We definitely have a pet chicken now. She arrives at the camper early in the morning, shortly after the flock finishes their breakfast, and more or less stays all day. She stays under the camper when it rains, roams in the surrounding woods when it’s clear, and keeps an ear open for any comings and goings from the camper, upon which she will appear out of nowhere to lurk, staring up with her downturned beak/mouth perpetual chicken grimace. She happily eats of my hand, and if I put out a dirty pot or bowl, she’ll clean off any grains or vegetable remains (impressively well, considering she has no tongue), tapping out “chicken morse code”. We’ve deterred any other hens from hanging around our camper by chasing them back when they occasionally follow her out.
We’ve named her Friendly. The alternatives were Low Chicken and Baldy, because of her receding featherline. She’s bald to behind her ears because of being pecked on. Both options were rather unflattering so we went with some positive branding. She may be low, but she’s smart and independent. All the red full-size chickens are too look-alike to name, except for their feather patterns. There’s bald Friendly and Naked, the molter.
When her feathers return we’ll have no way of telling her apart. All of the chickens have unique saw-tooth patterns in their combs, but I am just not dedicated enough to memorize comb variations so they can have names. They only get dubbed according to their difference. There’s one with more white than the others (Whitetail), and for many days there was a chicken with one feather persistently sticking out at an angle (Wears One Feather Askew). Then three other chickens took up the fashion all at once and there was now more telling them apart.
Personally, I love the patter of chicken feet, but when all nine of them are hopefully shadowing my every move, back and forth, back and forth, it’s easy to feel mobbed. They curiously get in the thick of everything we’re doing, climbing in the trailer or on our tools and wood, or sampling the sawdust when we’re building. I can’t think of any good reason why eating (fresh, local, wildcrafted) sawdust would be bad for them, but it makes no sense why they want to eat it. Yet they do, enthusiastically.
H.W. gets upset with “them all crowded around, staring at me”, and threatens to throw his hat at them. His hat-throwing has made such an impression that he no longer has to throw headgear, just give it a cowboy swoosh over his head, and instantly the chickens turn as one and flee. Not the hat!!! Hilarious, and effective.
H.W. wants to put anklets on them some night. I know there are two hens that prefer to be on their own and hang out down along the driveway where it’s shady and kind of swampy. Often when I feed the flock an evening snack there’s only 7, including Friendly, and I always find two more lingering halfway down the driveway. There seem to be two that are always near the rooster.
Naked is growing feathers again, and just in time. It’s getting cold. She got worse before she got better, though, losing so many feathers she was just a mostly white fluffball of under-feathers, looking miserable on rainy days.
Naked regrowing, so fast! Good thing, it’s just in time. She’s been hanging around a lot lately with her shoulders around her ears, so it’s a good job her feathers are coming back. Now she is only Nearly Naked, and soon will be namelessly indistinguishable from the flock.
And they put themselves to bed perfectly too.
The naked chicken is healing.
We built a fence, so the chickens’ days of lounging in the garden are over.
The fence won’t keep much more than the chickens out at this point, but we haven’t had any deer around yet, and the chickens are threat number 1.
When we had three sides done, hens were finding their way around to the unfinished side to get in, so there was more hat-throwing.
H.W. also helpfully provided proof that the chickens can fly over the fence, when they are sufficiently motivated.
They are ranging further, nearer to camp Silkie every day. I hope I’m there to see first contact. What will the Silkie rooster make of the big hens when they sail out of the grass at him? Gorgeous Amazon hens! or Mutant monsters!
The hens are all well-attached to the rooster now. Occasionally there’s an independent or a pair palling around at a distance, but usually all the hens are in the same vicinity.
They are endlessly entertaining, popping out of the grass, sneaking, running, exploring. They love it under our box truck and hang out under there every day, whether rainy or sunny. I keep expecting to have to get eggs from under there, but they lay in the coop now without variance.
All 10 stowed themselves at night again. Ahhh, the time of adjustment is over, and there’s no need to worry about them any more.
H.W. has a swarm of chickens near him most of the time when he’s working. Chainsaw, splitting firewood, dragging things around – they drift along behind him as he works. I don’t know if they’re hoping for something more than the company. The chickens all pal around together most of the day, now. It’s a lot harder to count 9 hens at a glance.
