Chickens don't drive tractors!

It is a well-known fact that chickens do not drive tractors. But for some reason, a portable, self-contained chicken habitat is called a "chicken tractor." And this weekend we* built one.

In Stage One, the chicken tractor just looks like a bunch of wood and triangles. This triangular, wooden theme will be maintained throughout the chicken tractor's construction.

In Stage Two, you can see the roosting area has been built. It opens at the back for human access, and at the front for chicken access. It looks like a house that is going skiing.

In Stage Three, the tractor has become incredibly long and heavy.



It is in two pieces: the heavy piece with the house, and the long piece with the chicken run.











Finally, Stage Four: Home Sweet Tractor.




*while I say that "we" built it, "my" major contribution was taking pictures.

Could be naughtier

I have three large and well-loved dogs. Two of them are Weimaraners, an intense breed known among its admirers for having some screws loose, or--depending on the dog--missing entirely. The OTHER dog is the naughtiest.
His rap sheet is extensive, and includes the following charges
* breaking and entering
* breaking and exiting
* unauthorized consumption of food and nonfood objects
* impeding a government employee (mailman) in the execution of his duty
* unauthorized execution of doody
etc....

Naughtiest. But he has never been interested in the chickens...until yesterday.

Yesterday, while no one was looking, he quickly weaseled his way into the new chicken pasture. When sighted (and up until the time he was "apprehended"), he was standing in the corner of the chicken pasture, eating something off the ground with great relish. Thankfully it was not a chicken...not even an egg....it was polenta. A cornmeal-like substance I had bought for my own kitchen, but never figured out what to do with. I thought the chickens would like it, because they loooove corn, but the chickens were largely indifferent. Their new pasture is open now, filled with plants and weeds and bugs and worms, and they don't have time for my silly kitchen scraps.

"Stupid chickens," thought my dog. "I bet polenta is deeee-lishous. I'm gonna try me some." And he did.

NO ONE TELL HIM where chicken comes from.

Insert new chickens here.

Baby chickens are arriving at the end of the month! Once the little guys and gals grow up, our flock will have roughly doubled in size. This new run will give them a lot more space, and we'll be able to subdivide it and separate some chickens.** The plants will have a fighting chance to grow without being scratched to death, too. So a win for chickens, win for plants...but look out bugs!
The gate is up, but I suppose we should finish the fence too.

**Why separate some chickens? For one thing, one of the new breeds is friendly, docile, and apparently "prone to bullying" by other chickens. More to come on these chickens with no lunch money.

Chicken Seven, you are cleared for takeoff

It's not actually a chicken runway. In fact it's the opposite: it's a people walkway, and it solves a horrible problem. See how the chicken house is built kind of on the side of a hill? Imagine that hill is covered with ice. For a few months. That's how it was this winter! Each day I thought would be the day that I took an unintentional luge to the bottom. (It's not very far, but still.)

Our incredible handyman saved these pavers from a patio he was replacing, chipped off the concrete from the bottom, and re-set them here. Take that, icy hill! Handyman 1, Recycling 1, Hill 0!

Just inside the gate, before the unilock part starts, is a really attractive section of stonework he put in. There is a rectangular stone in the middle, surrounded by concentric rectangles (if such a thing were possible) of different color bricks. I tried to get a nice picture but an inconsiderate chicken had recently pooped in the middle of the center stone. Oh well.

"Uh, someone's IN here! Just a minute!"

"Jeez."
There is sometimes a line at the most popular nest box. Why is it so popular? I do not know.

But now you know why the Ledge Layer has such a good short-term plan. Lines are a thing of the past when you lay your egg in a crazy place.

Easter Eggs...

But no need for an Easter Egg Hunt, since no one told the hens that today is Easter. (Shhh.) These suckers were just in their nest boxes as per usual.

EXCEPT...for the egg that is always laid above the door. I'm pretty sure this egg is laid by a Barred Rock with poor long-term planning skills. Her babies would have a dangerous and circumscribed life, stranded on that ledge. It's pretty high--I know, because I have to hoist myself up to it, using a crossbeam and the door, to check for her egg every day.

Here is a blurry photo of the suspect:

The milk crate in the picture represents a failed experiment in chicken psychology. I thought if it blocked the Ledge Layer from getting into the small, secure corner of the eaves, she would quit laying up there, and go downstairs into the cozy, snug nest boxes. Wrong! Instead, she deposits her egg in the middle of the ledge, and the red hen sits on the crate to sleep.
So in some small way, we have an Easter Egg Hunt every day.

Blog Revival: Stand up straight. Comb your hair. Edit your prose.

These days I have chickens. Twenty chickens live in this chicken house, and more chickens are on the way.


And six years ago, apparently, I had a blog. I named it "Hensteeth," posted on it, eventually stopped posting, and finally forgot I had even ever had a blog.** At that time--6 years ago-- I did NOT have chickens. I had no particular interest in chickens. I was a vegetarian and did not eat chickens; I didn't know anyone who had chickens; I had probably never encountered a living chicken. So, why "Hensteeth?" I wish I knew.

But now. NOW I have chickens.

"Them chickens are funny," I thought to myself recently. "I should make them a blog." I tried several obvious chicken-related blog names--all taken, and not all of them were even about chickens. Then, unaware of the creepy surprise I was in for, I tried "Hensteeth." Also taken, I discovered, and also not about chickens.

"Heh, this one is funny though," I thought after a couple seconds. "But it kind of sounds...a lot...like...ME!! WHAT?!?!"

It was the internet version of seeing yourself in what you think is a wall, but turns out to be a mirror. There is a short period of wrongness and horror, during which it seems you may be in the Twilight Zone or The Matrix. But the heebie-jeebies pass quickly and you are left facing your reflection, thinking: "Oh jeez, do I always stand like that? Is that what what my hair looks like? Is my prose still that wordy?"
Yes, yes, and yes, folks. But now it's about chickens.

** For a sweet ride in the time machine, I have left up three of the original posts. They all have to do with the bathtub...?