Hi All

It has been a busy week. Not only did we lose the first hen to a hawk, we had another hen just up and die on us for no apparent reason. The day after finding the red dead, one of the Wyandottes konked out in the pen in the middle of the day. I had been out there collecting eggs twice already and everyone was all right. When I went out the third time there were signs that two eggs had been eaten in the nest boxes. This has been a problem and we haven't figured out who is doing it yet. We suspect the white and one of the reds, but haven't caught anyone in the act. So we try to collect a number of times when we can. After cleaning up the mess in the nest boxes I went around to the pen and there was the dead bird. No marks, nothing. Did she choke on an egg shell? Who knows. She was the hen that had followed Pete around the most and appeared to be the head hen. Was she pining for him? She is now buried and we are down to 21. The next day 20 of them laid eggs. Only one Araucana failed to produce that day. We know that because we only got two blue eggs and there are three of them. The last few days we have seen rather irregular production, ranging from 12 to 18, with a number laid late in the day. some of the girls are acting strangely and there is a lot of argument about nest box use. Esmeralda has decided to regularly bunk in with one of the Buffs, who likes to brood eggs and seems to protect her. She spends long hours camped out behind the Buff in the box, laying her blue egg for the Buff to protect. One of the reds spends alot of time trying to get into that same box with them, so perhaps she is the egg eater. The pecking order seems to be in disarray at the moment, so they act as if they are now expecting leadership from the humans. I am able to let them out in the middle of the day and get them to come back in fairly easily long before dark. Some will go into submissive posture when approached, so they can be picked up easily now. They seem to be asking me to play rooster and protect them. They also run right up to us if they have been out of our sight for just a short time. When Frank, Jennie and Keith came to give them treats tonight, they came running from all directions before they even saw what was offered. They seem to trust us all more now that they are more vulnerable. At some point one of the hens will emerge at the top of the order and take over the flock, but that has not happened yet. Losing the two at the top has apparently been traumatic for them. Some of them are finally showing signs of growing back some of the feathers Pete removed however. They are all very happy with the weather and the chance to get out and tear up the dirt in the gardens, looking for bugs and all the stray blades of grass. As Jeanne and I cut and cleared the bottom branches from many of the dying Colorado Spruces near the coop, the girls found new territory to dig up and had a ball. Also gives them a better chance to run for cover from hawks.

It had been a busy Friday. The co-op members had spent the morning telling stories and showing off our flock to a local publication. It was a fairly nice day, so we decided to let the chickens free range for a bit after the photographer had gotten all the pictures he needed. The writer and photographer, a husband and wife team, were friends of Wendy’s and we had invited them over for lunch after the interviews were over. We had just seen them off and were cleaning up when the phone rang. It was Peggy.

“I just got home and found most of the hens hiding in the coop! There were also some hiding under the trees and bushes, squawking up a storm, that all ran back to the pen as soon as they saw me. I did a head count and there are four missing. Could you come help me look for them?”

Wendy and I jumped in the car to head over to the coop. I was imagining the worst – A brazen predator attack, perhaps coyotes, in the middle of the day had wiped out almost 20% of our flock. We arrived to find Peggy and Jeanne walking in the row pines a short distance south of the coop. They told us they thought they had heard a chicken over there, but were unable to locate it. Peggy told us the story again, obviously shaken and distraught. We began to walk the perimeter around the coop, looking for tracks on the still partially snow covered ground but could find none from beast or fowl. As I moved around to the East side of the coop, a flutter of motion caught my eye. Then another, and another: Feathers, lots of them, were stirring in and around the leaves in the gentle breeze. The majority seemed to have come from a Barred Rock, but there were also what looked like a few Buff Orpington feathers as well. There was no snow on the ground here, just pine needles and a scattering of leaves so it was difficult to see if there were any predator tracks. What was definitely missing was any sign of a struggle. The ground was relatively undisturbed save for a few patches where the chickens had been scratching. The only obvious sign was one large scuff and gouge in the dirt right next to a large pile of feathers. I immediately thought “hawk”, but how could a hawk take four full grown hens? I know chickens aren’t the brightest critters in the world, but I just couldn’t imagine that it would take them until the fourth attack from a hawk to figure out that something was amiss and head for cover.