Almost always, there’s seven around the rooster, and then two just a little behind, or off to the side a bit. It’s lovely to see them all drifting around together, squabbling or worm-running or digging. Hens look like sailboats cruising around, especially when they’re eating. They’re rarely not funny, whatever they’re doing.
I can recognize the low bird now. She’s missing a lot of feathers on her head behind her comb from being pecked. I saw another hen pluck a short feather out of her head at feeding time, and then she ran under the truck. I see this hen sometimes drifting off on her own. I’m surprised at the pecking; there is no shortage of space or entertainment out here. It’s not realistic at all to quarantine one bird, but I want to help her out.
H.W. cut down the remaining snag created by the hurricane. It was a tough fall and I was working the come-along trying to pull it over where we wanted it to go. Lots of yelling, roaring chainsaw; this doesn’t bother the birds. Naturally, all the chickens wanted to be in the fall zone and I had to push them off into the woods for their protection. The tree came down where we wanted, ahhhh. Success; relief. H.W. shuts the saw off and we’re quiet – there’s nothing more to say, it’s all done. But the rooster freaks out when the tree falls, going off like a siren, shouting, shrieking blue murder. BABWOCKBABWOCKBABWOCK! The end is nigh! Doom and destruction! The sky is falling! He doesn’t stop for a long time.
Uhoh. H.W. put the birds away in the night, a little bit earlier than full dark. I asked if he counted beaks in the coop and he scoffed, “No, but they’re fine”. Three nights straight they’d all gone to bed perfectly, so I figured yes, probably they are just fine, no need to worry. In the morning on my way to let them out of the coop I opened the truck for feed. A lone hen popped out from somewhere! She’d spent the night out, I don’t know where. She started telling me all about it! BuhBUHbaBAbabuh!BUHbuhBAbaBAbaBUH!!buhbaba!BUHba….on and on, very funny with all the variety of pitch in her voice. She was all worked up. When I released the others she ran back to the embrace of the flock and the rooster did a little dance at her. The rooster dance seems to be a kind of chastisement or herding behaviour, as unfortunately, this rooster doesn’t dance before mating.
The chickens have learned that I bring food. They see me and all run towards me down the path. It makes me feel quite popular. If I don’t give them anything, they mill around, some poking their heads up high and tilting them to look sharply at me. If I walk away slowly, they lurk and then follow me furtively a few feet off. If they’re positive I have food, like if I rattle it, they will all jog along behind me as I walk. How do they know, even from a distance, that it’s me, even with a complete wardrobe change? H.W. does not get this treatment; they know us apart.
What good good chickens. They look after themselves all day, lay 7 eggs every day in the coop, and all go to bed at night. Perfect chickens.
A hen made it all the way along the path to our camper! She went strolling by the front of the camper and walked into the woods. That’s far past where all the other chickens have made it to, and ever so close to the Silkies. I thought we’d have contact for sure, but not quite. The Silkie roosters were on high alert, hearing her in the woods, but she didn’t quite make it over to them. It was the low hen! I gave her a pile of seeds and scraps, and she could enjoy without competition. I expect to see more of her over here by herself.
The first month. In which, difficulties “training” chickens to utilize new accommodations emerge.
Crowing. Early, loud, and continuous.
We peeked at them, all perched inside but the white hen still in the cardboard box. There are two cocks (white) and three hens, which are white, brown (“red”), and black, which makes it very easy to describe all of them without names. We have a “little red hen”! Emphasis on the little. They’re small.
We had to staple on some mesh to create a “downstairs” compartment to contain them in the morning before we opened the ramp, so we worked around the base of the coop.
Dead silence from inside while we worked. Except when we were chatting with some passing biologists, right next to the coop, and suddenly a big cock-a-doodle-do issues from the box. We finished our little fence, dropped the ramp and waited for the first explorer to peek out. They didn’t. Left them to it.
An hour later. Crowing! Does that mean? Yes, The big rooster was down, crowing about his accomplishment. We watched him discover the joys of vegetation. Exploratory peck- hmmm. Hmm! More pecking. Vigorous plant consumption. We waited for the others to follow him down the ramp. Nothing. Thought ramp might be too steep for these tiny birds and made temporary adjustments.
An hour later. Anxious clucking alerted me and I caught HW trying to chivvy the other birds down with a stick. He got the angry wife face. I said let them find their own way down! He got the red hen down though and she was instantly enjoying herself, and he confidently predicted that one hen down would make the others come.
