What We Did This Weekend

The new coop is underway!  We have walls, and windows, and trusses!

This is the first of three segments that will eventually make a larger chicken coop, a shop, and a larger alpaca shed. 

The coop will house all 37 chickens and 5 ducks, and will have a rain barrel for fresh water, storage for feed, and a multitude of nesting boxes.  My prediction is that no matter how many nesting boxes we make, all 36 hens will try to use 3. 

The shop will be powered by a solar panel, and will have overhead storage for hay and alpaca feed.  This will become Jerry's home away from home, and will house all of his tools.  It will be off-limits to everyone, so that he can go completely OCD and fastidiously organize all of his wrenches, sockets, hammers, nails, hinges, and all of the other things a farm needs to keep going.  I suspect he will install pegboard on the walls, and will draw outlines of the tools hanging on the pegboard.  This way, he will be able to see in an instant if one is missing.  The outline will act like a chalk outline at a homicide scene, and will alert Jerry to pilfered items immediately.  I wouldn't be surprised if he installed an alarm system, too.  You don't want to get between a man and his tools.  It doesn't end well for anyone.

The alpaca shed will be double the size we have right now, and will attach at a right angle to the shop area, so that the entire "complex" will open to a half-courtyard area, which will be covered in gravel, and have a large duck pond in the middle.

The boys are enthusiastic about this new arrangement, because it gets them closer to the fresh pasture.

Mmmm, yummy pasture.

I am enthusiastic about all aspects of this project, but am especially excited about any idea that DOESN'T end with "....and then we'll come in every night and borrow your bathtub...."

I don't recall this being part of Jeff Foxworthy's routine, but he's welcome to borrow it: "You might be a redneck if you have ducklings swimming in your bathtub...."

New Kids on the Block

We have some new residents at Dunwill Farm.  29 new residents in all, to be exact.  27 new chicks, and 2 new alpacas.

The chicks are of several varieties--Americaunas, Welsummers, and Australorps.  They will lay copious eggs, I hope.  It's pretty amazing, you can get just about anything online.  That's where we got the chickens.  Did you know that the US Postal Service delivers live poultry?  I didn't either.  The hatchery ships day-old chicks, and they arrive safe and sound (if somewhat crowded) in a cardboard box with air holes in the lid.  Weird.

The chicks will stay indoors until the new coop is built.  The new coop will be a poultry palace.  We're going to repurpose the lumber from the current alpaca shelter and use it in the new, improved, much larger shelter.  This shelter will adjoin the coop in an L-shape, with a storage room at the angle attaching the two sides.

We have two new alpacas, as well.  I am pleased to introduce Whiteout and Edgefield.

This is Whiteout.  He's approximately three years old.  He's about the same size as Mizzie.

This is Edgefield.  He's about 7 months old, and is just being weaned.  He's by far the smallest of the bunch. 

The boys have integrated into the herd nicely.  It was touch and go for a few minutes, because Mizzie felt very threatened by Whiteout, but everyone is getting along now.  No one has felt threatened by Edgefield, since he's so small. 

We picked up the two new alpacas in Washington, and the ride home was fairly uneventful.  However, it is apparent that Edgefield is missing his mom, because he keeps wandering the pastures, humming and looking for her.  He and Whiteout have attached themselves to Atticus, who, though he is the leader of the herd, isn't sure he wants to be followed THAT closely. 

I've been my usual OCD self, sneaking out to the pasture to spy on the boys, making sure that the new kids are getting enough to eat, and are not being picked on.  So far so good.  Atticus is a calm, confident alpha, and Goldie is a friendly ambassador for the new guys.

Poor Harry and the girls--they have no idea what awaits them in a month or so.  They will be completely outnumbered.  Look at them, obliviously ranging around the pasture:

Poor Harry--he can barely keep track of the flock he has.  He's going to have a fit when he sees how many new hens he'll have to herd around.

Bridgie has informed me that those new girls had better watch their step--SHE rules the coop (unbeknownst to Harry), and she'll whip them into shape!

Good Night

Good night, girls.

Good night, Harry.

Good night, Goldie.

Good night, Mizzie.

Good night, Atticus.

