The pig house (pig-less this year) is repurposed as a chicken rain shelter, and they LOVE it. When it’s pelting down, almost the whole flock crowds in there, and the guineas come running in too.
The hens rock the rain pretty hard, but when it gets too heavy they jog for shelter. Rain makes the worms come up, but they don’t like to get too wet either. It’s a chicken risk/reward analysis.
Adding the laundry rack was one of my finer brain waves. It increases capacity and fits snugly in the peak. Won’t tip over. They use the shelter on sunny days as well. Some of them just get on a rung after breakfast and spend half the day. They like to have a nice safe perch for bird-watching.
That laundry rack has seen a lot of functions. I remember buying it around 15 years ago. It spent many years merely drying clothes. Then it was a keet ladder, and now luxury perching, and I imagine it will last quite a while longer.
One doesn’t think of chickens as being nest builders per se, but they definitely do nest construction.
Guineas, ground nesters like chickens, craft quite beautifully careful nests, if extremely minimal ones, out of a few blades of grass. It’s more of a saucer than a bowl – a slight bank to keep the eggs from rolling out, I suppose.
When I set the Silkies on eggs, I think I form a perfect nest in advance, but no. They always clean it right up, to the point of leaving bare floor around the form of their nest.
When a chicken is working up to getting broody, she makes a lovely round bowl out of straw with a thick underpadding. In this case, there wasn’t a lot of material in the coop because it has just been cleaned, but some hen gathered up just about every blade of straw in there and pulled it into her nest purposes.
I wish I knew how this goes down. Foot scratching? Walking with beakfuls? Beak raking?
I survived my mini-collapse, and have been digging my routines back out for the past few days. I hope it was worth it. I’m all sugar free now (again), so I hope that transition was worth a week’s lost productivity.
All is well. Cheeks persists, and is gunning for permanent house chicken status, like a pet parrot; the ten untimely chicks are all well and growing their feathers; all the birds are fine but getting cranky about the GH confinement, and my hives are all still alive.
There’s Nosey, pecking at my pants. She’s growing!
It was a nice sunny day, so I figured it would be a big bath day, with the pool overflowing with Pigpen chickens, but I went out with my camera and only three Silkies were in that mood.This guy found he had the pool all to himself, and seemed kind of pleased about it, but was only thinking about having a bath:
While I’ve been gone over the holidays, my husband has been grabbing chickens.
He spends quite a bit of time holding Cheeks the house chicken, who seems determined to remain designated house chicken indefinitely, I’m no trouble. No trouble at all!, but also grabbing “wild chickens” in the greenhouse, to cuddle them against their will.
I’ve been blogging here at WordPress for nine and half years, and I was perfectly delighted with it for eight and a half. I’ve never had so many problems as I did this year. Coincidentally, this year is also the first time I’ve paid for the top tier account, for extra storage (nine years of images, yo), and to keep my blog free of annoying ads.
To hell with that. It’s usually easier to just stick with what you know than do time consuming research and transition, but I’m not thrilled about paying for the suck. I switched from Blogger in the oughts, it’s time to move again, although there’s some time before my subscription renews. WordPress fail. Research ahead.
In the meantime, chickens.
Puffling is storking. The Pufflings are laying eggs – green ones! They are blue egg layers crossed with brown egg layers, and their eggs are almost olive. I inadvertently created bearded olive eggers.
Baby barred rock. Two Silkie crosses, apparently They like to tightrope around on the coop. It’s just challenging enough that they look tentative.This little leghorn has moved in with the Silkies (sitting on the swing). I don’t know why they make the choices they do.