Not true. Another hour later. No more birds down the ramp and red hen and rooster enthusiastically decimating the veg on their own. I peeked inside to see if there was progress and they were all roosting! I initiated chivvying with a stick.
Didn’t work. Nooo! We dread the ramp! Escalated to us grabbing the birds – BLOODY MURDER!! – and thrusting them down the hole where they stumbled down the ramp and immediately began purring and pecking. Oh. It’s nice down here. I had a sinking feeling that this tableau might repeat in reverse in the evening to get them back in.
Peace, for the rest of the day. Cute little chickens.
We watched them some and decided they’re very gentle. Not one peck on each other. Also very small. The roosters are twice as big as the hens, like a different breed. H.W. said “the hens look like they’re crouching down, but they’re not, they’re just that small.” The roosters are very handsome, with purple combs so dark they’re almost black. One is smaller than the other, with different facial flesh, and never crows. The one who does is missing one syllable from his cock-a-doodle-do, so it’s more like it’s the DAY here. Or on some days, it’s a DOWNpour. Other than the obvious rooster supremacy, it’s hard to determine any order among them.
Alarmingly, we never catch them drinking, and I worry they’re weirded out by the unfamiliar water fount. Provide a variety of water vessels.
H.W. also says “They’re like city chickens. First day in the country,” because they aren’t too energetic, and not much into scratching. Very calm. Not used to grass. Never seen a ramp before. He thinks they’ll figure it out, though.
Near the evening we were watching and they seemed much more relaxed. Too relaxed. Hey! I think they’re settling for the night. Definitely, hunkering down in the corner for keeps.
Chivvying with a stick…
The afternoon performance, luckily, was not as dramatic and traumatic as the morning. Poking towards ramp – ok, we’ll hide under the ramp. Underramp blocked off with cardboard. One inch at a time, up the ramp, protesting. Jump off the ramp, start over. The red and black hens, halfway up, settled down comfortably I’ll just stay here for the night. No, really, I’m good here. See, dozing. Finally had to reach in and put them up by hand. No panic or outrage though.
Shut the ramp. Look at each other. This better not happen every day.
Drop the ramp. High hopes for a better beginning than yesterday. Now they know what it’s like downstairs, and that’s where the food is, surely…
Half hour later I peek and all the birds are clustered around the hatch. Much better.
Crowing! First rooster down; proud of it.
An hour later. What happened to the rest of you guys … hey, what, you’re roosting!?!
Get the stick.
Anything but the ramp! We’d rather starve than go down the ramp! Roost to the death! This time I opened the lid too far and the second rooster escaped. He was so horrified with his freedom OMG, now what do I do!? Get back in. CAN’T! he promptly ran into the long grass and sank down to hide, where I threw my shirt over him and calmly picked him up and deposited him on lower level. Slowly, patiently, with a long stick, persuaded all the hens to go down the ramp by themselves. Oh, happy place! So all but the second cock made their own way downstairs, however reluctantly. Really, this better not happen every day.
About this time H.W. started speculating that they may not be the smartest breed in the species.
Peace for the day.
Adorable. Little head poufs, fuzzy little bodies, low to the ground. Their feathers are fine like hair, so they resemble long haired cats, especially the cocks with their luxurious manes. Except entirely the wrong shape to be cats, obvs. They are very calm outside of times of upramp-downramp transitions. And quiet. The cock rarely crows during the day. Before dawn, however… Still no crows from the second rooster.
I made a temporary coop extension so that they could get a little farther away from me while I made some refinements and permanent ramp adaptations. First design definitely too steep. They quickly accepted me and the drill sounds and stretched out in the sun in a feathery pile. Was pleased that they had the sense to make themselves dust baths, at least, which looks like they’re burying themselves, flattening down in, squabbling over the deep spot my turn. Still worried that I never see them drinking, but they’re doing plenty of eating.
Noticed they were making weird sounds like a baby crying and sat down to watch for a bit. Feared dehydration was causing painful wailing. But it was the roosters making the sounds. Could it be, bedtime noises? Head count, double take, hey wait, where’s the white hen? Peeked up hatch and she was sitting inside, looking down the ramp. Yay! One of them has sense!
Sat to watch the process. Will they do it on their own?
Edging towards ramp. Crowding on first step of ramp. Everyone wants to be only on the first step of the ramp. First cock steps over the crowd and walks slowly but surely upstairs. Yay! Two of them up, no, wait… White feet coming down the ramp. Oh no! It’s the white hen, followed by the first rooster!
