On the right are a few of my flock in the front yard.

Therefore I sort of go off on things that happened when I began raising chickens. You probably will never forget your first flock.

Chickens walking around your yard doesn’t bother a great deal. The single biggest problem is droppings, for example on a paved driveway. It would be of concern to many but I might add that if they run free in your yard they eat bugs, grass, and many other things and it often cuts the feed bill by more than half. They also return on their own at dusk to their roost.

Other normal things are that they will scratch in any loose soil, including your flower garden, vegetable garden, or possibly near a tree. Chickens fight fleas and other parasites that live on them by dusting. To do this they find soft dirt, if none available they will dig a hole in the ground, usually near a tree or under a bush where grass doesn’t grow to do their dusting. The only way to stop this is keep them penned and buy twice the feed.

I began raising chickens in or around 1975. At the time I was working in a machine shop. A friend of mine and myself decided we might get some chickens for eggs and because the minimum order is 25 we decided we should split the order. At the time I believe straight run chicks were about 40 or 50 cents each. Anyway we ordered the 25, were given the date of arrival and we waited for their arrival. The chicks arrived exactly on schedule and all in excellent condition. They were addressed to me so I took 13 out and gave him the other 13, as there was one extra chick, which was normal at the time. The extra chick was sent to allow for any that might have died in transit. This is common with nearly all-reputable hatcheries.

When the chicks arrived all I had to do is, fill the waterer and feeder and I was ready to watch them grow. At the time my “shelter” for them was an old rickety building about 10′ x 12′. I had the back corner blocked off with an old wooden storm door to confine them in a small area once they left the brooder. The brooder I was using was a professional brooder in that it was factory made of metal and I had no problem getting them to about 2 weeks. I had a fraction of the amount the brooder was designed for so they had room to grow for much longer than recommended.

I didn’t lose any of this first flock so I felt somewhat like a real chicken farmer. During the first 4 or 5 days the tubes in the chicks throat can be dry from not getting enough humidity while in the incubator and die from not being able to get food and some other things which at the time I was not aware of. Anyway, I didn’t lose any so they were moved from the corner of the kitchen, to the corner of the cellar after a couple days and after a couple weeks they were finally home in their own house. Needless to say the wife was very happy when they left her house.

Once in their house I made a cut in a box on one end on the top, installed a light bulb in the bottom so that when turned upside down the light was on the top and the opening was on the bottom a few inches above the litter. This kept the inside of the box warm and allowed them to go out in their “exercise area” to eat and drink. Baby chicks need a temperature of about 95 degrees the first week dropping the temperature 5 degrees each week for 4 – 6 weeks. After that they will be fully feathered and can withstand a good amount of cold as long as they can’t get away from drafts.

Beginning to Learn

At approximately 6 weeks I let them into their new yard outside. They ran all around and scratched around checking out the bugs and whatever else it is they find interesting and seemed to be enjoying themselves. Because this was my first flock of chickens I was outside often and as dark approached I patiently waited for them to go inside. It began to get quite dark and none went inside so I kept waiting. Finally about an hour after dark I took a flashlight, climbed into the pen and put them inside one at a time. After the last one was in I went into their house and closed the doors to keep them safe. I had learned that a chicken can’t or won’t go in the house on their own until they learn where the door is or something.

The next day I let them out, coaxed one with scratch feed to come in through their little door by itself and it went back out and after a short time I had a few of them coming in to eat, going back out, and coming back in for more. That night they came in on their own. I find that if you get one to do something the rest will usually try it although some will be either extra numb or stubborn and take a little longer to learn.

Before very long I began to notice that the combs on several were beginning to develop. I believe it is around 6 weeks when it becomes very obvious which ones are roosters. I let them grow to about 3 and 1/2 months old and a friend of mine and myself “processed” 5 of the 6 roosters and put them in the freezer. It was obvious to me at this time that I preferred to raise eggs and not any quantity of meat. I ended up with 7 hens and 1 roosters. The rooster got named Gertrude. I don’t know why I said that name to my son jokingly but he was about 4 and once I said it he decided it was a great name for the rooster so the name stuck. Gertrude remained with his harem.

Eggs

I had read about the time needed for a hen to mature enough to lay an egg. The standard was stated as 6 months but in reality, a decent strain of Rhode Island Reds will begin to lay eggs around 4 and 1/2 months. I got 3 eggs the first time I got any eggs and I was quite excited. I was even more excited to find that about 50% of the eggs I got for the first 3 months while they were actually in their pullet stage and not really adult hens that the eggs were double yolk. I have never had any chickens since that has done that. I do remember that the chicks came from Hall Brothers Hatchery in Connecticut. I got more chicks from them but never had that sort of luck.

At first the fresh eggs tasted really strange to me. I can’t really describe the difference in taste but the consistency is vastly different than those I was used to getting at the store. They didn’t spread out and the yolks were almost orange. Later on I read somewhere that eggs were kept in cold storage for at least a month or more before distribution. After all these years of fresh eggs I can eat store bought eggs if scrambled but even then they are pretty nasty to me. I guess it is like fresh anything, it just doesn’t compare with the stores.

The First Winter

I feel I should mention that my one rooster was all the hens wanted. He was after them continuously. This can be a problem, as if a hen doesn’t get down to eat it doesn’t lay as many eggs. Therefore, I personally don’t recommend a rooster unless you are convinced that you want to raise your own chicks. I probably shouldn’t even mention this first year as nothing really happened. I gathered eggs and felt bad about them being in the cold but they did well and aside from some minor frostbite on the combs I had no problems. There was really nothing I could do about the frostbite and it healed quickly and finally spring began to spring.