While pondering this new evidence, we all headed off in separate directions looking for additional clues. It wasn’t long before we heard Jeanne call out.

“I found one.” she said, in a rather calm and quiet voice.

From her tone, I assumed that she had found a dead hen. As I walked over towards where Jeanne was standing however, I was pleasantly surprised to see a rather disheveled Araucana emerging from under the low branches of a fallen pine tree. The hen had obviously found herself a good hiding place and she wasn’t about to come out until she knew there were friends about. Evidently the sight of Jeanne had convinced her that the coast was clear and she could come out into the open.

With the discovery of a live hen, we all redoubled our efforts with Peggy taking Wendy with her to the pines where she thought she had heard a chicken earlier. However it was Jeanne who seemed to have the knack for finding the girls that day.

“Two more!” she called as a pair of Rhode Island Reds came out from behind the garage and began hustling over to the coop.

So apparently only the Barred Rock had fallen victim after all, making our most likely suspect a hawk. Peggy and Wendy went into the coop and did a head count of the agitated chickens as best they could. Their efforts confirmed that there was still one hen missing. They went further and counted by breed just to ensure that it was a Barred Rock that was absent from the group. I could hear Peggy and Wendy going down the list of breeds that made up our flock, counting off the number of each variety as they progressed. When they were finished, they concluded that we were one Barred Rock short.

Not quite willing to give up on the last bird just yet, Peggy, Wendy and I returned to the pines. Peggy was pretty sure she had heard a chicken over there. Maybe she was hiding, or perhaps injured. We fanned out, going row by row, looking for feathers, tracks, any sign at all. We looked on the ground, under the trees, up in the branches and around the perimeter. No sign of a chicken whatsoever.

Wendy and I headed home, lamenting the loss of the Barred Rock. They are sturdy, even-tempered birds and good layers to boot. We hadn’t been home long when the phone rang. It was Peggy and I initially assumed she had found the missing hen. Instead, the discovery that she related over the phone only served to deepen the mystery. She had returned to the coop where the hens had calmed considerably and performed another breed count. To her surprise all four Barred Rocks were present, but there was a Rhode Island Red missing! She recounted again and again but kept coming up with the same result. In all the activity and confusion of earlier events, they must simply have miscounted, an easy enough thing to do.

But the ground outside had been littered with feathers that could only have come from a Rock. Had our sturdy girl managed to fight off her attacker? If so, might the missing Red still be out there somewhere? Only one way to find out, so Wendy went back over to do one more sweep with Peggy. Nothing came of it however and we came to the conclusion that while we were down one chicken, somewhere out there was a well fed hawk. I think we all secretly hoped that s/he got a belly ache from eating so much!

The final bit of the mystery played out on Monday and it was revealed to Wendy and me by yet another phone call from Peggy. The Red had been found, quite dead and half-eaten, right next to the stand of pines that had been the focus of so many searches. By the time Wendy and I arrived, Peggy had buried the remains. She walked us over to the scene of the crime and pointed out where she had found the bird. I was expecting a scene full of blood and gore, but there were only a few feathers scattered about. She then showed us where she had discovered a significant number of feathers from the hen under an adjacent pine tree. While I don’t specifically remember anyone searching that exact spot, it’s hard to believe that we wouldn’t have seen that hen had she been lying out in the open like that. Had the corpse been there all along, or had some scavenger dragged it out to finish what the hawk started? Had the hawk been scared off it's meal or did it discover it didn't care much for the taste of chicken? We will likely never know for sure what happened to our Red.

