New Little Farm Chicken Book!

Penny the Alpha Hen

Have you dreamed of a few chickens scratching contentedly in your backyard? Or you’re looking for practical tips for raising your flock of laying hens?

Then you might enjoy Little Farm in the Henhouse: A True-Life Tale of Hen-Keeping Homestead-Style, my brand-new Little Farm book!

New chicken book!

In this 4th book of my Little Farm in the Foothills series, you’ll meet our three flocks of hens—and discover all the joys and challenges my husband John and I experienced raising hens on our Foothills homestead. 

In “Henhouse,” I also share tips like:

*What to do when your hens stop laying eggs

*Dealing with challenging flock dynamics

*Managing broody hens…and more! 

You can read a sample of the book here…

Little Farm in the Henhouse is out May 1–but is now on Preorder at Amazon, Kobo and all your favorite ebook retailers. You can preorder the print book too!

And from now through Tuesday, April 30, you can get a special price on the ebook, $3.50, from my website homepage…just click the brand-new online store link to buy direct from my little store. Within moments, you’ll receive the ebook in your email!

I’ll be back May 1, book release day, for more Little Farm in the Henhouse updates! 

Miss Broody Sets a Record, Part 2!

Well, that new development in the coop I mentioned last time...

I discovered Miss Broody was actually sleeping on the roost instead of in the nest. It had to mean a big change: her broodiness was on the wane.

 Whatever the future held for her, she had definitely set a record for the longest broody period by far of any of our hens.

 The following morning, I briefly saw her outside in her caged run, hanging out on the big leaf maple stump. She was off her nest! Now that was a reason to celebrate!

 Her outdoor play time didn’t last long, but as the days went by, she began to spend longer periods outside the coop. Then one day, she appeared in the run first thing in the morning. And stayed outside until sundown—like a normal hen!

 Suddenly, she was powering down the feed, and was scratching the ground constantly, like a laying hen ought to. Our previously languishing Miss Broody had a whole new lease on life.

 I let myself hope she would start laying again.

 Each day, when I came to take care of her, she was practically pushing on the door to get out of the run and into the yard. She was pecking at clover and other greens like never before, and still emptying her feeder regularly too.

Yet what was entirely new was her feisty-ness: whenever I opened the gate to the chicken yard, this previously retiring little girl would actually try to escape into the woods!

And she was molting like crazy. As I’ve mentioned on my Little Farm blog, molting is a normal, cyclical process: a hen loses a lot of feathers while her reproductive system takes a break. It had been many months since Miss Broody had molted, and now, there were feathers everywhere.

Piles of blond fluff all around the run. Inside the coop, I had to yard the feathers out by the bucketful. She was definitely setting another record, this time for the most epic hen molt ever.

All I could think was, who is this chicken? And what happened to Miss Broody?

After several days of marveling at all the feathers she was losing without going bald, I noticed her molting dialing down. The next time I entered the coop to clean it, there was a surprise.

A small egg lying on the platform beneath the roost! Her first egg in months! 

However, Miss Broody must have forgotten what the nest boxes were for. So I moved the egg to one of the nests, to give her a clue, and left it there.

Two days later, I found a second egg. Right alongside her first one. So apparently the whole nest thing had come back to her.

And thus began Miss Broody’s egg laying marathon… First it was two eggs in four days, then three in a four-day period. Then seven eggs in eight days!

Her eggs started out on the small side—not quite as small as a pullet egg, but little. But they’ve gradually gotten larger. We filled one empty egg carton, and we’ve started on a second. Miss Broody has never laid with this much regularity before—almost daily.

And come to think of it, not one of our Buff Orpington flock ever laid as consistently as this, not even in their first, vigorous months of laying.

With all this champion egg production, we’ve stopped calling the hen Miss Broody. “Let’s call her Missy,” I said to John.

"Missy it is," he agreed.

It’s so rewarding to see this girl living a “henny” life again. And with organic eggs running from $6-$8 a dozen at the Co-op, it’s especially gratifying to have homegrown eggs.

I know all good things must come to an end. But for now, John and I are enjoying having a happy, productive hen at Berryridge Farm! 

Miss Broody Sets a Record, Part 1

I thought our hen had gone permanently broody.

In fact, she had spent so much of her life sitting on a nest without anything to show for it that John and I named her “Miss Broody.”

For those of you new to my chicken tales, Miss Broody is our one remaining laying hen here at Berryridge Farm. I’ve written about her rather colorful young life (and those of her gone-but-not-forgotten “sisters”) numerous times on my Little Farm in the Foothills blog.

To fill you in, broodiness is a state in which a laying hen’s chick-raising instincts kick in. But instead of producing eggs, all she wants to do is hatch them. If there are no eggs in the nest, she sits there anyway—day and night, 24/7.

Now, laying hens are pretty much all about eating, snacking, and scratching the soil, searching for bugs to munch on. It takes a lot of protein and nutrients, vitamins and minerals to produce eggs!

Unfortunately, broody hens aren’t really interested in food, or even water. So as the days or weeks pass without proper nutrition, their health and wellbeing can really dwindle.