My First Wannabe Mom

I was really enjoying having the hens and affectionately call them my “girls” and I checked them as often as I could. Sometime in the spring I went out as usual and tried to reach under one of the girls that was on the nest only to find that he very carefully reached her head out and took just a small piece of meat out of the back of my hand. I got the eggs from the other nests and went and got a Band-Aid. The next day I was a little smarter and didn’t reach in so carelessly. She lunged at me again and from the books I had read I decided she was broody. I didn’t want any more chicks but decided to let her just set on her eggs right there.

I noticed the next day that production was dropping rapidly from the one hen that stopped laying but didn’t pay a lot of attention. I was getting many more eggs than my small family could use. After about a week I noticed that she couldn’t cover all the eggs in the nest. A light seemed to come on inside my head as I had remembered that I had often seen more than one hen in a nest at a time. I went and got gloves and picked her up, she was not impressed. She had a mini-mountain of eggs under her. I got my book and decided to read a little further. It recommended a marker, water based, as eggs are porous and indelible might poison the chick and I marked the eggs. I took a few out, as I knew it was more than she could ever handle. She sat diligently and I lifted her daily and took the unmarked eggs for family consumption. All was well in Gertrude’s Palace. Finally they began to hatch. It takes 21 days but I have no idea when she actually began sitting on them enough to start the growing process for the embryo. I noticed one with its head sticking out from under her wing. Out of the mess I ended up with 5 chicks and many half-hatched or rotted eggs.

Leaving the Nest

The next day mother and her babies were on the floor. No other hens or even Gertrude were anywhere near her. She bristled up her feathers when I went in or even when another hen or Gertrude went near her. She really was an excellent mother. She talked to them and my son and wife were impressed as was I and we watched as she picked small amounts of mash out of the trough and dropped it for her babies. The mother and her babies, even though just a hen, to me really was beautiful and I still enjoy watching this.

Outside

The next day when I opened their small door, much to my surprise she took her babies out in the yard. Later in the day I was in the house and I heard a chicken going crazy outside. I looked out to watch as my neighbor’s cat picked up one of the chicks and run off with it. I learned that 2′ mesh chicken wire does not contain baby chicks. I should have known better but I guess I thought mom would call them inside if she sensed danger. I felt pretty stupid. This was one down and only day two or three, That night when I went to close them up mom was out with her babies under her by their small door. I had to climb in the fence and put them in as the chicks just couldn’t get up to the door. Trying to catch baby chicks without hurting them while a brooding mother hen is after you is quite a trick. I got my wife to hold the extremely upset mom while I got the babies inside. It isn’t fun to say the least.

Another one bites the Dust

I don’t know if I mentioned it or not but I was using an open pan with just a wire guard for a waterer. Anyway, upon entering the chicken house the next day one of the chicks was floating inside the waterer. Two down already and I had lost a over a month’s production from the hen. I did keep the small door closed to keep them in but the main door for me was also 2-inch wire so it was about a week later that I was down to 2. Even though the door was several inches above the floor I guess the chicks were large enough to jump up and out as I figure the cat got another one. I kept them in for another week or so then let mom and the last two out in their yard with the rest of the flock. I watched a while and it seemed ok but it wasn’t long and all 5 were gone. Another lesson learned. I read the book about a “broody coop” and decided it would have to be something like that only it would also need to confine the babies to work in my situation. It was a long time before I let another of my girls become a mother.

The First Year

During the first year I had learned to read the book I had bought and had gotten through most of the problems confronting the beginning backyard chicken farmer. I had gone through a month or so long neck molt and the full body molt, which takes about 3 months and had learned about what not to do when trying to rear chicks with a hen. The learning curve would continue for a long time and I actually feel that I am still learning about raising chickens.

My Continuing Saga

After losing the chicks hatched by the hen I ordered some Plymouth Barred Rocks. Everyone had been telling me how wonderful and now much better the “sex-link” chickens laid. These are a cross of a Rhode Island Red Rooster and Plymouth Barred Rock hens. This gave me a flock of about 26 hens and a rooster. This was a good year as I didn’t lose any hens during the winter and the new hens came into laying on schedule and life was good in the hen house.

Spring

One night in early spring I was lying in bed at around 3:30 A. M. and heard commotion out in the chicken house. After a few seconds I became very aware that something was in the chicken house. I always keep a shotgun around with a few shells in the house. I do like hunting although I would rather just walk around than actually shoot anything. However, when I determined what was going on I pulled on some jeans, grabbed the shotgun and a couple shells and went running to the chicken house. I had also grabbed a flashlight on the way out and in a couple minutes I was in the chicken house.

As I shined the light around things appeared normal until I saw one of the girls on the floor. She was moaning or what I call moaning and a closer inspection showed that a good piece of her comb was missing but I didn’t notice the real extent of the damage she had received.

I kept looking around the floor and saw nothing. This had me puzzled but then I shined the light up by one of the windows and saw a half-grown raccoon hanging near the window. I guess he figured he could get through the glass. Not wanting to kill it I stepped out of the chicken house went well away from it and waited for a few minutes. Probably not that long, as I was naked to the waist having left my bed in such a rush and hoped the intruder would leave. He didn’t and because I knew he had wounded at least one of my “girls” I went in the chicken house and let him have it. I double bagged him in empty grain bags. The next day he went to the dump. I have found that a mother raccoon will sometimes come and take a hen or two to feed a litter but usually raccoons will or seem to kill chickens for fun. I have been told that they like chicken brains and they might because I do know they always mangle the heads on the chickens. I didn’t do more inspecting in the dark but in the short time it took me to realize he was in there he had mortally wounded 1 and roughed up two more of the girls. One had died during the night and I had to kill another. The other recovered. I did feel badly that I hadn’t inspected them more thoroughly as I should not have let the one that died suffer. It was very obvious in the daylight that she really had no chance to survive the attack.