Backsliding. Second rooster passes everyone to go up, then comes back down. Not done eating. Red and black hens creep to halfway up the ramp. White hen goes up (all of these advances and retreats at molasses speed), passes red and black hens on their way back down. They go back to eating. First rooster up. Two up, three down. Second rooster and black and red hens have a second wind and renew foraging. Hens make pathetic attempts to get on the ramp from the side, hurling themselves at it. No matter, resume eating. Second rooster goes up to stay; first rooster comes down. Does some more eating, thoughtfully sneaks up on black hen and pounces on her. Amorous attempt thwarted. Waits for black and red hens to sort themselves out on the base of the ramp and begin their tentative, glacial progress up it. Going, going, oh, second thoughts… first cock distinctly gives red hen a push with his head. Going, gone!
Success. 7:06 pm
Close the ramp. Well, can count on them for half the process. Dare I hope for the morning?
Opened ramp at dawn.
Replete with faith that they would surely show themselves out today, and sure that the crowing after a period of quiet meant they had done so, I left them alone for a couple hours.
Check on them. Are you kidding me? No chickens downstairs.
Stick. First rooster immediately bounces downstairs. Rest of the birds jam themselves into the other three corners and mount a determined resistance with a great deal of flapping.
They’re all still alive, so they must be getting enough to drink, but I wonder why they’re so private about it.
With little miniature chickens, everything is miniature. I make dispensers out of pop bottles; a little scoop of food is all they need. They’re so tiny. The taller roosters have mostly naked legs with a feather accent on their feet, but the ladies apparently have feathers all the way down their legs. It gives the impression that they’re wearing little feather clown pants. That and the puffball on the head-they are very funny looking chickens. Super cute, though, little and soft, funny looking and adorable.
What the heck? Mid afternoon, three of the birds are upstairs? Are they thinking about laying? Second cock and white hen positively snuggling in a corner. I leave them to it and provide water.
Other two content. Black hen maybe more than content; posted up in front of the new feeder, scarfing. They go up by evening.
Opened ramp. First rooster down before I walk out of sight. A new record.
Will they or won’t they?
They won’t. Bring on the sticks.
This time all the birds quietly and reluctantly, but with painful slowness, approach the ramp and walk themselves down it as though they meant to, albeit coerced in that direction. Major progress.
10 am, all but the first cock are back upstairs. This is ridiculous. It’s like kids- you have to go play outside. Introduce stick – rooster immed. comes upstairs to see what the ruckus is about. They all troop down relatively cooperatively in a line. I observe that the biggest psychological barrier seems to be the hop off the perch, even though it’s only a few inches high. They bob their heads and think about that step for a while.
Phew- witness rooster drinking. Ok.
Now you see them, now you don’t. Little pompom heads all go to bed while we’re not looking around 6 pm.
Opened ramp. An instant of silence, then happy clucking and thump, rooster hops off perch, emerges, and crows about it.
I still have optimism.
Completely unfounded. An hour later, all the rest still perching.
H.W.: “Ok, at this point it’s just annoying.”
Brandish stick and all of them hop down and make their way out in a line as though they were waiting for stick time, except red hen, who watches exodus interestedly and exhibits some anxiety once everyone’s gone but recovers and settles in to stay. Encourage with stick and she goes.
A couple hours later, notice all of them are back upstairs. Why? We leave for a few hours and they’re still in there when we get back. Chase them out with a stick and they quite obediently trot downstairs and eat. Go to bed at 7.
How long will this go on? Only the rooster seems to think going down for a bite to eat and a drink is an idea worth taking the initiative to do. Why are they not normal?
A breakthrough! Not in the morning though- had to chase them out, per usual. At the appearance of the stick they file out and down the ramp obediently.
But midday, the brown hen was upstairs, then, she was down again! Later, the white one did the same! Yay, now we know that the ramp is known as a passage that functions in two directions, for three of the birds. If they go upstairs early, we know they know how to come back down should they get hungry or thirsty. They are now scratching and scuffing in a more typical chicken way, churning up the floor of the coop like you’d expect chickens to. It’s almost like they had to learn or remember how to do that.
