Chickens on Strike!! Demand more benefits!

No eggs.

I think the girls laid one or two more eggs after the last round of raccoon attacks.
We moved their night time roost into the porch until we secured the coop. They didn't seem too eager to returning to the scene of the attack. But this week, Bel just upped and walked back into the nesting box one night. Cleo followed with very little prodding.

But no eggs.

They have good food, they eat, they scavenge the yard. The have discovered the compost box--a virtual chicken heaven if you ask me, with worms and bugs and scraps of food. They are garbage divers ala natural.

But no eggs.

Now Cleo is molting and Bel is broody. What a combination of hormones and, well, . . . feathers.

And no eggs.

Spoiled chicken

The girls have been treated to sleeping in the front porch temporarily while we raccoon proof their coop. They go back out as soon as the cock crows (so to speak) and stay out until it starts getting dark.

Have we spoiled them?  I am beginning to think that they think they own this place.

Tonight, at dusk, they were at the back door, not just squawking, but trying to fly through the window--luckily there is a screen, although Bel has pushed her way through on of the screens on the porch to let herself out in the morning and then stands out there squawking and get Cleo worked up.

They may have bird brains but these chicks have me trained well. Of course I brought them to their roost in the porch. This will have to stop or I'll be in the chicken coop next!    

Twin Cities Tour of Chicken Coops

I was pleasantly surprised by the number of urban chicken people so close to home. Nothing like getting fellow chicken people telling stories, exchanging ideas and experiences, giving and taking advise. Talking with people who really know what it is like to be greeted in the morning by your chickens makes you feel, well, not as odd anyway.

I did find out the Cleo was a mistaken identity. She is not a Marans, though she does look like one, she is actually a Barred Rock and she has many of her kind in the neighborhood. I wonder if we got all the Barred Rocks and the Buff Orpingtons together in one place, would they know who their human was? They say that sheep know their shepherd's voice, what about chickens? The problem is, if they don't recognize us, how would we know which ones are ours? You know they all look alike. Do we all look alike to them too?

We saw a lot of ideas for improvements and we saw the benefits of what we do.

Interestingly, we are the only ones who seem to be bothered by the raccoons. Lots of hawk stories though.

A right handed and a left handed chicken

I finally located the right breed of chickens to Bel and Cleo.

 Bel is a Buff Orpington.

Cleo is a Marans.

Not that this really makes any difference-- in the long run they are still Bel and Cleo, Belina and Cleopatra.

There differences, besides color of feathers add up to Cleo's eggs are darker brown than Bel's, which are more beige. Bel tends to be more brooder and Cleo is more bullyish. Bel is noisier. She lets the whole neighborhood know that she has laid her egg. Cleo just takes it in stride.

  One difference that I have noticed lately though has sparked my attention. When I pick them up I place my left hand on their belly and my right hand behind their legs. I gently nudge them onto my right hand. They seem to grab on to my hand easier than when I come from the front. The difference is that when I pick up Cleo she sits comfortably on my right hand an rides to where ever I take her. Bel on the other hand (pun intended) turns herself around so she can ride on my left. Could it be that Bel is a leftie?

Last weekend I was informed by my left handed son-in-law-to-be that left handed people are smarter...of course he may be biased. But lefties do get picked on more and ignored by righties, which is similar to how Cleo treats Bel. . .