Dogs and Chickens

I think we all know that a chicken is food for just about every mammal that isn’t a strict vegetarian. I do know that if you are in a somewhat developed area with a few houses around and you like letting your chickens range some you will sooner or later encounter a problem with a neighbors dog.

I put this short section in here, as I believe it to be the biggest single problem I have encountered in all my years of raising chickens. Because it is natural for a dog to chase and kill chickens I really don’t blame the dog. Most states have leash laws so we know where the blame lies when a dog gets your chickens. Fortunately there is no leash law for chickens but someone will probably come up with one.

Cats will only be a problem if the chicks are very small. After about 4 -8 weeks the cats don’t usually want to tackle anything that large. Also most of this time the chicks are in a brooder and you can’t let them out unless you are right there with them anyway. Normally a mother hen brooding a bunch of chicks will deter any cat around unless of course, the hen is penned up and the chicks are small enough to get through the wire. This scenario happened to me. The poor mother could do nothing although she kept jumping against the fence. I didn’t get there in time and the cat got one of my chicks.

My Neighbor’s Dog

My neighbor came up one day and told me he had found one of my chickens, dead in his driveway. I was upset but one chicken wouldn’t end the world so I let it pass. This was in the summer and the girls were in their yard most of the time. The dog would come up and go over by the pen when my neighbor came up but I figured the fence would hold them and when someone was out there it wasn’t a problem and never had been.

It wasn’t long and I lost another one. I was a little more upset and I walked over to my neighbor’s house and in his driveway was another of the girls. It is best to understand that we get along super. We are about the same age and do many things together. Anyway, we talked about it and the dog was then on a run and nothing happened for a while.

One sunny afternoon I was sitting in the house when I heard a noise coming from outside. By now I was very well aware of the different sounds the girls made in different situations and I knew something big was happening. I looked out the window and watched as my neighbor’s dog ran toward the fence, back away then run at it again. Each time the girls would all jump into the air. Well this, I found out was the tactic the dog was using. By doing this over and over eventually one of the girls would land outside the fence of back inside. Once it hit the ground the dog could easily catch and kill it.

Because the neighbor and I were friends he did tie his dog and it ended the problem. Because we talked it over he knew that in cooler months the chickens were totally confined to their house and could not be reached. His dog generally never went very far from his yard so the leash law really wasn’t a big deal as long as the chickens were in their house. I don’t mind a friendly dog entering the yard as long as it doesn’t eat my chickens. Dogs are the worst actually because they just kill without eating, so it is a total waste.

More Dogs

Dogs by far, are the largest problem when raising the chickens and letting them range. Cats seem to be a bigger problem with most wild things like birds, squirrels, and small rabbits but will normally only bother chickens for the first few weeks. After that I guess the chickens are larger than what they want to tackle.

I drove in the driveway and heard a commotion in the back yard one day. I looked out to see a golden retriever with my pet Wyandotte, Wilma in his mouth. Wilma was obviously dead. I got my shotgun and stuck it out the window. For some reason I decided that a dog was probably some child’s pet and I couldn’t shoot it. Not far away was another black dog that appeared to be some type of lab but there were no birds around him so I put the gun down, went outside and drove the dogs out of the yard. The final count was 5 dead chickens. The dogs seemed out of breath and were wet and muddy and I might be wrong but I would guess they had been running deer in back of the house. When they came up to the road they just happened on my flock of chickens and had some fun.

I don’t believe I had a year without at least one encounter with a dog. I don’t have a lot of faith in the leash law in Maine..

I have one last story about the last dog story I will bore you with.

The Last Dog Problem

It seems that some people across the road some 500 or more feet up in the woods moved here and rented a house from the people that own the property. They have 2 Labrador Retrievers. From the conversations we had later I learned that one is female and one is male. The male being younger and more aggressive.

I went up and explained that I had chickens and that I let them range in the yard and that in Maine we had a leash law and that I would appreciate it if they kept their dog away from my chickens. That night, I had talked to the wife, the husband stopped to talk to my wife so I called him when I got home and explained the same thing to him. He was a little upset and tried to say things but the bottom line was that he wanted to let the older dog run but would put the younger male on a dog run. I merely said that I didn’t care what he did as long as the dogs were not in my yard after my chickens.

Another chicken disappeared and I called again, plus I called the dogcatcher. Supposedly the dogcatcher called and I called and he said he would put the dog on a run. He was told that a person with poultry or livestock in Maine had a right to shoot a dog if the dog was bothering this poultry or livestock. This time he assured me that he had to and would put up the run for his dogs.

I began missing chickens so I knew it was probably a dog but I was never around when it happened. Then my wife and I started seeing them. Normally it was just one of them, the male, walking up and down the road occasionally stopping in the yard in front of the house. After one more chicken we knew it was the black dog plus we had the neighbor who had seen the dog in our yard.

A week or two passed and another chicken disappeared. My wife called and told him the problem and he said again that he would have to put the dog run up. She asked, “you mean you didn’t already do it?” then the conversation got somewhat nasty but I wasn’t on the phone so I don’t know exactly what was said. I know when I did pick up the other phone we have that he was speaking and when he heard my voice he calmed right down using a totally different tone of voice with me. He agreed to take care of the problem. I was now down to 4 chickens from 13 and I have to admit I was getting somewhat angry. I explained that I just wanted the dogs away from the chickens and it wouldn’t happen again. He also said that I had been very understanding about this.

A short time later two more chickens disappeared. My wife called and he answered. As soon as he heard her voice he hung up. I ended up with two chickens and a moron for a neighbor that won’t take care of his dog. This one is still pending.

