe, at least for the moment.  We went back inside and related the story to Patrick.  He, too, was grateful that all the outside critters had survived.  "But," he said wistfully, "it would have been funny to see the hawk carrying away Napoleon."

Napoleon, of course, is our little rooster, who is Very Fierce.  It would have been funny, but only if we could have heard what he was saying:

"Squawk!  Let me at ya. I can fight you with one wing tied behind my back. You gonna come quietly or am I gonna have to mess with ya.  Still not tawkin?  You gonna be sorry as soon as you put me down.  I'm packin' 4 inch spurs, ya know."

Etc.

He wouldn't have quit fighting or squawking even after the hawk ate him.  Knowing Napoleon, he would have given the hawk the worst case of indigestion imaginable.  

Mr. Chicken Bucket Man

During the school year, the three kindergarten classes save their food scraps for our chickens.  They all go in a special bucket and Chris picks them up in the afternoon.  The children know where the food is going and they get excited when they see Chris.  Last time, one of the boys greeted him with, "Hi, Mr. Chicken Bucket Man."  The teacher must have had a word or two with the child because when Chris came out of the last classroom and walked out through the playground, the same boy made sure to say, "Good bye Mis-ter Re-in-hart", in his most forced polite voice.

If for some reason Emma gets a ride home from school, picking up the scraps ends up being part of my morning drop off duty.  Fortunately, I've never been called Mrs. Chicken Bucket Man.  I entered the room one day to the chorus of "it's chicken time!"  After dumping the scraps into my bucket, I started to leave. I didn't get far before one little boy stopped me.  He had chickens, too.

"We got SIX EGGS IN ONE DAY," he exclaimed with enthusiasm.  He then went on to tell me all about their four roosters, who were big bullies and how he took a walk one day with his grandma and saw a goose that had been half eaten by a coyote.  "It was cool", I was informed.  "There were all these bones and stuff and the head was off."  He wasn't the least bit upset by what he'd seen and he seemed to accept the fact that the coyote was just trying to make a living, as we say in our house when one of our flock disappears.

It was a reminder to me that kindergarten children, especially kindergarten boys, really do live in a different world.

As much as I appreciate getting the food from the classrooms and I feel good about recycling what would otherwise not be used, I am not crazy about being on chicken bucket duty.  It doesn't smell good, and, after three class' worth of scraps, the bucket is heavy.  I'm a bit embarrassed, too, if I have to carry the bucket through the school hallways.  Up until a couple of weeks ago, I would put the bucket in the trunk of my car for the trip home, just so I wouldn't have to deal with the lovely aroma.  Not anymore.  The last time I did that, I had to stop suddenly at one intersection.  When I arrived home, the contents of the bucket were scattered all over the trunk.

It was disgusting.  The kindergarten boys would have loved it.

Urban Farming

We've been urban farmers for a long time, even before it became popular.  We've had chickens, ducks, geese, rabbits, goats, and even a donkey.  We've also tried to garden, with mixed success, all in a suburban neighborhood, just a half mile from the city of Denver.

That was awhile ago.  We then went for a short spell with only our three elderly rabbits as our urban livestock. That was okay, but I didn't think it would last.  Sure enough, one Christmas, our son gave his father a book called, "Living with Chickens", by Jay Rossier.  Chris began reading and was soon convinced that we needed to have chickens again. 

Then Chris retired.  This was the time to plunge into our urban farming. 

Last spring we bought 14 chicks, 2 ducklings, and two goslings.  The ducklings and goslings were my idea.  Geese are sociable creatures who love to follow us around while we do our chores.  They are also good at keeping anyone or anything who doesn't belong, away from our property.  We also started a very large, ambitious garden.  About a month later, two bantam chickens, a hen and a rooster, joined the flock.

The little rooster, whom we named Napoleon, is a fierce protector of our hens.  The tiny hen, who could only be named Josephine, is a golden seabright, a rare type of hen who actually crows!  She is amazing to watch as she darts in and around the large hens, often stealing food right from their mouths.

Our August farm report: 

The chokecherry jam was not an amazing success, however, chokecherry syrup is great on French toast.  Maybe someday I'll make a batch that gels but doesn't turn into chokecherry leather.

We have our first eggs!!!  One of our first layers is Josephine.  Her eggs are tiny and pale pink.  At least one more hen is laying because we got a brown egg today.  We cleaned the chicken house and added a couple of nesting boxes.  Anything to encourage more of those beautiful little eggs to come.

The garden has produced peas, carrots, radishes, lettuce, beets, zucchini, peppers, garlic, kohlrabi, and there are potatoes and tomatoes still to come.  I'm planning on trying a fall planting of radishes and fennel.  I'm not sure if it'll work, but it's worth a try.  We've had beet greens for dinner, kohlrabi in our salad, and peas that rarely made it into the house.  We also made pickled beets, in addition to our chokecherry syrup.

Today, I made zucchini pickles.  I will include the recipe in the next post.  This and plum chutney are my favorite garden treats.

The girls, wondering about the changes in the chicken house.  They are a suspicious bunch!