Now that spring has sprung, I’m more willing to do outdoor guard duty while the chickens have some walkabout time at the edges of the woods and in the yard.
They have the run of the place for at least a couple of hours most days. But when I open their outdoor run, the first thing all the chickens do is run, run, run for a spot between the back of the house and my Miss Kim lilac. This is where they bathe.
For chickens, a bath doesn’t involve water and bubbles. It involves loose dirt or dust.
The chickens dig and scratch with their sharp nails until there is a nice, soft patch of loose soil. Then each hen nestles down into the spot that she has prepared and wallows around, scratching and kicking the soil onto her back, opening her wings and rolling around. It looks like chicken heaven. You should be so happy in the bath.
This little ritual serves a useful purpose for the chickens. In hot weather it helps to cool them off as the soil particles work their way into the feathers. It also goes a long way toward avoiding mites, lice and other parasites. So the dirt bath is serious chicken hygiene.
For me, the chickens have also done me a favor. They have completely eradicated some invasive morning glories that no amount of weeding could control. In the years BC (Before Chickens), the morning glories would often wind their way into the lilac bush.
“Hey, wait!” you say. “Where is the big man while all these hens are bathing?”
Well, T. Boone Chickens usually takes a very abbreviated bath and then standards guard to ensure that the hens are protected and have their privacy.
He’s such a gentleman.
P.S. This is not really a chicken blog. But I do have a chicken section in my photo album. Have you visited it?
That’s right. Chickens play games. And they have toys.
Now that spring is here, I have a nearly endless supply of chickweed I can pull out of the lawn. Sure, I could toss it into the chicken run for them to feast on—and I often do. But it’s much more fun to fill their bell toy and watch them jump up to get it. As they grab the chickweed, the bell rings.
Meredith, pictured below, adores chickweed. Can you see her airborne to get a bite?
Of course, as the head of the household, T. Boone Chickens figures it’s his job to make sure his hens have a fair supply of treats. When they’re on walkabout in the yard, he often finds tasty little morsels. But rather than eating them himself, he makes a wonderful and excited “chuck, chuck, chuck” sound to call over the hens so they can eat the treat.
In the chicken run, he’s so tall compared to the hens he just reaches up and pulls down the chickweed for the hens to eat.
In his own roosterly way, he loves his hens, I think.
If you’re not scratching for food or running from predators intent on having chicken for dinner, you’re stuck in a coop or enduring the elements.
During a ferocious downpour just a while ago, the poor chickens had to take what little cover they could get from the ramp that leads into their coop. Yes, they could have gone into the coop, but only one hen chose the easy way out.
Until just before I snapped this photo, T. Boone Chickens, my fearless rooster, was standing in the downpour at the edge of the run guarding both flocks—the older hens you see here and the six baby chicks that are in a parallel run. T. Boone spends the better part of his days eyeballing the two groups of girls.
He takes his job very seriously. Really, it’s rather endearing. Even Harry and Ben, who usually only have mean things to say about T. Boone because of his, uh, technique with the hens, grudgingly admit that he is making an effort to be useful.
The baby chicks are growing quickly. I’ll be doing another photo shoot of the glamour girls soon to show how their fancy head feathers are coming in. Until then…
It was nearly 100 degrees while I was working outside today. I have a sliver of wood in my big toe, poison ivy and am covered in bug bites. Sometimes I think I need an easier hobby.
Holy moly, it’s hot. I was just outside providing drought assistance to the suffering greenery. Now excuse me while I cower here in the air conditioning for a bit before making dinner.
It has been such a busy work week. I have been chained to the desk. I can’t wait until the weekend. I have tomatoes to stake, flowers to plant, garlic to harvest, strawberries to keep in control, some clipping and pruning and, who can forget, weeding!
My friend Helen Yoest, from Gardening With Confidence, will be here in about 10 days. I plan to pick her brain and get advice about some real problem areas here. I was hoping for more time to prepare for an esteemed guest, but that’s just not to be. She’ll have to take me as I am.
You can’t pick up the newspaper or turn on the television without hearing more about the Gulf Coast oil disaster.
The wildlife population will be devastated for years, perhaps decades, to come. You can help with the conservation, monitoring and aid to the birds by donating to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. This is the top school and science center for birds in the U.S. and sponsor of many, many programs, including citizen scientist-type programs. If you cannot afford to donate, it’s a great place to just be informed or to get involved through volunteer activities you can do in your own back yard.
Over dinner we were talking about blast-from-the-past music and then blast-from-the-past comedy. Harry and I explained how we would play stacks of 45s on the turntable to my 19-year-old son. And I remembered my parents’ Dick Newhart album and “Driving Instructor.” And while we were talking about old comedy, who can forget, George Carlin’s “Seven Dirty Words?” Ah, the things I am teaching my 19-year-old son! Yes, I taught him about seven dirty words!
I am also grateful that the chickens had walkabout time without destroying my garden this afternoon.
And I am grateful for that arms and shoulders P90X workout, although I will be sore again tomorrow.