I don’t consider it a real problem as I have been told that a person with livestock or poultry has the right to shoot a dog that is molesting it. Naturally I feel that the owner is more of a problem than the dog but I suppose I have to take care of the problem as I will not give up having chickens and letting them range after nearly 30 years. I just have to decide if I can live with myself if I shoot the dog. I feel sure that I can if it means I can still have chickens.

The neighbor was in the military and was transferred so the problem ended and I ended up with 2 chickens. It probably would have been better if he hadn’t told me he was keeping the dogs restrained. I wouldn’t have let the chickens out. But, often we really can’t trust people.

A Visitor

It was late afternoon when I got to the chicken house to gather eggs most of the time because it was when I got home from work. I grabbed a large coffee can to put the grain in and walked into the chicken house and dumped the grain into the feeder, then gathered the eggs from the nest and put them in the can. I then picked up the waterer, took it out, washed it with the hose and a brush, filled it and returned to the chicken house.

I put the waterer on the wire mesh box. I use a frame with a wire mesh to let the droppings and litter build up under the waterer instead of in it. Anyway, as I did this I happened to look over and noticed something in the darkness under the nest. I went over to the nest and leaned over for a closer look. There, sleeping under the nest was a skunk.

I could see it breathing I was so close. I stepped somewhat gingerly back and left the chicken house. Don’t know why at that point I was so careful as I had already been banging all around the chicken house. I had even stepped within inches of it as it was under the nest when I had gotten eggs.

I was happy I wasn’t sprayed and just waited until dark. When Suzie, I called her Suzie, woke up to go foraging at night I went out and closed the door. She hung around a while but never went back in as I was much more careful to remember the small door in the chicken house at night.

My wife suggested getting rid of her but she didn’t bother the hens or the eggs and wasn’t around during the daytime so I just ignored her. Eventually Suzie must have found a better place to live as I stopped seeing her around.

Adult Sex-Links

These chicks grew and I was amazed at the quantity of eggs they produced. I didn’t get the amount of double yolk eggs I had gotten from my first flock but production was up over 80% continuously. I was very pleased. I gathered the eggs often and had no problems for a few months. I did notice as they were growing that they seemed to peck at each other more than the reds and showed much more aggressive behavior toward each other.

It wasn’t long and one day when I went to the hen house I noticed that one of the chickens had half his tail feathers missing. I somewhat knew it was much too soon for them to be molting but didn’t pay much attention to it. The next day however, this chicken was bleeding around its tail and most of the skin was gone over a small area near it’s tail.

This was my first experience with cannibalism. I consulted my book and read that “Pine Tar” was one of the recommended remedies for the problem. Pine tar is a black, gooey substance with a strong odor, as I had to go and get a can to treat this bird and another by the time I got it a day or two later.

I knew by now that catching a chicken is difficult because they stay approximately a foot from as far as you can reach when you go after them. I also had learned to go in at night and just pick them up off the roost. It is quiet and it doesn’t put the whole flock in “panic mode”. I coated the effected birds with the pine tar making sure to cover the whole wound with this substance and returned to the house.

I did notice that the next day, when the other birds pecked at this substance they would put their foot near their beak and try to scrape it off.

I guess it tasted badly enough because it did stop my problem and the birds healed up. This would be my last sex-link hens. They ended up at an auction and I almost gave them away.

I had kept them through one laying season so they really were considered pretty much worthless at the time anyway. Fortunately over the years this was my one experience with cannibalism.

I should mention that they had way more than the recommended floor space in the building. I have never had this problem with Rhode Island Reds or Plymouth Barred Rocks. I think this is one reason to this day I prefer a pure blooded hen.

I do know any breed can be cannibalistic but I also know that the more aggressive the breed the better the chances of this happening. I think this is one of the major reasons I just stick with the old familiar breeds I have had in the past.

I will post or allow anyone to join and post any of their stories. I just think they make some nice reading after all the super commercial sites on the internet.

This one was submitted by a lady in North Carolina.

Snow Theft

Granddaddy crashed a big armload of split stovewood into the wood box by the fireplace.  It was past four o’clock, Friday afternoon, and fast falling dark outside already. The sky was close and gray.  Bits of bark flew out on the hearth, and he sat down to pull off his rubber boots and stand them by the fire.  His heavy horsehide jacket and hat tossed on the floor next to him. He looked as totally weary and cold as this January spell of damp, dark weather could make him.

“We’re fixin’ up to have some weather” he told me.

I kept on coloring in my newest book, propped on my corduroy covered knees, wiggling my toes in my red socks with the heels worn through.  I shrugged at the idea of “weather”.  I was six years old.

Granddaddy thawed out at the supper table, having some potato soup and cornbread, and then retired to his chair by the fireplace, stretching out his socked feet to the blaze.

It grew chilly in the house if you got far away from the fireplace, as the temperature outside had dropped off fast and it began to blow big feathery flakes of snow.  The wind keened around the corners of the house, but we were cozy enough.  Mama and Grandma were washing up the supper dishes, steaming up the kitchen windows,which already had snow on the outside ledges.

Granddaddy looked at his watch and said “It’s awful cold and bad outside to put my outside clothes and boots back on and go up and  shut the chickens in”.

Grandma called in from the kitchen that she hated to see him go back out again, since it was so dark out already and snow coming down sideways in the wind.  Our chicken house was away from the house, up the road by the barn and the barn lots and outbuildings.  It was a little walk, but we never failed to shut up the coop at night.  On summer nights, we’d walk up and just take in the smell of hay mown or tobacco leafing out, and enjoy it in the twilight.  This was no summer night though, in fact, we hardly ever saw such a snowstorm as was howling outside now.