Matt

Here are some pictures of Pete at his new home, a 200 plus acre farm near Fife Lake. I think that he will be very happy there, as he was welcomed by Mary and Doug (his new caretakers) into deluxe accommodations in a coop almost as large as our house. The coop is a clerestory building, set up with three large rooms, each with an enclosed outdoor run. Pete shares his room with about six hens and a few doves. A second room is home to several guinea fowl and a small rooster, of what variety I am not sure. The third room is set up as a very cool aviary for doves, a pair of silkies, and a pheasant. It is complete with tree branches and several baskets for nesting. It feels very natural, almost like being outside. It is the kind of room that you could take a good book and a cup of tea, or simply sit and meditate with the soft cooing of the doves in the background. Very quiet and peaceful (except for the crowing rooster that just moved in next door).

Well, Pete was sure missed today and it turned out to be a sad day. We were off to a great start this morning, with Susan Ager, formerly with the Detroit Free Press, and her phtographer husband Larry here to do a story on the Coop for Edible Grand Traverse magazine. We took lots of photo ops out by the coop, with Keith the clear star of the show as he fed the girls and gathered eggs. We let all the girls out to run around the yard, which they immediately did. A few were rounded up to be held for pictures. The rest spread out and engaged in their favorite occupation, digging for food. Jeanne and I had to leave for a meeting, the others hanging around for a while longer then dispersing. We didn't plan to be gone long and didn't think the girls could get into too much trouble. The big door and the pen door were left open for them. When we got home around 2:30 and I went looking for them, I discovered most of them huddled in the corner of the open coop. Five were still out and hiding under the pine trees. Three of these were having a loud conversation about something which attracted my attention to them. I started counting after the five followed me back to the coop and went in without an argument. Should have been 23 and I only counted 19. It's not easy to count chickens so I gave it a few tries. It was clear that the girls were afraid of something and did not want to leave the coop. This suggested a predator attack of some kind. With four missing I could only think fox or coyote. We called Matt and Wendy and began the search party. Jeanne and I thought we heard chicken voices out by the road. When they got here and we fanned out, three chickens emerged from hiding under the pine by the barn. What a relief. They scooted in the coop quickly. Then we found a scattering of feathers from a barred rock and I had only counted three of them so we figured that was the missing one. We kept looking. When I went in the coop a bit later, there were four barred rocks there. A rhode island red was the missing one. I must say we were a bit glad we didn't lose the rock, as they lay those nice huge dark brown eggs. But sadly one of the reds must have been snatched by a hawk. Perhaps the rock almost got it too and fought off the attack. Who can know. This is our first predator loss since we began, though it is the third hawk attempt. It seems strange, with all the coyotes around every night right behind the coop, that it is hawks we have most to worry about. The girls are very subdued right now, with no desire to come out of the coop. They are only coming out into the pen if one of us is there. This is the way they acted after the first hawk attack last summer. They put out 16 eggs today even with the commotion. Now they are 22. We looked for red until dark but don't really expect to see her again. The girls will stay in for a few days.

Peggy, missing Pete

Hi all!
Well over the last month or so, old Pete has plum wore out his welcome around the coop. He's taken to charging everyone except Matt and Peggy, has removed a great number of feathers from some of the hens (a few are nearly bald on their backs!) and has just generally been a nasty S.O.B. The decision was made therefore to find a new home for our rambunctious rooster.

We started by posting the following ad under "Farm and Garden" on Craigslist:

Hi there!
My name is Pete, and I'm a 10 month old Wyandotte rooster. I've been living the good life - Cage free and 22 lady friends to (ahem) keep me occupied. The only complaint I have is that I have to put up with humans. There are seven of them in all, and there is no end to the trouble they cause. They are forever coming around, opening doors, closing doors, messing about with the food and water and disturbing my hens in their nest boxes. I tried to reason with them for a time, but it was just no use. Now, I just charge the annoying pests whenever they turn their backs on me, particularly the smaller ones. This seems to cause quite a fuss, and while it doesn't actually make them leave, it does make me feel as though I'm doing a good job of protecting my hens. Trouble is that I have heard some disturbing talk from the humans about recipes, sprigs of rosemary and a wide variety of stews that all seem to involve me somehow. As good as I have it here, I can't help but feel that it is time to move on. So if you're looking for a fairly mild-mannered yet occasionally feisty addition to your flock, please reply to this ad.

