It's true. I should probably rename my blog Ariella's Little Chickens, for as much airtime as they get. It seems like it's even more than my children. Eh. I'm a city girl with a small town fascination and so I raise chickens. As much as I devoured the Little House books growing up, particularly fascinated with the detailed chapters on things like "when we slaughtered the pig" or "getting maple sugar out of the tree", it never occurred to me that in my life as an LA girl, a defining characteristic that has lost it's luster over the last few years, that I myself would have my very own chickens to care for. But I do. And they are crazy animals.
Michael's mom had a pet chicken when we first started dating...way past her prime, she was allowed to wander the large backyard and do whatever she wanted. I used to pick her figs off the tree, lay next to her on the grass, and feed her half while I ate the other half. Yes, I'm odd. When we moved into our own house, a mere 7 blocks away, on the huge by LA standards 1/3 acre lot, we decided to get our own chickens...and as I've blogged about before, it's been an interesting decade of learning the fine art (or not) of poultry farming, so to speak
Which brings me to the last few weeks, where I have repeatedly shouted in the modern day commons (FB status updates and Twitter Feeds) about the fact that a hen keeps making her way into my bedroom. This is generally the cause for a just amount of amusement in said forums, but I don't think people quite understand why this is even happening. And so, I blog.
Our "special chicken", aptly named Catfood (pictured above in her awkward period) was henpecked at around 10 weeks old. Rescued during this trauma by Max, her bloodied body and neck barely moving, I set her in a box with some water and food, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. I didn't have the heart to finish her off. Much to my surprise the next morning, she was up and walking around...and eventually healed completely. Well, kind of. I now know that chickens now better than me about what is good and what isn't, and well, Catfood is a bit, um, developmentally delayed. Also, Physically challenged. Her feet are completely deformed and turned in on themselves, and she's at least a few months behind her sisters in feather development. Because of these issues, and the fact that she is not welcome in the coop, she has been allowed to roam free in our yard. She hobbles about and doesn't really cause any trouble and the dogs ignore her. It turns out she's not as dumb as one might think, as she started nesting right by my bedroom door (I have french doors off my room). I tried to avoid using the a/c as much as possible this summer, and so at night I would open my doors to cool down the room...unbeknownst to me, Catfood used this opportunity to wander in and find herself a much more comfortable nesting spot in the corner of my room.
If you've been in my room, you know it is not the most...empty environment, so a habit was formed without my knowledge. Once I figured out what was happening, I started leaving the door closed. She figured out how to use the doggie door. I blocked it. It seemed to fix the problem. I unblocked it, tired of having to constantly remember to let the dogs in and out. She noticed and came back. I took her out every night to another location, where she'd stay...and then I finally put her in her own enclosure, so the problem became moot. But then... there was Dewey.
More later...going out tonight. :)
Michael's mom had a pet chicken when we first started dating...way past her prime, she was allowed to wander the large backyard and do whatever she wanted. I used to pick her figs off the tree, lay next to her on the grass, and feed her half while I ate the other half. Yes, I'm odd. When we moved into our own house, a mere 7 blocks away, on the huge by LA standards 1/3 acre lot, we decided to get our own chickens...and as I've blogged about before, it's been an interesting decade of learning the fine art (or not) of poultry farming, so to speak
Which brings me to the last few weeks, where I have repeatedly shouted in the modern day commons (FB status updates and Twitter Feeds) about the fact that a hen keeps making her way into my bedroom. This is generally the cause for a just amount of amusement in said forums, but I don't think people quite understand why this is even happening. And so, I blog.
Our "special chicken", aptly named Catfood (pictured above in her awkward period) was henpecked at around 10 weeks old. Rescued during this trauma by Max, her bloodied body and neck barely moving, I set her in a box with some water and food, trying to make her as comfortable as possible. I didn't have the heart to finish her off. Much to my surprise the next morning, she was up and walking around...and eventually healed completely. Well, kind of. I now know that chickens now better than me about what is good and what isn't, and well, Catfood is a bit, um, developmentally delayed. Also, Physically challenged. Her feet are completely deformed and turned in on themselves, and she's at least a few months behind her sisters in feather development. Because of these issues, and the fact that she is not welcome in the coop, she has been allowed to roam free in our yard. She hobbles about and doesn't really cause any trouble and the dogs ignore her. It turns out she's not as dumb as one might think, as she started nesting right by my bedroom door (I have french doors off my room). I tried to avoid using the a/c as much as possible this summer, and so at night I would open my doors to cool down the room...unbeknownst to me, Catfood used this opportunity to wander in and find herself a much more comfortable nesting spot in the corner of my room.
If you've been in my room, you know it is not the most...empty environment, so a habit was formed without my knowledge. Once I figured out what was happening, I started leaving the door closed. She figured out how to use the doggie door. I blocked it. It seemed to fix the problem. I unblocked it, tired of having to constantly remember to let the dogs in and out. She noticed and came back. I took her out every night to another location, where she'd stay...and then I finally put her in her own enclosure, so the problem became moot. But then... there was Dewey.
More later...going out tonight. :)
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