“Surely nothing that would get after them would be out and about tonight” he said, yawned, and picked up the daily paper and began to read.  It was decided.

I always heard him poking the fire up and then pulling on his boots when it was coming light outside in the mornings.  It was dim this morning though, and I wanted to get out and see how much snow was out there.  Thinking there might be enough for a snowman (I’d never seen one before except in books) I hurried right into my pants and warm sweater so I could go with him to feed the horses, our milch cow, “Pet”, and the chickens.

Granddaddy was always happy to see me up because he liked me to go everywhere with him.  Grandma was in the kitchen sliding a pan of buscuits in the oven so we could eat breakfast after we did up the morning work outside and brought in the milk.  He had the stainless steel milk bucket over his arm and we pushed open the kitchen door and found snow about a foot deep over the ground.  I hadn’t seen such snow before, so deep it was way up above my knees and so powdery and dry it crackled under my oxfords.  Granddaddy tramped a path for us, by the cistern house, by the smoke house, past the woodpile, up the road towards the barn.

There was a little driveway up to the barn, with steep brush covered banks, all weighted down with snow now.  When we got to the top of the driveway, we could see the chicken house on the right and before us the tobacco fields stretched out.  There was something very out of place.  The snow was covered with thousands of little lacy prints, like small dog tracks, and, every so often, mounds of snow bunched up, all the way to the fence on the far side of the flat field. What caught our eyes though, like stabs in the throat, were the stains, bright bloody red in the white snow, with the sun just beginning to shine on them.

He didn’t say anything at first and I didn’t know what it all was.  Then he muttered a curse under his breath, and something about his gun, and whirled around, nearly knocking me over.  I ran along behind him towards the house, but he was going fast, and I was too little to catch up.  So I just turned around for another look, and realize the chicken house door was wide open and no chickens anywhere about.

The sky grew a bright blue now that the sun was up and shining bright, cold and glittering on that snow and the ground held death.  Other than a scraped knee, it was the first time I ever saw blood.  It was the first time I ever saw Granddaddy run either.  He was coming back now, without his gun, and Mama coming along with him, all wrapped up in her coat and scarf.  I ran to her, and took her hand, and  asked her what had happened here.

Granddaddy said one word: “Foxes”.

He cursed them for killing and burying the chickens like that, as it seemed so much worse than just killing and eating them.  Mama heard a little noise, reached into the closest fencerow and pulled out a little half-grown rooster.  Somehow they had mangled his neck, and it was bleeding on her coat, but he was alive.  Mama wrapped him in her scarf and carried him while they looked all around the barn lots to see if any more might be hiding there, but there were none.  There were thirty dead hens and a bunch of fryers buried in the field though.  Every one of the flock except that little rooster was gone.

We went back to the house then, and Grandma was heartbroken since most of her laying hens had names and she loved them all, fed them and talked to them every day.  Not to mention the loss of the eggs, and the occasional fryer for Sunday dinner.

That rooster was one of those, and he huddled in the scarf and was set on the floor.  After breakfast, where Granddaddy just glared into his hot coffee, Mama got out her sewing basket and, while Grandma held the rooster’s head, she sewed his neck wound up with black thread.  They poured some warm water and whiskey down his throat and put him in a box of newspapers in the warmest corner of the kitchen.

Now Granddaddy got down his shot gun from the pegs, filled his pockets with shells, and said he was going up the road.  He didn’t say more, but Grandma hollered after him to get Mr. Greene to go with him.  He went that way, up the road, tramping snow, his gun over his shoulder.  I could smell his cigarette smoke in the cold air, pleasant and acrid, floating out behind him.

I stood a long time in the front yard, waiting.  My feet were icy but I stayed there, waiting. The snow was not melting, it was much too cold for that, and the sky was that hard blue.  Soon I began to hear the guns, way off back in the woods.  I stood there and listened to the guns going off, booming out over the snowy land.

I don’t remember how we buried the chickens in the frozen ground.  I do remember going to the woods with Granddaddy in the Spring and him showing me the rock cliffs where the foxes had dens, where he and Mr. Greene had shot them all, little ones and all.

I remember being afraid I would see the skeletons of fox babies there and I remember I never wanted to go to that place in our woods again.  I remember how that little rooster healed up, except his neck was always crooked and he looked back over his shoulder.

Mama made him into a pet, named him “Crook”, and when I was in high school, he was still roosting on the side porch on the back of the swing. He never got very big, never went back to the chicken house, and never mingled with hens.  We replaced the flock over time, but it was never forgotten, and the door to the coop never left ajar again, no matter how snowy, cold, or dark the evening might be, because snow theft can come when you least expect it.

Well, it makes for very deep lush green grass and a multitude of insects that reside in the area, which is a magnet for chickens. Obviously not healthy but this was one of my experiences.

My Neighbor’s Septic

I had the chickens before all but one neighbor moved in.

A new neighbor moved in next door. He was a good guy and we got along well but this somewhat ended and it was a thing where we would wave and such but not friendly in that we didn’t do anything together. This slowly deteriorated for some reason and I am not sure why. It got to a point where we didn’t speak and still don’t really but we don’t bother each other. At least we didn’t.

He mentioned that a chicken had dug up a flower in his garden. I offered to pay for the flower and he refused and the conversation ended. From this point on I did let the girls out but not as much and I did try to watch them. Occasionally they would get over there though.

I had seen him out yelling at the girls to get them out of his back yard. So I increased my effort and further limited their ranging time.

Not too much time passed, when one day I found a dead chicken near his leaking leach field. I called and asked if he knew anything about it. I thought possibly that his son got rowdy with his BB gun or something as I saw no mark on the chicken and let it go. Naturally he knew nothing about the dead chicken.