Good night, Solomon.

Good night, back yard.

Good night, stubborn blackberries.

Good night, pond.

Good night, fish.

See you all tomorrow.

A Cry for Help

Harry the Rooster has always had trouble figuring out what time to crow.  At first, I thought it was because he was young, and new at the whole crowing thing.  Then, I thought that his refusal to crow only in the morning was due to an ever-expanding ego--that he thought he was just TOO fabulous to be limited to crowing one measly time per day.

Over the past few days, however, I have begun to wonder if his constant crowing is more of a cry for help.

You see, over the last few days, I've noticed something about Harry, or specifically, Harry's neck feathers.  They're missing.  It would be one thing if they were missing as a normal part of molting--after all, the girls are losing quite a few feathers now that the weather is warming up.  But no, the skin that has been revealed due to the missing feathers appears to be sort of an angry, red color.  Like the feathers have been yanked out.  Like maybe, just maybe, Harry is being picked on. 

Granted, Harry is the only rooster amongst 11 other chickens, but he's always seemed so self-confident and strong, I was mostly worried about him picking on the girls.  Now, though, I'm starting to wonder. 

Maybe the girls got together, and decided that they're tired of being in constant fear for their virtue.  Maybe all 11 hens have formed the We Hate Loud Roosters Club, or have created some sort of Thelma and Louise pact that embraces violence against roosters. 

Maybe one of the other males on our property should be a little more careful about being a cranky tyrant, or the same thing will happen to him.....just saying. 

Anyway, I'm wondering if the girls have banded together to beat Harry up, and his constant crowing is a desperate attempt to get assistance. 

 More research will need to be done in order to determine which hypothesis is correct.

Chickens--The Gateway Drug to More Livestock

I have successfully resisted any and all attempts to add livestock to our property for many years. I didn’t want the hassle, the expense, the clean-up, and the inevitable extra work that comes with additional animals. My streak of successful resistance came to an end this spring. This was the Spring of the Chickens.

My mother was the catalyst. She and my husband have been rhapsodizing about fresh eggs and chicken poo (as fertilizer) for years, and finally it all just became too much. She went to the farm store one day, and came back with three chickens. My husband seethed with envy. Why did SHE get chickens, and not him? It’s not fair!! Not to be outdone, he sneaked out and got four more. My chickenless world had come to an end.

We kept the chicks in a huge storage bin (with the lid modified to cut out the middle and attach chicken wire), until they were big enough to be outside. My criteria for “big enough” was noise and odor-related—once they were too loud and smelled too much, I decided they were old enough to be outside.

The coop was built, which is a story for another day. Then, our friends got into the act—after all, if you’re going to have to build a coop, why not build it bigger, for MORE chickens?

We now have a dozen chickens. A dozen clucking, pecking, pooing chickens.








We soon discovered that one of the “shes” was a “he”. Thanks, Farm Store. His name is Harry.








Harry is a very confused rooster. He can’t tell time, and he has the weirdest crow ever. We hear “Rrr R Rrrrr….Rrr R Rrrrr” at all hours of the day and night. It’s a good thing we don’t have any near neighbors, or Harry would be someone’s dinner.

And if that’s not bad enough, recently, Harry has begun some disturbing behavior. He’s doing…things…to the hens. R-rated things. It’s shocking. It’s disgusting. It’s…..chicken porn.

The very worst thing about chickens, the thing that no one will tell you, is this: chickens are a gateway drug to other livestock. It’s true. As marijuana is to other drugs, so chickens are to other livestock. If not for the chickens, we would never have considered alpacas. If not for those blasted chickens, I wouldn’t be hearing words like, “goats”, and “cows” being bantered about IN MY HOME.

Cute, fluffy little chicks should come with a warning label. It should be government-mandated. Hey, Congress, instead of wasting millions of dollars of grant money for the study of the life cycle of the red-toed dung beetle, why don’t you do something about the unfettered, rampant sale of cute little chicks?

Because I am a civic-minded person, I’m going to do my part and provide a public service announcement regarding the dangers of chickens.

“This is your life before the scourge of chickens:






This is your life AFTER the scourge of chickens:






Any questions???”