Rooster bounds out as soon as the ramp drops, and he has also learned the sounds of food. When he’s upstairs in the day and I approach and open the sides, he knows that means that I’m throwing some more food in. He starts chirruping even before -thump– he hops off the perch and runs down the ramp. He’s not always joined by the ladies, though, even though he clearly announces feasting time.
Today we decided to open up the downstairs and let them loose, since we were going to work on the garden right next to them. Our nearness would protect them from aerial predators. I opened one side wide. The rooster was looking hard, sorta skeptically. Something is different here. Eventually, he slowly stepped out, then stepped a little faster, then called the rest, and they were off. The red hen had retired already after a breakfast browse, and no sooner did H.W. say “the red hen’s upstairs, she’s gonna miss out!” that her brown feathered feet appeared at the top of the ramp. She peeked out over her feet. ??? What!? Grass party? Then trundled down hastily to join in. Very funny. All of them walked in a line behind the rooster out into the tall grass, taller than them. I’d expected them to stick more closely to the coop, but they were off. Chicken safari!
They toddled off in a big loop, and I thought the rooster might lead them to the shade of the trees- we’d have to head them off – but he got cold feet or else was upset that the hens had lost interest in single file and started to disperse. Oh, tasty, oh and this over here is tasty too… He turned around and both roosters worked quickly together to group up the hens again, then they returned to the shady side of the coop, not the side they’d left from. How do we get back in? I opened the other sides for them (3 sides of the coop have mesh “doors” that can be peeled open for throwing in snacks, or changing the water). I left them open and the birds all roamed freely in and out and stayed nearby for the rest of their free time. The second rooster made a spectacle of himself stretching and lounging in the dust bowl with his feet sticking out in the air, and the white hen posted up over her anthill. She has discovered ants. A couple days ago I uncovered an anthill in their coop and the birds walked vaguely around it, over it; the ants walked over their feet and feathers. Sigh. The white hen has figured it out, though, and clearly loves the ants. She spends ages standing on the anthill, her attention completely fixed. They all seemed much more relaxed with us; not sure if they’re getting used to us or if they were more comfortable with the doors open because they weren’t confined.
H.W. was chucking worms to them from the garden and the rooster figured out very quickly who was the purveyor of worms and started watching H.W. like a hawk for the next toss, edging out towards us. I’m impressed with the first rooster. Smart, aware, taking care of the ladies. It’s nice that the two roosters get along so well, and cooperate at times. Never dispute. I’m not sure how the second rooster feels about his total subordination, but it’s pleasant for everyone that he doesn’t squawk about it, literally.
These chickens are adorable. Fluffy, cute, very sweet, gentle and quiet chickens, slow, in more ways than one. They border very closely on lazy. It’s nice to not worry about aggression. They never peck each other, and rarely get worked up at all. I can see why they’re a maternal breed. The black hen seems like the dimmest, but she also seems like the first cock’s favourite. Maybe she just needs the extra attention.
So, when will we get an egg?
Rooster decided to help plant potatoes and unexpectedly came up in our zone to do a little strutting on top of the mounded potato bed. Also witnessed first squabble between white and black hen (white won). May have been over ants. New coop location means new excavations, and they’ve been drilling little holes like wells. White hen has made one her whole head fits in.
No stick! All the hens follow the rooster down slowly and talkatively, black hen in the lead (a surprise), and red hen lingering straggler (not a surprise). But was it really on their own? I did tire of waiting and opened the lid, which is usually closely followed by the stick, so were they really responding to the opening lid?
What the heck?
These are egg falsies, put in the nests as a inspiration and reassurance to layers in a new place, that this is where eggs go. The ‘what the heck’ is that two are in one box (I “seeded” one in each). So somehow, without thumbs, one or more of these chickens moved a fake egg over the wall between the nests! Even crazier is that it would have been much easier to bump it out the lower front of the nest box, but no, they knew it belongs in a box. How? When? How long did that take? Where’s the chicken cam when you need it?
Still need to open the lid in the morning to provoke the exit downramp, but don’t need the stick. Ok, ok, we’re going.
Also standard to roust them out mid afternoon and chase them downstairs to eat some more. It can’t be right for them all to go to roost as early as noon. H.W.: “Get downstairs and do something if you’re not going to lay eggs up here! What a lazy bunch of perch potatoes!”