A short time later another one turned up missing. I was more upset this time. But I had no proof. I looked for the chicken but this time I couldn’t find it. A chicken will seldom venture more than a few hundred feet from their house and usually are easily found in the areas where they forage. They seem to have certain areas and they don’t really leave them often.

This passed to some degree and I had settled down and let all this go. I was down at my other neighbor’s house talking with him while he did some work on his car and I could see this neighbor with the chicken problem come around his house, pick up a rock, and fling it at the chickens that had wandered into his yard. Well, needless to say I lost it. We had some words and I tried to explain what a jerk he was and that I didn’t mind driving them away but I wasn’t extremely impressed with his throwing rocks at my chickens especially where I found the dead one in his yard and was missing another.

That evening I got to thinking about it and became really angry. My wife and I decided to get even. The next day I had the town over to inspect the leach field that had turned cesspool and they took some dye to the house because they weren’t sure that his septic came out there. I think we all knew better but the town has to follow their procedures. It ended up that the cesspool was bad. My neighbor, who mellowed slightly after this, said his estimate was $8900 to repair his septic. Needless to say I was very happy. I got rid of the stench and health hazard and got restitution for the two girls that I lost. On top of that the neighbor speaks!

[singlepic id=86 w=320 h=240 float=right]A rooster is simply a cockerel that is fully matured and about one year old and is commonly referred to as a cock when talking about game varieties of chickens.

These pictures show the damage to Sophie’s neck from the rooster. I apologize for them being blurry, but it does show the damage. I should mention it is very normal for the rooster to pull out some feathers on the neck, but not to peck holes in the skin.

[singlepic id=85 w=320 h=240 float=right]I have a couple roosters, a Buff Orpington and a New Hampshire Red. Both are quite pretty as they are about 6 months old and will change little in appearance other than they will probably gain a pound or two by the time they are a year old.

[singlepic id=96 w=320 h=240 float=right]I have a Silver Laced Wyandotte which I have taken a special liking to for lack of a better word and she is alive, only because of my intervention.

I had a Rhode Island Red rooster. He was quite pretty and didn’t bother people in that he wasn’t aggressive toward them. I prefer the coloring of the New Hampshire Red over the Rhode Island Red and I see no difference in size or productivity, but the New Hampshire Red does have the white feathering, under the red so they make a nicer looking chicken for the oven, they aren’t covered with the dark red feathers.

Rhode Island Reds are bred for productivity. That really isn’t a secret.

I have found over the years that the Rhode Island Red roosters can be and very often are very aggressive. I haven’t seen this shown toward people for many years. I did have one that I destroyed because he attacked a child.

If you have ever seen a rooster, especially a relatively young one breed a hen, you should be aware or have noticed that very often they have little finesse. Generally they are very rough with the hens, usually they roll them all around and overall it is just a very unpleasant experience for the hen. I have also noticed that as they get older and gain in experience, they seem to know what is going on and is much gentler on the hen.

The real story about rooster damage began when this Rhode Island red developed some sort of fondness for Rosie the Silver Laced Wyandotte. This is fine even though I still disliked the way this rooster treated his hens, it is nature, so I tried to overlook it.

Quite often I would hear the hen, (usually Sophie) trying to escape this rooster. She would stay on the roost, or if running free, she would try to be far away just to avoid him.

The chasing continued but I didn’t really notice anything until one day I was looking out the window and this rooster had caught Sophie. He was somewhere in the process of taking care of Sophie, but I noticed that even though he was in total control, he pecked her neck in an unusual manner using much more force than I have ever seen from any rooster and I have had many over the years.

I went out and he ran from me, which as most people know, unless you handle chickens frequently they stay just out of your reach.

Anyway, I looked at Sophie’s neck. It had a hole in the back about the size of a quarter or half dollar. The skin had been totally removed.

There wasn’t much I could do right then, but that evening I went to the chicken house when they went in for the night, got her and put her in a cage in the garage. I gave her food and water and she spent the night in the garage

The following evening she returned to the chicken house. I always let the chickens run free when possible so spring and fall before and after they can damage plants and things around the house they are “free range” and if I am going to be home to watch them, I try never to keep them in the pen. I like saving the grain and the insect control by the flock.

On this second evening she returned to the roost in the coop. I took her out again and put her back in the cage.

This was the routine for a couple days. On the third day, she went to the garage and was standing by the cage after all the other chickens had gone to the roost. I had to sort of coax her but I got her into the cage without difficulty.

The 4th day, she went to the cage and was waiting when I went to close the coop and her cage. She had adjusted to her new home. Because I had been keeping her from the rooster by keeping her in the cage her neck was beginning to heal.

She did this for several more days. I had disposed of the rooster on the third day as he had taken his desire and focused on another hen and was doing the same thing which was just ripping feathers out of her neck so I got him before he could inflict a severe injury as he did with Sophie.

I say disposed, but I simply shot him in the back of his neck with a shotgun. I figured he liked to inflict pain in the hen’s necks, I would see if he liked it. It actually was quick and merciful and even though I sort of joke about it, I do not like killing chickens. Generally in the past few years I just run a home for geriatric chickens.

After about a week and a half, Sophie had healed to a point where she began to lay eggs again. Sophie at that time was about 7 years old. She laid an egg, 4 out of 5 days and had almost nothing for a scab left on her neck.

Evidently she considered herself recuperated enough to return to the coop. Either that or she finally noticed that the rooster was gone. I do know she watched for the rooster to protect herself, and I actually did notice she seemed more relaxed a couple days after he disappeared from her life.

