Proof of the theorem of the Absolute of Chicken-themed Gift Receiving.
Proof of the theorem of the Absolute of Chicken-themed Gift Receiving.
…chicken-themed presents. How many amongst us hobbyist flock-keepers have received such gifts for birthdays, holidays or just because? I think it is safe to say that nearly all of us have – from friends or family who just couldn’t resist that cute little ___________ (fill in the blank with your poultry gift of choice).
Personally, I love all of the chicken gifts I have received since I started keeping layers over a decade ago. Chickens have sprung out of gift boxes and wrapping paper adorning all sorts of items – both practical and whimsical. There are the the pot holders and kitchen towels covered in chickens, the white and black hen salt and pepper shakers, the mug with the chicken on it, and the chicken what-not that simply sits on the shelf. I have chicken wall hangings, numerous stuffed chickens along with one lone stuffed duck, hand-crocheted chicken doilies, and a chicken that lays jelly-bean eggs.
There is the rooster stained-glass rondel, hand-drawn chickens, chicken fridge magnets, several chicken tree ornaments, and – my favorite – a clock in the shape of a flying chicken.
In recent years, keeping chickens has increased in popularity – as has, it seems, chickens as a decorative motif, and thus as sources of poultry-related gifting. Or perhaps the sighting and gifting of chicken tchotchkes is the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon in action: friends and family are a titch more preternaturally aware of chickens because someone they are close to keeps chickens. That is why, even though chicken-laden objects are plentiful in my house and office, I enjoy and cherish every odd one of them: they are mementos and reminders of the times my friends and family thought of me as they picked out that chicken timer/mug/potholder/pillow/rug/tea kettle/basket.
This is a question that I am frequently asked, and a flippant answer might well be: as long as the flock keeper decides they should live.
Many people think that chickens are short-lived, and in our modern, factory-farming approach to eggs and chickens, they are: the average layer is culled at three years when her egg-laying naturally begins to taper off, and many layers may be culled as soon as their first molt occurs.
For people who prefer a less-utilitarian approach to their layers – backyard chickens can live for a decade or more. The average is about 8 to 10 years for a chicken that is healthy and kept safe from predators, although there are reports of pet chickens living well into their teens. Possibly one of the most famous long-lived birds of our modern era of backyard flocks was Victoria, a crotchety black rock hen, which according to an article in the Daily Mail in 2013, laid two eggs at 17.
Consideration of layer longevity cannot be divorced from the other question of how many eggs can a chicken lay? After all, the primary reason for keeping layers is to have a steady supply of fresh eggs. Like humans, hens are born with a specific number of eggs. How many they actually will lay over their lifetime is tied to their health, lighting and diet. Generally, during her first two years, a hen will lay about 200 eggs a year; starting in year three, egg production declines by 1/3 to 1/2 of her first year egg production.
The amount of light (natural daylight is always better, but not always realistic in Alaska) that a hen is exposed to affects her laying schedule. Again, like humans, the low-light days of winter signal to hens that it is time to slow down. Many flock-owners, commercial and backyard, maintain a steady supply of eggs through fall and winter by exposing their layers to long hours of artificial light (>12 hours). While this will keep most hens laying, it does not give their bodies the natural downtime needed to recover from the heavier schedule of egg-laying during spring and summer months. This may lead to earlier mortality and somewhat increased chances of disease susceptibility, however, this does not militate against the practice for flock-owners seeking to maximize egg production through the steady replacement of two to three-year old birds with new young ones.
In over 14 years of having a backyard flock, I have always kept my chickens through their natural life cycle, and currently have four elderly, but spry, birds – all of whom are 10 or older. As an additional, admittedly unscientifically-based plug for the benefits of keeping older birds, I have never had any of the terrible bad habits (cannibalism, feather-picking) that can plague backyard flocks. I believe this is because an all-ages, diversified flock (including a rooster) is more in keeping with the natural flock habits of chickens – which, like sled dogs, prefer hierarchal groups. It is my oldest hen, who at 11 is really the flock head – she keeps all of the other ladies and rooster in line. Although it is not a philosophy for everyone, it can be beneficial in effect to keep the older hens around, even after their peak egg production has stopped.
