Fowl Play
Integration is Never Easy
I’ve always been fascinated by chicken culture. It is, after all, the origin of the “pecking order,” a concept practiced widely in American corporations and now government.
My new-ish young neighbors recently gave me an object lesson in the complexities of chicken culture. Sandy and Rick moved into a beautiful home on the bluff across the street from us a couple years ago filled with ideas of making their rural palace into a mini farm. They planted blueberries on their upper deck, apple trees in the front yard and cherries on the West edge of their sprawling property. It was great fun for them and for us as supportive nosy neighbors.
The previous owners of Sandy and Rick’s home had abandoned a beautifully designed chicken coop on the property, filling it with no-maintenance plants. I never understood why they gave up on chickens, and Sandy’s eyes glistened with excitement over the idea of reviving a chicken community there. And so, she did.
About their second Easter in the neighborhood, the coop was cleaned out, a proper ladder roost added, even a swing installed. The laying enclosure was already there, and soon three tiny chicks of various colors arrived to be incubated in the warm and safe garage pen. They were adorable, a perfect addition to the Sandy and Rick menagerie which, until then, consisted only of one cranky old dog and a cat who wisely stayed indoors. Sandy and Rick named all three hens Heather after the mean girls of the famous film. That turned out to be prophetic.
Distinguished by their color, Heather Gray, Heather Lavender and Heather Black grew quickly into spritely pullets then stunning mature laying hens. The three thrived for two years on the love Sandy and Rick lavished on them. In addition to the ladder style roost, they installed a light sensitive automatic door on the laying pen that closed at dark and opened at dawn to accommodate the birds’ biological clocks every day. Water, food and toys were showered on these girls. They had special time to peck about outdoors around the apple tree trunks secure in colorful playpens. And they responded to this kindness by laying lots of eggs...for a while.
As they rounded the corner on their third year here, Sandy and Rick decided they should enlarge the poultry brood. Memories of the three sweet, fluffy chicks at Easter flooded the two budding farmers with motivation to “do it again,” much like the first charming child moves parents to birth a second. In both cases the reality of what’s to come is blissfully out of reach.
So, on the third Easter in the couple’s idyllic home, three new chicks arrived to bask in the loving warmth of the garage incubator and grow...
Then came the day of integration, adding the new pullets to the established community...and all hell broke loose. Like the Little Rock Nine, the Peepers faced violent resistance in their innocent efforts to join the Taj Ma Coop. It was the Heathers v. the Peepers and the wee ones were grossly out pecked.
Shocked, our young aspiring farmers swiftly grabbed the Peepers from the beaks of Hell so they could regroup to study the integration procedure. The ensuing process required “times out” for the worst offending Heather and semi-isolation for the other two. In the meantime, the traumatized Peepers moved as a cowering unit around the edges of the Taj Ma Coop in a near constant state of panic, achieving anything but a state of comfort in their new home.
Days passed and the couple decided to slow down the integration process. This meant one Heather at a time in the coop under supervised visitation. They chose Heather Lavender, of course, the least hostile of the elder trio, for the initial integration phase.
This is when I first became aware of the fowl situation. (How many puns can I pull from this, you ask?) It was an unusually hot summer day in the PNW when I glanced across the street to see Rick seated on the grass in a low-slung lawn chair facing the Taj Ma Coop at only about a 12” distance and staring with furrowed brow into the depths of the now materially shaded chicken domicile. He was on chicken watch guarding the Peepers from the wrath of Heather Lavender, he said, noting that she had reduced her ire to merely lunging at the Peepers to clarify her dominance without actually attempting to rip their eyes out.
If this worked, the other two Heathers – currently relegated to “time out” in the garage – would be integrated one at a time. It didn’t look too promising from my vantage point since the Peepers were still huddled in a feathery bundle and moving in unison.
The chicken watch went on for a few days with Rick and Sandy taking guard shifts throughout the daylight hours. I don’t know who got the automated egg laying bordello at night. But, in my next visit to the Taj Ma Coop, with both Rick and Sandy standing watch, I saw what looked like a tiny red plastic bread bag tab on the resident Heather’s nose. “They’re blinders,” Sandy informed me. “Like horses, only the reverse.” Turns out these tiny blinders form over the beak and block the Heather’s view to the front...so she can’t see the Peepers of her wrath or try to tear their eyes out.
“If I’d known how hard this was going to be,” Sandy sighed, “I might not have done it.” Ah, spoken like the weary parent when child number two has completely ruptured the peaceful dynamic of a one-child family.
The Heathers v. Peepers saga continues. I can report at this writing that all six Fowl Girls are alive. Updates are forthcoming you can be sure.