The interesting thing to me is that she was so easily trained to the cage, then even when mostly healed, was smart enough to stay in the cage until she was healed enough feel comfortable back with the flock. She is one of the leading hens in the flock and she returned to her original status upon her return.

Sophie is now find except for a limp. I don’t know if it was the beatings she got from the rooster, or an injury from trying to escape him, but the limp remains and there are no more problems. Basically she is just one of the flock now. Other hens don’t bother her other than the normal peck which all chickens do to maintain their status in the flock.

I did take a couple pictures, slightly blurry, but they do show the damage or wound from the rooster, and the permanent sticking out of the feathers on her neck. It is actually almost a miracle that she survived.

I was eating lunch one day and the neighbor called and told me that she saw a fox running across her backyard carrying one of my black hens.

It wasn’t hard t figure out which one as I only had one black hen. Her name was “Rosie”. She had a name because it was some young girls pet. She had two chickens but one died and she didn’t want Rosie to be lonely, so I ended up adopting Rosie.

It was nice in a way because of the way she was raised, she was so friendly that she could easily be picked up and petted or fed and would just sit on my lap. This isn’t important, other than it probably made her an easy target for the fox in that she was much more domesticated than chickens normally get.

Any chickens I have had required very special treatment before they could be trained to stand still long enough to actually be picked up. Most run and keep just out of reach no matter how hard you try to catch them.

I had thought I had heard a noise in the chicken pen, but assumed it was just another normal celebration of one of the girls laying an egg. Those with chickens will understand what I am saying as there is almost always a lot of squawking when someone lays an egg.

Anyway the phone call tipped me off so I went out to check the situation. I found one wounded Plymouth Barred Rock. I didn’t kill her and she wasn’t bleeding anywhere that I could see. My hope was that she would pull through the attack but she died later that day.

That afternoon, about a half hour before dark I took my shotgun and sat behind the house, watching the chickens in the pen. I actually wasn’t there long and I noticed the fox coming. I was amazed that it was so brazen near houses as I never see them in the yard. In defense of the fox and his mentality, it is all wooded behind the chicken pen, so he did have some sort of cover for his approach.

I watched for only a minute or two and he turned to go back in the direction from which he had just come from. He was probably close to 75 or 100 yards away, but I touched off the shotgun in his direction, basically hoping not to hit him, but just scare him. Because of my experiences with other animals I knew the fear thing wouldn’t work, but I didn’t want to feed him any more chickens, and then I really didn’t want to hurt him.

It was getting dark so went back to the house. Once the sun set and the chickens went to roost, I went out and secured the chickens like I always do.

The next day I went and opened the small door of the coop to let the chickens into their exercise yard.

I had been painting on the front of my house and was in eating lunch when I heard a commotion in the chicken pen. Again, it wasn’t like the normal celebration of someone laying an egg so I went to the bathroom window.

I saw the fox so I grabbed my shotgun and waited in the bathroom window. He was walking back and forth near the pen, obviously looking for the hole where he had gotten in the day before. I had put a large rock on the edge of the chicken wire and had gotten his entry point secured.

He was so intent on getting in that he didn’t hear me raise the window slightly and stick the barrel of my shotgun out the window.

I live in a fairly densely populated area but it is open behind the house and there is nothing to hit that would cause any damage. Obviously safety comes first.

Anyway, with the window up, him walking back and forth, just let him have it with the gun. It was a very clean kill. He was thrown back away from the pen and never even quivered when he hit the ground. I am not proud of killing the fox.

My problem is, that I have never found that animals, once they taste chicken don’t return again and again until they get them all. I do work for a living and can’t afford to be there 24/7 to watch for the fox. I might have been able to trap the fox or have it trapped and moved to a new location and it might not have gotten any more chickens, but this way, the problem was solved.

I say solved, but I thought at the time it might have a mate that would come and get more but I never saw another one that year, or since.

The fox appeared very healthy which didn’t help my feelings as I will never like the destruction of any animal, but I won’t raise chickens to feed wild animals either.

The trap and move idea that so many people have now days is commendable, but at best that is a gamble.

It seems people wish to protect every animal and I actually do also, but as animals lose their natural fear of humans, they do quite often become a problem. It might not be a problem to some people, but when I buy chicks, raise them, and spend money on them feeding, housing, taking care of them, I need the animals to respect my property.

The best thing, even though I felt bad about killing it is that it was a male, so at least I didn’t leave a bunch of babies totally without an adult to take care of them.

Had the fox not gotten into the pen and come back for a second try. I would never have bothered it.

One day I loaded my trailer with the normal 60 traps and left the trailer in the yard. The load of traps sat there over night, and I generally let the chickens run free during the day so not long after daylight I let the girls out, then went back inside the house to wait for a while before I took the traps to the water to load on the boat and set out.

I generally wait for tides as it makes it easier to load the boat when the tide is higher. In the area where I fish the tides are about 9′ from high to low.

The tide was high, late in the day, so I left the house about noon and went to the dock where I backed the trailer in and took them from the trailer and loaded them on the boat.

After loading the boat I walked up and was picking up some ropes and getting ready to leave for home. A couple friends had arrived and I was talking with them at the back of the truck when one of them exclaimed “Look at that funny looking seagull!”. I turned and knew instantly that it was my chicken.

The guys enjoyed it immensely but my thoughts were on catching it. Fortunately I was able to walk around my truck, get behind the chicken and approach it from the rear. It started to run, but I believe because she knew me, she was less afraid of me than them so they sort of moved back and forth with the chicken to block it’s escape and with a relatively small amount of scrambling around, I was able to catch the chicken.

Once caught it was easy to tell it was mine, because it had a bare spot on the side of it’s neck.

Not knowing what to do I put the chicken in the truck, behind the seat on a coil of rope. I thought that if she had an accident on the way home, it might land on the rope instead of on the mats in the truck.