Sincerely,
Pete D. Rooster

Unfortunately the only response we received from the ad was one that simply asked "Would the old boy be good for soup?" Not exactly the home we were looking for.

Through casual conversation, a friend of Wendy's mentioned that she knew someone who might be willing to take Pete. This family was described as having a "menagerie" with a barn dedicated to "feathered friends". Sounded like a good deal, so Wendy pursued it. A few phone calls were made and and by Wednesday everything was arranged for us to deliver Pete to his new home on Saturday. We were happy that we had managed to find what sounded like an ideal situation and were very optimistic about the whole affair until we started considering the logistics.

The first question that arose was how to catch the nasty bugger. While living in Key West, I had seen the "Street Roosters" that roam the island by the hundreds picked up and handled by the local Bahamians and Cubans. It looked easy enough, but I couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't some trick involved essential to the prevention of receiving numerous kicks, pecks and scratches. It was suggested that we throw a towel or blanket over the bird to contain and subdue him. Then Peggy called and told us that she remembered being told that the best way to handle a rooster was to flip them upside down. The missing information was exactly how one goes about grabbing an ornery rooster to flip it over on it's back.

Next up, how to transport him? We didn't consider this until far too late and our options were rather limited. Specifically we had the choice of trying to tape several smaller cardboard boxes together to make one big enough for Pete, an unused galvanized steel garbage can with holes punched in it, or a rather large dog crate. The boxes just seemed like a bad idea all the way around and were never really seriously considered since we didn't have any to use that were much bigger than a shoebox. The dog crate was a good option but for the size - We were hoping to capture Pete in the coop and the crate was too big to fit in there. The garbage can probably would have been the best option - Small, manageable, durable, and we wouldn't have to worry so much about cleaning it afterward. It just seemed wrong to put him in a garbage can for any length of time. We finally settled on a plan that involved capturing him in the coop, putting him in the garbage can, then transferring him to the dog crate that would be open and waiting in the back of the car.

All too soon it was Saturday morning and time to round up ol' Pete. Wendy and I headed over to the coop with the garbage can and dog crate in the back of her car. All the way over, I just kept visualizing myself walking up to Pete, calmly reaching down and picking him up, then gently placing him in the can. When we reached the coop, Pete and his girls were all out in the run enjoying the morning sunshine. Feeling brave, I walked right in to the pen with the intent of catching the old boy by surprise. Turns out Pete is much more clever than I gave him credit for and seemed to know my intention. He had my number from the start and made sure to keep himself on the opposite side of all the hens so that I couldn't get to him. I finally managed to corner him at the far end of the run and reached down to pick him up. Wily young thing, our boy Pete. He managed to escape my grasp three separate times and made a bee-line for the coop. So much for the power of visualization...

In the end, catching Pete in the coop was pretty easy. Once I had him cornered I managed to get my hands on him, but realized too late that I had reached around opposite sides of one of the perches when I grabbed him. I stood there thinking, not wanting to release my prize yet knowing I couldn't pick him up. As I pondered, a curious thing happened - Pete relaxed. Where moments before he had been squirming and fussing, he was now quiet and still. I don't know if he suddenly trusted me, had resigned himself to his fate, or figured me for an idiot that would repeatedly bash him against the perch in my efforts to pick him up and thought he had better let me think things through. Whatever the case, he stayed still and I decided to risk removing one of my hands in order to reposition it. Pete stayed quiet and allowed me to not only change my grip, but also pick him up and rotate him over on to his back. I called to Wendy to open the door of the coop and stepped proudly outside into the sunlight holding a seemingly content Pete.

The rest of the transfer went smoothly and Wendy dropped me off at the house, then continued on her way to take Pete to his new home. I'll try to convince her to post about the super-deluxe new digs that he is enjoying. As a teaser - Pete's new coop is almost as big as our entire house...

Matt, aka The Chicken Whisperer