Moving Day!  Little Pullets, Say Hello to the Big Girls!

    The cute little fuzzballs who fit amply into a 14-inch square cardboard box in the basement grew into bigger, less adorable, chicks who lived in a washing machine box in the basement for a number of weeks.  As any person who has raised chicks can tell you, there is a certain point at which the dust and mess created by growing chicks is almost more than one can bear until the weather warms up enough for them to go outside. About three weeks ago, it was finally time to begin their move toward the great outdoors, and they were transferred out of the basement to the garage and into a large, collapsible dog pen filled with lots of straw.  This was their home until last Saturday night.   

    During their stay in the garage, the rapidly growing chicks were able to get fresh air and some sun but were out of the wind and rain and were closed in at night, safe from predators.  I had to put the heat lamp  back on them for a couple of nights in early May when the temperature unexpectedly dipped to near freezing after giving us a lovely taste of warm weather.  Just as when they were in the basement, I sang them a good morning and good night song every day.  

          From left to right:  Barbara Streisand, Hattie McDaniel (rear), Goldie Hawn, and Shirley Chisholm in their garage pen

    The little ones were soon eating out my hand and learning to be picked up and carried around.  Some, like Shirley, have been pretty sanguine about it.  Others, like Goldie, put up a real fuss, and I've been blooded more than once.  Chicken claws are sharp.

    As the weather warmed up, I was able to move them from their pen in the garage to a makeshift playpen I put together out of leftover fencing.  I'd pop them in there for a couple of hours so they could get more sunshine and scratch around in the dirt and grass while we were gardening.  They had no idea what to do when I first put them in, but instinct took over in a matter of minutes, and they started pecking and scratching like old pros. 

    We kept them well away from the other chickens during their initial visits to the outside pen so they could get used to the idea of a big, wide world.  They had become their own tight-knit little flock, and when I would take one of them from the big pen in the garage out to the playpen or bring them back again, the remaining chicks, who were now well on their way to becoming pullets (young hens before they start laying eggs), would call piteously for their lost sister.  It wasn't a problem until Shirley was the last one left in the playpen one day after her sisters had been brought back to the garage.  As I was walking around the corner of the garage to fetch her, I heard a squawk, and there was Shirley, standing outside the playpen looking horrified.  She'd flown over the two-foot high fence and had no idea where she was or what to do.  Rather than running away, she walked right up to me and seemed relieved when I picked her up and carried her back to her sisters.  Barbara repeated this stunt a few days later, and I had to put a window screen over the top of the pen after that to prevent any more escape attempts.  Even so, picking up a struggling chicken while grappling with a window screen is a challenge to anyone's dexterity, and it's even more entertaining if there's wind blowing the screen around.

    As the little girls became accustomed to being outside for play time, I gradually moved their playpen closer to the main coop.  The idea was to have the  hens see the little ones when they were let out to forage for bugs in the yard.  Initially the hens were oblivious to the peep-squawking that was coming from the nearby pen, but eventually I got it close enough that they could no longer ignore the chicks.  There was some jumping up and down and flapping of wings between Elizabeth, the Isa Brown hen, and Goldie. After some more posturing and flapping, Elizabeth gave Goldie one final, withering glare, and Goldie decided it was better to retreat to the other side of the playpen and pretend to hunt for something in the dirt.   I was rather proud of Goldie for sticking up for herself, even if it was from behind a fence.  Elizabeth strutted off, obviously pleased with herself for having put the little interloper in her proper place.  One does not challenge the Queen of England.

    During the last week of their stay in the garage, I created a larger, more secure pen that attached to one side of the fence on the big coop so that the little ones could be right next to the adult hens but the hens couldn't get to them.  The delights of dust bathing and hanging out under the tree peony were fully indulged.  The little ones stayed out longer, but I still brought them in well before dark so they could get a good feed before tucking themselves in for the night

After a little over three weeks in the garage, the little pullets were now about 2/3 the size  of the adult  birds, and all the information I could find suggested it was time to introduce them to the existing flock.  I'd never tried this before.  Elizabeth, Judy, and Isis had all been raised by Betty.  I had popped them under her at night when she was broody, and after one shocked glance at the arrival of chicks she didn't remember being there when she went to sleep, that was it.  She fluffed her feathers around them and mothered them as if they had been her own.

    There are various schools of thought about how to introduce new birds to an existing flock.  Some people advocate chucking the new birds in during the day and hoping for the best.  This seems to require that all the chickens in question are adults of about the same size and that there is a large amount of space for them to run about in and places to hide. I've seen a video of this, and it looks a lot like the scene in a Western movie where everyone is in the saloon drinking and playing cards, and the outlaw gang busts in.  Things do not go well.