I talked for a couple minutes more after getting the chicken in the truck and when I had had enough of a ribbing about taking the chicken for a ride, they departed and I got in the truck.

All went well until I put the truck in gear and started moving. Immediately the chicken began fluttering around and trying to get in front. She got up on the console so I stopped as I had gone only a short distance. I put her on my jacket on the seat but she would have no part of that.

She immediately got back up onto the console and just sat there. I was tired and wanted to get home so I just left the parking lot and the chicken never moved for the 20 or so miles to the house. She didn’t make any messes, nor did she move from the console. She merely sat there and looked out the window.

Nothing happened on the way home, but a couple guys saw me at a light and appeared to get a good amount of enjoyment out of my passenger. I probably should have mentioned it, but I didn’t have a box or any suitable container to transport her in and I knew she wouldn’t stay in the back of an open pick up truck.

Evidently when I let them out early that morning she had gotten into a trap on the trailer, I didn’t see her, so she rode the 20 miles to the dock. I am surprised that she didn’t jump out on the way but there are only a couple traffic lights and I can’t remember if I had to stop for them or not.

It was the first and only time I had a chicken ride in the passenger compartment of my truck.

I still don’t know how she got out of the trap when at the boat and have me not notice her.

The story ended well because when I got home she simply hopped out and went over to the rest of the flock.

Generally I now check for chickens when I check the ties on the traps to make sure none have any critters in them.

I do know people have problems with them getting into garbage and causing other problems around their homes.

I consider a raccoon the “worst” but in areas other than New England, there are probably worse things, I just haven’t encountered them

A raccoon in a chicken house is much like a woodchuck or groundhog in a garden. If you have a row of nice squash, the woodchuck isn’t happy with one. They feel the need to go down the row tasting each one and effectively ruining your harvest if you have a small garden.

A raccoon will do the same thing if they are able to invade your coop.

My first encounter with this was somewhere close to my 4th or 5th year of having chickens. It happened sometime after 3 in the morning and it was in the spring of the year, I don’t know the exact date but there was still patches of snow on the ground.

I was awoken by the chickens making a really large amount of noise. After you have chickens for a while, it is quite easy to tell if the squawking is celebrating laying and egg, or danger to the flock. In this particular instance, there were several indicators that there was a problem.

For one thing, and the most important is the fact that chickens do not make much if any noise at night. Sometimes the rooster will crow or something, but there is never any substantial noise in the chicken house.

Knowing this, I got out of bed, slipped on a pair of jeans, grabbed my shotgun which I keep handy for things like this and ventured out into the cold in my jeans and shoes. The temperature was in the high 20′s so I really wasn’t happy but knew I needed to protect my flock.

I entered the chicken house or coop to find a couple dead chickens on the floor, 3 more on the roost, and one under the roost doing what I call “groaning” in pain. As I mentioned, the different sounds are quite distinguishable after having chickens even for a short time.

I didn’t immediately see the problem but in in what was only a few seconds I saw the raccoon by the window. He had climbed up the wall, I suppose he thought he could exit through the window. Not wanting to harm the creature, even though I was totally upset, I walked back to the house, went inside, got a jacket and hurried back to the door to watch the chicken house.

There was a small moon, or a small amount of light from the moon, I don’t remember the stage of the moon but I remember it wasn’t “full”. I waited for about 5 or 10 minutes which seemed like forever but saw no movement nor did I hear any more noise, other than the chicken moaning in agony under the roost.

After this short period of time, I entered the chicken house to find that the raccoon had not moved. I did take a few seconds to think about possible damage to the chicken house or breaking a window, but it wasn’t long, and I just cocked the shotgun, took aim and this raccoon became a non-problem.

I keep chickens for eggs and although I might eat one at anytime, I generally let them go until they die of old age, or a predator gets them.

In this case the hen was so severely injured didn’t really look to be in a condition that I could be sure she wouldn’t recover so I gently put her on the nest, picked up the dead raccoon, secured the chicken house as best I could in the dark and went back to bed.

In the cold and dark I hadn’t been able to quickly see how the raccoon got into the coop. I went out the next day and found that a couple staples in the corner of the screen door had been pulled out. This was just enough for the raccoon to squeeze into the coop. I didn’t notice it with the flashlight because the screen, or actually chicken wire hadn’t taken a permanent bend when the raccoon entered, so it didn’t stand right out that this was the point of entry.

I also felt that I had eliminated the problem, so I saw no reason to keep looking around in the cold. The next day, which is when I actually found the damage, I put a small slat of pine over the edges of the home made door and made it very secure.

It is good to remember that a raccoon really can get through a hole that seems much too small. They kill for the sake of killing in that they nearly always kill several, even if they just carry one off to eat or feed their young.

I have heard many people say that when they had a half dozen chickens, a raccoon wiped the whole flock out in one attack.

The fact that raccoons are in almost all rural, even suburban areas, means that it is always necessary to keep a coop very secure at night. They run when they see a human, but they don’t have a real strong natural fear of humans and are accustomed to being in areas where humans are present. Many predators have more fear and keep their distance much of the time.

This is what makes raccoons so dangerous concerning chickens. It was good that I killed the raccoon although I know P.E. T. A. would say to trap and move it. If I had not destroyed the raccoon, I am almost positive it would have returned. It might find a trap before trying to get back in and killing more chickens. I don’t like to gamble with my livestock. I feel that things like that just have to be done.

The chicken didn’t make it. I know I should have helped her out of this world because she must have suffered a while. I never feel good about harming anything but when it is a situation of this nature, it just isn’t worth it to let a raccoon go, just in case it takes another shot at killing the chickens.