I’m no expert, but it seems to me with that kind of dedication, the hen’s hormones have sort of tricked them into thinking they are hatching eggs. 

In any event, a broody hen doesn't actually just sit on the nest—she settles her whole self into the bedding, fluffs out her feathers, and sinks her head into her chest. Eyes half closed, she'll generally act like she’s in a stupor. But woe betide the person who disturbs her: she'll rouse instantly, and squawk or even hiss at you! 

 And since a broody hen completely stops laying, she’s just not earning her keep.

Miss Broody is a Buff Orpington—a breed known for a tendency for broodiness. Research tells me that a hen’s broody period is supposed to last about 21 days. The problem is, the broody hens at our place had really gotten into it—often staying broody for weeks and weeks on end.

 And this summer, Miss Broody was on a hen-brooding marathon: she would just not snap out of it.

 As August wound down, despite my coaxing to come off the nest and enjoy some weeds, and putting feed and water right under her nose, she was eating barely enough to stay alive. 

I had grown resigned to her fate: this poor little chicken was going to live out her days alone in the coop, silent, pale and sickly, until she simply gave up the ghost.

 But at the end of August, there was a new development in the coop... 

Next week: Part 2--Or you can read the full story at Little Farm Writer!

Miss Broody Rejoins the World

Bobcat at our place

I had given up hope.

Our one remaining hen has been on her nest all summer. She’d always been the broodiest of our flock of Buff Orpingtons, but I suspected this particular broody period of hers, which should have lasted maybe a few weeks, had become permanent.

I think she was completely traumatized by the last bobcat attack in June—so much so she would never recover. 

Up close, bobcats don’t seem that fierce, do they? But they are relentless chicken hunters. 

And when the cat carried off her chicken “sister,” our feisty Little Britches, our last hen decided to just spend the rest of her days in the coop.

Each day, I’d lift her off the nest—broody hens rarely get off their nest unless you make them— and put her in front of the waterer. I’d stick around until she drank, and coax her into having a little feed. Then, unless I blocked the hen door into the coop, she would run back inside.

This week, I figured I’d seen the writing on the wall. This poor little animal was eating just enough to barely stay alive. She was going to live out her days alone in the coop, pale and sickly, until she just gave up on life.

Of course she wasn’t laying, i.e., fulfilling her hen destiny. I figured she never would again, not without other hens and their laying-egg hormones around. But she also wasn’t scratching the ground, enjoying her feed, or chasing bugs.

Yet I was most concerned about her loneliness—hens are herd animals, meant to live with others. And without any other hen companionship, I couldn’t see any future for Miss Broody at our place—forever under the threat of a bobcat or other predators.

Two days ago, I was ready to ask some hen-keeping folks I know, who LOVE animals, if they would be interested another chicken—of course confessing that this one had quit laying. Or calling the Humane Society—maybe they knew of some people who ran sort of an old folks home for chickens past their prime.

I hated giving up on Miss Broody—but I was sure she’d be happier somewhere else.

Yesterday, I heard her chattering a bit—and wondered if she’d sensed a predator, which was nothing new. But I still had to yard her off her nest and get her to eat.

In the early evening, though, I peeked into the coop. Miss Broody was on the roost!

This was big—a normal hen behavior. And when I rattled her feeder, she actually came out of the coop and ate a little!

Today, I saw her out in her yard. This was really big! Of course, ever hopeful, I checked the nest. No eggs. If laying is indeed in her future, she probably has to regroup and eat for a few days before laying restarts.

Still, Miss Broody really has turned the corner—even if she's not laying eggs, she's come back to life!

For more about hens, broody and otherwise, I hope you’ll check out my past posts!

Copyright: Susan Colleen Browne

Photo credit: John F. Browne

Miss Broody Update

 

Hen riled up—making her warning call again

I thought it would take forever…but Miss Broody finally decided to leave the nest!

Every single one of our Buff Orpington chickens has been broody at some point or another. The broody stage of our other hens would generally last about 21 days, which I understand is pretty typical. Miss Broody retreated to the coop on the first warm spring day, around mid-April, and finally emerged from the broody stage last Monday—over seven weeks, which must be a record!

But…there were extenuating circumstances…

Around the three-week mark—around the time we would expect the broody stage to be over—her only remaining chicken chum, Little Miss Britches, was killed by a bobcat. I think at that point, Miss Broody was done with the great outdoors.

Every day, I would take her off the nest, and bring her out of the coop. I’d put some feed right under her nose, and for a minute or two, she’d peck at it. But then, she’d run straight back inside the coop.

Certain that the bobcat was an ongoing threat, I started putting her out in the grass, keeping my eye on her from the garden at all times. She would actually eat a little clover, and again, peck at the whole grains in the feed, and in between pecks, look around fearfully. All in all, though, she consumed very little food.

I think the real problem is that she’s been lonesome. Maybe she’s even had hen depression.