First week of the new year, and first day of -30 so far this winter. Really, nothing to gripe about, but if it’s weather and Alaskans are talking about it – well, more times than not, there will be complaints, comments, and reminiscences about the Big Ice Storm of ’10 (or whatever the latest weather event d’jour is) rather than just a mere acknowledgement that yes, like everywhere else on the globe, we have weather.
With the arrival of the first true cold day of this winter this morning, the chickens went onto a 24-7 heat lamp. This winter I have been trying something new. Early in the fall, I decided to be a bit less stingy with the electricity and give the girls (and Gandolf the Rooster) more heat regardless of outside temperature. For all of my other chicken-keeping years – the heat lamp didn’t go on until zero to -10 degrees F. This meant that most times, the coop was pretty chilly: about 35 to 40 at perch-level, definitely in the 20s at the far reaches. Previously, if a heat lamp was on when it was 20 degrees above zero – well in my view that was like leaving the front door open with the heater going full blast: a needless waste of energy. I also had a (half-baked) notion that if I kept the coop relatively cool/cold in its far reaches, it would slow down decomposition of droppings and generally help in keeping eye-watering ammonia fumes at bay. I had also heard (through the coop rumor-mill) that turning on/off heat lamps repeatedly when the bulb was cold would lead to faster bulb demise.
Wrong on all accounts. By putting the heat lamp on a timer, and having it come on four times throughout a 24-hour period even when we hit close to 32 degrees, the coop stayed much, much drier. There was less frost build-up and the troublesome problem of condensation seeping down the walls (which always plagued the coop in outdoor temperatures above 32) never materialized during our Christmas chinook. This in turn led to not only happier chickens (and warmer chickens) but because there was less moisture, the bedding stayed fresher longer and the droppings did not decompose as rapidly. Clean-up of the coop is also much easier – because nothing is frozen to the walls or the boards in the far reaches. I also was surprised at how small an impact there was on my monthly electric bill. For sure, there was an increase, but I estimate it to be about 10$. And of this writing, the bulb is still going strong even though it’s well over a year old.
On a closing note – apologies to all for being AWOL for a considerable period of time. Other work got in the way of the enjoyable task of writing about chickens. The home flock is still going strong – with at least three hens pushing 10. Yes. I know. Most do not keep their layers around into their dotage. Perhaps it is just because it’s sort of interesting to see how long these girls will live when they are safe from predators and get three squares a day.
Hens: 1, Owner: 0
Today, the P-hammock (as I have come to refer to it) came down. It’s a great idea that my chickens roundly gave the middle toe to.
Every morning for the past week when I opened the coop door, I hoped to see the usual 4 or 5 birds that have occupied that portion of the roost without fail for the past five years neatly lined up with their rear ends properly aligned.
Instead, what I had every morning were a dozen birds (even those on the roost not covered by the P-hammock) lined up with their heads cocked over their backs – tails pointing away from the wall and into the coop – giving me the stink eye. It might be tempting from this to assume that this is just the way my chickens have always roosted and I placed the sling on the wrong side of the perch.
Nope. All generations of the birds I have kept in this coop for 10 years have always roosted facing into the coop. Never ever did they roost facing the wall. To really appreciate the ability of the chicken to transmit its approval (or disapproval in this case) of a change in its environment, the new alignment of all of my chickens means that every single one of them flew up or jumped up from the ramp below, which is against the wall, and then turned around on the perch to settle into looking at the wall…. an acrobatic maneuver that has certainly never been the norm in this coop.
Oh, occasionally in the last week I have caught my one hen, Goldie, sitting over the hammock and depositing a token dropping, but in general, the chickens have spoken. More frequent mucking out of the litter will continue to be the order of the coop – no new-fangled ideas like P-hammocks.
On a less silly note – really the problem is that the way I have my coop set up, it’s not conducive to effective use of a hanging net or screen under a roost. A careful examination of the pics that Linda D provided on the Chicken Wire shows that those perches are lower, and have the screen set up so that it doesn’t matter which way the birds orient (or so it seems from the pics). My coop has restricted access for the birds to reach the perch, which is quite high off the ground (to maximize them being at the warmest parts of the coop in winter) and it is a long piece of willow that spans the whole coop horizontally. I think because of the height and the way the birds access this, their main roost, the screen was just too visible to them, and they could not (would not) overcome their suspicions of such an odd thing hanging in their coop.
It’s always worth a try, though, to take an idea that works in one coop and see if it works in yours. Or not.