Today was a cool, foggy, damp day, with the moisture in the air making all the spider net webs visible on the shrubs and soaking our pant legs in the grass. The chickens roamed much farther during their supervised free range time while we dug garden beds, maybe because it was cool. I love the chicken soundtrack while we dig. They were obviously loving it, burrowing in the grass and simultaneously eating and rolling around, which is the funniest- upside down writhing chicken pausing to peck, peck, resume wriggling. They were hilariously entertaining, scattering around away from the coop (making the rooster nervous), disappearing in the greenery, eating grass blades like spaghetti, digging little holes to writhe in, and getting themselves wet and dirty, making their little head feathers all punk rock spiky. How small they are is all too obvious once they get out in the grass, and make no impact on it at all. We really need another fleet of (full-sized) chickens to scratch and fertilize (and lay eggs) in a meaningful way. H.W. was teasing me about my fluffy little toy chickens. But then he announces he’s named them all. Pardon? So he loves them too. They are a not very useful bunch of tiny toy chickens, but they’re a start.
All of the birds come and go freely, up and down. Mostly up, though. Especially the red hen loves a siesta. An all-day siesta. They eat and rummage around in the grass for a few hours, or maybe just one, then it gets hot and they go upstairs. To perch, not to sit promisingly in a nest box, despite earlier evidence of someone using a box. Or it’s cool and wet and they go upstairs. Or they get bored and go upstairs. Or they’re all narcoleptic. Is this the expression of their extra-broody Silkie nature? The hens retire sooner than the roosters, but they too follow the ladies upstairs far too early. It’s become routine to chase them all back downstairs in the afternoon for another round of eating and foraging.
White hen was avoiding the attentions of the rooster and ran into the tall grass and held still, invisible but for her poofy puffball of a head poking up on the lookout. Bright white Q-tip in the grass. It is funny that most weeds are bigger than they are.
H.W., frustrated with the birds’ continued non-productivity and also concerned they aren’t spending enough time down to properly feed themselves, chased them back downstairs three times before lunch. “What are ya doin’ upstairs again already, ya roost russets?” All this accomplished was making the three hens roost on the ramp in a line, uncertainly hunkering down in no-mans-land, which was very amusing. So chickens can be trained. They were tempted off the ramp later by some fresh scraps, then promptly went upstairs for the night. What’s up with them? They “range” barely a few feet from the coop, eat enthusiastically but not for long, and only occasionally enjoy a long ant feast or sunsprawl/dust bath. Most often they slip upstairs after a short snack, and may or may not come out again in the afternoon on their own. How are they getting enough to eat or drink that way? And what does it take to get eggs out of them? They are the most relaxed, laid-back chickens I’ve ever seen, so I think they’re content enough..?
The presence of two roosters is so far impeding any budding love in the henyard, or at least any consummation. Regularly the main rooster picks out a hen and stalks her meaningfully. Usually the girls scurry away squawking and hide themselves in the weeds, but if he’s lucky enough to get up on her, then the second rooster in a smooth flanking manoeuvre strolls up to the proceedings and –Pop! plucks a feather out of the amorous rooster’s tail. That ends things instantly, as the randy rooster lifts straight into the air with a surprised squawk and the hen escapes. The tail-puller is already gliding away, snacking nonchalantly. Seen this cock-blocking happen like it’s scripted, three times now. Hilarious! H.W. even narrates: “- Hey! Get offa her! – You! Are not helping! – Whatever might you be talking about?” But it lessens my confidence in a future of fertilized eggs. We’ll have to lock up one of them when we need viable eggs.
Successful mating also happens. That’s good to know. I guess you win some you lose some. Rooster walks right up to me when I come with food. He’s on the ball, always watching. One of us regularly boots them back outside in the afternoon and they come out, eat and explore good-naturedly for awhile. They move a little farther from the coop than they used to, and are obviously very comfortable with their new free-range identity, grazing and lounging in the long grass, sunning and scratching in the short grass. No eggs yet. Their cost so far: $9 hardware cloth (extra on the bottom of the coop not necessary); $5 food (consumed). I guess that’s only about 4 dozen eggs (not yet laid), but not too big a deficit for them. Total expenditures include grit and oyster shell $10.15, which it will take them months to eat, a $32 bag of organic feed, who knows how long that will take to eat, and more hardware cloth than was reasonable to buy, but makes it easy to build more coops. I recommend knowing exactly how much hardware cloth you need before going to the store and being put on the spot at the cash register. It comes in 2, 3, and 4’ widths.