But I’m also inclined to think that being outside in the light for several weeks, surrounded by rich spring grass, finally worked its magic. When I looked across the yard Monday morning, and saw the vivid splash of blond roosting on the big maple stump, I thought, she’s baaaack!

But she’s still not laying.  

I wonder if she ever will. I’ve been checking the nest every day, only to be disappointed. It could be that laying hens need other hens around to keep their egg-producing hormones up to speed. And I can see Miss Broody is still anxious—while eating, she still looks around constantly for threats. 

Yesterday evening, she was making her buck-buck-buck-bu-GAH! warning call when the neighbor cat was in the vicinity. A frightened hen is not much of a layer.

Our nearest neighbors, Alan and Gretchen, who sold us our flock, are also down to one hen—the bobcat has really made the rounds around here. The hen is still laying, but Alan reports that she’s eating her eggs—very dysfunctional chicken behavior. She’s likely lonely too.

So, keeping only one hen has its problems. The thing is, I realized with our most recent flock of hens—nearly decimated by wildlife—is that once you start keeping laying  hens, your girls are the heart of your homestead.

Now that we’re down to just the one, nervous girl, I feel that hole on our place. In our hearts.

Broody Hens and Little Britches

Double the trouble

I’m a slow learner.

Whenever one of our girls goes broody—that is, their mommy instinct kicks in and all they want is to sit on the nest and hatch chicks, even though sometimes there’s no egg(s) in the nest box—I keep thinking it’s just a fluke, the hen will soon work through it, then we’ll be DONE. But no.

I’ve mentioned before that our flock of 5 are all Buff Orpingtons, a breed that’s prone to broodiness. And since mid-spring, we've already had 3 hens going broody.  We’ve been calling all the broody girls “Little Miss Broody” because we can’t really tell them apart. 

Except for one: the most recent brooder. She's a hen John calls “Little Britches.”

An American history buff, John named her after one of his favorite personages from the Old West: the diminutive cattle rustler nicknamed “Little Britches,” a teenage girl who apparently was about 4 foot 8 inches, but was full of derring-do. (Fun fact: she was so (in)famous there's a film about her and her partner in crime, Cattle Annie!)

And this hen really is too big for her britches—although she’s smaller than the other 4, she's definitely the alpha girl, feisty and bossy. She apparently thinks she’s in charge of both the feeder and waterer, and will often peck at the other hens and drive them off.

Anyway, back to the broody girls--you might wonder, why not just let them sit? The problem is, a broody hen doesn’t lay eggs, and is pretty much uninterested in eating or drinking. My concern is especially in summertime, a chicken could get so dehydrated she might die.

See those ruffled feathers? Like I said, cranky!

Anyway, the drill for us is to remove the hen from the nest—and boy, are broody hens cranky! They hiss and snarl at you when you bother them. Next, we put them in a separate fenced orchard with feed and water. Because if you simply return the hen to their regular pen, she’ll just run into the coop and climb right back on the nest.

Anyway, when Little Britches went broody a few weeks ago, a process which turns hens kind of passive and lazy (except when they're sitting on the nest), I started to see the writing on the wall. Then this week brought not 1, but 2 hens going broody simultaneously.

So it definitely looks like a trend. And now I see my future: our 5 hens just may cycle through broodiness, one after the other, in more or less a continuing cycle.

And broody hens are a determined bunch. Yesterday evening, when I was busy watering and mulching beds, I noticed one of the separated hens had disappeared. I had the 2 broody girls in the orchard, then I looked over, and there was only one!

For a minute, I imagined the worst--a hawk swooped down and killed her! But I was outside the whole time; I would have seen if a raptor flew into the yard. And I would have definitely noticed if the other hens were freaking out at the attack. (Wouldn’t I?)

In any event, I quickly got my catastrophizing under control and checked the nest boxes. And what do you know: the hen had somehow found a gap in the fence and snuck back to the coop and onto a nest. So I had to pull her out and put her into the orchard again. I know it’s kind of funny, but I’m just not thrilled about extra chores this time of year, when the garden is so demanding.

And speaking of determined birds…

The local songbirds get very brash during berry season. Despite our best efforts to protect the berries with stretchy nylon netting from stem to stern, wild birds somehow get inside the nets almost every day and have to be chased out. Towhees are frequent trespassers. They’re what I think of as the “Little Britches” of our local songbirds, since they get into the most mischief, and are relentless crop thieves.

But the other night, a towhee wasn’t as smart as he thought he was, and got caught in the net.

John, our go-to guy for wildlife rescuing, was in town doing errands. And we’ve found too many dead birds in our nets—when we weren’t around to free them, they likely died from fright and exhaustion—to want to risk any more. So it was up to me.

I approached the bird, enmeshed in the netting upside down and cheeping for all it was worth—I imagine it was terrified. I tried to gently loosen the netting around it, but the bird seemed to only get more agitated, flailing and flapping away. And for a few minutes, I thought he was getting even more tangled in.

But finally Mr. Towhee shimmied free and instantly flew away—without so much as a thank you… And somehow, despite his close call, I’m pretty sure I’ll be chasing him or his relatives out of the patch for the next two months!