Fridge Chick and Dirt Baths

"Fridge Chick" who keeps a nightly watch
over the beer. "Braaaawwwwk"

The time has come to assess the housing situation. We did the research, we read the books and we knew that when all 7 chicks lived it would create a housing revision. We also hoped that maybe they would be fine all snuggled up in their little coop, loving one another like a big, feathery love next. And that might have been true, but when you add a dude to the mix, chicks get crazy. Our chickens have outgrown their coop and we need to add on. All six go in at night like good little chickens. They go up the ladder, very slowly, like people boarding an airplane. They sit in their assigned chicken sleeping seats on the cedar-flake floor and close their little eyes. All six. Where is the 7th? Well, number seven pays close attention when the other chickens go to bed and breaks off from the pack to go sit on top of our outdoor fridge. I think there is some chick drama going on in there, because she is not feeling welcome anymore (I blame the rooster, of course.) We first noticed this when I went outside to lock up the birds and she did her creepy “brrrraaaaawk” when I stepped into the darkness. It freaked me out so bad! So I picked her up, snuggled her while we walked and threw her in the coop. This happened again the next night too, but this time I failed to tell Keith about it so when he went outside to grab a nice cold beverage from the fridge, he got a “welcome home” greeting from the chicken. I had to laugh as some four-letter-“fowl” words escaped his mouth and he jumped back. And now it’s a ritual. Put the kid to bed and then walk outside, grab the chicken and lock them all up. I even give her nightly lectures: telling her about how I have spotted raccoon poop, smelled skunk spray and do I need to remind her of Baby Chick?! She needs to be locked UP at night, but the bird is stubborn. She’ll be back there tonight. Oh, well.

Our chickens hanging with the neighbor's cows.

In other chicken news, we have named our rooster. He is not leaving anytime soon as has been smart enough to fly into the tree at night to stay safe and watch over his girls, so now he has a name. We mostly call him “dirty rooster,” or some other horrible names when he starts crowing before the sun is up, but his official name is Romeo. He’s pretty sneaky, that rooster. Taylor and I went to leave the other morning and he had them down the front driveway! Um, no. We don’t go down there, chickens. I told Keith about his dirty plan and he informed me that maybe Romeo was hosting a party in our neighbor’s barn and he was bringing those roosters some new chicks. It’s like some weird chicken fraternity/sorority exchange dance. I start to think about the music they would play (country? Or some old-school rap?), the drinks (fresh well water, I’m assuming, spiked maybe with corn juice), snacks and God forbid they spend the whole night doing the chicken dance. Either way, that rooster has a plan up his wing and I’ll be damned if he lures them into someone else’s pasture!

The chickens are still producing eggs, but we do have one broody hen. Each morning Taylor bounds out of bed and wants to “go check for eggs.” We went out there one morning and when we opened the lid there was a hen still sitting in there. She’s a broody little broad, so we usually just push her off, but that day she wanted nothing to do with us. She let out a awful chicken scream that made Taylor cry. She even tries to peck us when we reach for her eggs (one of those eggs are hers, the others are not). I’ve gotten brave and just push her back so we can steal her eggs (she does NOT need to be incubating those). I feel kinda bad for doing that, but she just yells at us and struts off to find the rest of the girls and that rooster. But this is an everyday occurrence now. I hope she learns that she will not be allowed to hatch any eggs. Just lay your egg and get OUT. Thanks, chicken.

And ol’ table layer is still doing her thing every single morning. It’s fun to give her some good morning pets and let her lay her egg on the table. Taylor checks up there for it and we put it in the fridge. Another sign that the coop is too small…or another sign these chickens are odd.


Good Morning, Chicken!

 

Few minutes later, an EGG! Taylor thought it was pretty funny
the egg was still warm. Kinda icky, kinda awesome.

The smoke here is terrible and we spend less time outdoors with our girls. If we are not outside, they are next door on the neighbor’s property with the rooster. They have a great big pasture full of green grass and I assume some of the best bugs in the donut hole of Pasco. But when we do go outside, their ears perk up (yes, they have ears!) and they run to the fence to greet us. We watch them slink under the gap in the fence and then just wander around to be with us. They love Taylor! They run with him, let him chase them and yell at them. Taylor isn’t too keen on them roosting on his play toy ladder, but I do laugh when he yells at them. The chickens have also taken to giving themselves dust baths in Taylor’s dirt box. So among the trucks and tractors are these hens hunkered down in the fine dirt, throwing it to dust themselves off. It is a sight to see if you have never seen a chicken give themselves a dust bath. Then when they get up and run off, they leave big billows of dust as they go. Romeo must not have allergies…

Below are some pictures that tell more of our story. It's a pretty good life out here.

Dirt Bath!

 



A little help from Taylor...

This doesn't need a caption, does it? Funny.

Feeding the girls some "scratch." They run when they see that cup full of good snacks!

One morning I awoke with the awful realization that I didn't lock up the chickens. I quickly got dressed and ran outside, hoping I would not find a pile of feathers. When I opened the door, there they were, just sitting on the table in the cold morning air looking at me, as if to say, "You stupid girl. Yes, we are alive, but we had one hell of a night." Whoops, sorry about that.
 

LOVE

We found a nice rooster feather one day and I thought it would be fun to tie it to a stick and fly it like a kite. Now that I look at this, my son is running with a sharp stick in his hand, with the potential of poking out his eye...Seemed like a good idea at the time. I was just glad he was feeling well enough to run! :)