     Another method recommends letting the new chickens out with the existing flock while everybody is out in the yard.  In theory, when the existing flock returns to the coop at night, the new birds will tag along, and everybody will be happy.  It sounds like a grand plan until you realize that if the new birds are scared off by the older ones, they won't go anywhere near the coop and will find a bush to sleep under rather than risk the displeasure of the current flock members. This  is an open invitation to dinner with a fox.  Rounding up the strays would take more than a couple of people as well.  Chicken herding is always interesting.  

    Then there's the stealth approach:  wait until the existing flock is asleep, then quietly put the new birds in the coop.  In the morning, nobody should be the wiser.  Chickens may not be the brightest of creatures, but even they know who belongs in the coop and who doesn't.  A strange bird cuddling up to one of them is just not on.  

    I finally settled on getting the birds used to seeing each other, as I had been doing, and then trying a stealth approach to seal the deal, as it were.

    The three oldest birds - Lily, Selena, and Betty - had found a good home with a woman who rescues chickens.  Her son, who must have been about 10 years old, literally plunged into the back of the run to capture Betty and Lily, but we had a chicken rodeo getting Selena who had managed to escape.  Once  caught, Selena was carried in arms to the woman's truck and plopped unceremoniously but gently onto the floorboards.  She looked quite calm, if a little nervous.  The woman assured me that her flock was so used to having new birds dropped off that they would hardly notice my old girls' arrival.

    I waited about four days after the older girls had gone so that everything could settle down a bit, and then last Saturday night was Moving Day.  

    

    Per instructions, I waited until the three remaining birds - Judy, Isis, and Elizabeth - were asleep, and then Harvest and I each took one of the little pullets from their garage pen, put them ever so quietly into the coop, and then returned with the next two.  What we hadn't figured on was the flash from the camera.  Isis, who tends to be a roost sleeper, was startled awake and saw the incursion force arriving.  She was not best pleased.  

                                                  Isis doing her best impersonation of an affronted vulture

    I had hoped that the little girls would find a place inside the coop to settle down, but Goldie headed straight down the ramp into the run as fast as she could go, and the rest of her sisters followed.   They've been sleeping at the back of the run under the coop since then.  It's safe there, and they can bunch up for comfort and security, but I hope they'll make their way up to the coop soon.   

    Things have been rather tense for all concerned, including me, while the flock is integrating.  I had thought Elizabeth would be the one to put the youngsters in their place in the pecking order, but she appears to have delegated those duties to Judy.  Mild-mannered Judy has turned into a feathered dominatrix.  I've decided it's best to let the adults out into the yard about three times a day in order to give the little ones a breather.  For the first two days, that was pretty much the only time they would venture out for food and water, and it's been too warm this week to take any chances on dehydration.  

    In the last two days, though, things seem to be settling down a bit.  Judy seems to be tiring of her role as Enforcer In Chief, though I imagine it will be some time before any of the young ones will be willing to challenge her authority.  They still stand around like girls at their first high school dance, all huddled together and ducking under one another in an attempt to be invisible to She Who Must Be Obeyed.  Goldie has been walking up the ramp to peek into the coop when the adult hens are out in the yard and the youngsters are left in the run alone.  She's quite the brave little explorer.   Things are looking even better tonight as both Goldie and Barbara climbed up to the top of the ramp and were trying to roost just outside the coop entrance.  Shirley and Hattie haven't been quite as adventurous, but they'll get there.  Because  two of Hattie's toes are a bit deformed, I'm going to have to add some additional crosspieces to the ramp so she can get up it more easily.  I've now seen both groups in the same general area of the run, and the little girls seem to be allowed to get food and water now without harassment.  I've had to shout at Judy a few times to leave the little girls alone and to my surprise, she actually appeared to listen and stopped what she was doing.  Maybe it was just a coincidence.

    I haven't been able to pick up the little girls since they were put into the coop - they're just too tense - but they do come to the edge of the run to see me, so that's a hopeful sign.  I'm sad that I can't hand feed them easily during this period.  They make a rush for the door every time I have to open it.  I'm going to wait until the two groups are well mingled before I let all of them out into the yard.  I don't want any runaway chickens.  I'm sure someone in town already calls me a crazy chicken lady, but chasing a chicken down the sidewalk might cause a bit of a stir.  

    I'm looking forward to a day later this summer when I can sit in a lawn chair next to the garden with a glass of iced tea and have one or two of the young ones poking around nearby.  And some time in September they will fulfill their primary destiny and start laying eggs, and the reason we have gone through all this faff and bother will be evident to anyone who eats one.  Incomparable deliciousness.