Fowl Not Foul - Oct, Nov, Dec 2000

October, November and December were very busy months for us and the flock. The weather was extremely wet, and severe flooding occurred in many areas. The river bordering our rented woodland swelled and caused the surrounding ground to become waterlogged. We had to abandon the moving of the flock to the new land because the conditions underfoot were too soft to allow us to do any preparation work for the move.

The little chicks continued to do well in their box in the living room (more information about the chicks can be found on the chick pages).

7th October. A few minutes ago, poor Alkacell died in my arms. She was looking miserable yesterday while out in the garden, so I brought her into the house for the night. This morning I saw her fall over when she tried to stand up from sleeping, and she was unable to get up. So I gently picked her up, and cradled her in my arms until she died. She seemed to die peacefully, and I am glad that she did not have to die alone. I'm very upset, but I will have a lasting memory of her, as yesterday some people doing a TV project came to film me with Alkacell and the other chickens.

Many thanks to all those who sent Alkacell their good wishes when she had her broken leg, wing and her various other unfortunate accidents.

On the following morning I buried Alkacell in the garden, giving her a tree to mark her grave as I had done with Ernie's. Alkacell's tree being a Rowan with white berries and beautiful autumn colours, Ernie's tree being an English Elder. While burying Alkacell, I noticed that Roadkill, Duracell, Nicad, 9-Volt, Flathead and Attilla the Hen were watching solemnly - they stood still throughout the whole burial, and made no sound at all. This was unusual behaviour for these chickens....were they just curious about the unfortunate hen's burial: 'Why is our human putting Alkacell into the ground?', or were they actually mourning her death ?

Alkacell will not be forgotten.

A tribute to Alkacell, and to all our other pet hens which have died, can be found here:

Fowl Not Foul Obituaries

By 18th October the little chicks had become too big for their monitor box home - and so I built a new house for them. Made from three fruit boxes fastened together, with high cardboard walls on three sides, and a wall of wire which faced into the room so that the chicks could watch us, the humans. The little birds enjoyed their new home, named 'fruitboxville' as it gave them much more room to exercise.

At the beginning of November the chicks became too big for their fruitboxville home. I gradually weaned them off the light by turning it off during the day, and only allowing the birds constant access to it at night. The birds' new home was a large chipmunk cage. They spent their nights in this cage, and if the weather was fair outside during the day, they would be allowed a short time in an outdoor run. But as soon as the weather turned wet, windy or cold, I'd bring the little birds back into the house again.

When first introduced to the outdoor run, the youngsters were very nervous. But before long their nervousness turned to curiosity, and they began to explore the grass under their feet, and found their food and water dispensers. Once they were used to it, they loved their outside enclosure. I'd ferry the young birds backwards and forwards between their night cage and their enclosure using a cardboard box. If I had not collected them by dusk the little chicks would crowd together and chirp loudly, reminding me to bring them back into the house. As soon as I brought the flock of younsters out in the mornings, they could not get out of their box quickly enough, and would jump for joy when they felt the grass under their feet, running about madly, flapping their little wings and raising their hackles at each other.

As the days passed, the chicks grew more feathers, and so I allowed them longer periods in their outdoor enclosure. Within a few weeks the young chickens were spending all day in the run, and were feathered enough to cope with bad weather. They quickly learnt the benefits of finding shelter when it rained, although it took them longer to realise that they could come out of their shelter when the rain had stopped !

On 9th November I weighed the whole flock and checked them for lice and moulting progress. Most of the ex-battery hens were in full moult, and the pure-bred hens' moults were coming to an end. With most of the flock moulting and therefore not producing eggs, presented me with an excellent opportunity to worm them again.

Unfortunately, Attilla the Hen grew more ill. She would just sit fluffed and miserable, even though she had been thoroughly treated for worms. She gradually grew weaker and weaker, lost her appetite, and eventually died during the night of 12th November.

During November the geese had taken to hanging about outside the henhouse at dusk, and were delighting themselves in preventing the chickens from getting through the door to their roosting perches. Each time a chicken bravely approached the doorway, she would be chased away by the merrily honking goose or gander. This upset the chickens greatly. I prevented this by fencing off the henhouse, so that the geese couldn't gain access to it. I left gaps in the fencing large enough to let a chicken pass through, and small enough to stop the geese getting through to play their cruel game.

On Saturday 18th November we collected 20 more spent hens from our nearest Battery Egg Farm. The farm manager very kindly allowed us to take some photographs while we were there.

As soon as we got home, one by one we put the battery hens into the shed for the night. As with all freshly rescued battery hens, they did not know how to walk or perch, and so such birds have to be allowed to sleep on flat surfaces covered with bedding, until they have learnt to perch.

When I opened the shed door on the following morning I discovered that they had all survived the night, and were all sitting in exactly the same positions I had placed them in on the previous night. They stayed exactly where they were, staring at me with raised heads. One by one I inspected and weighed the battery hens, gently fastened an identification ring made from plaited coloured electrical wire around the leg of each bird, carefully placing those I had dealt with into the open space outside the shed. The i.d rings were loosely fastened so that if a hen should become caught by her ring, it would unfasten quickly, thus freeing the hen and avoiding accidents.

This batch of battery hens were in fairly good condition, though all showed signs of feather pecking and damage to feathers from rubbing against cage bars. All the birds had been debeaked, some more harshly than others - these birds had had as much as half the upper mandible removed. I had to clip the claws of all the hens, as they were extremely long, some as much as 3 centimetres. Some claws had been broken off by being trapped in the cage bars, causing damage to the quick of the claw. The first joint of her middle toe of one hen was completely missing, but had healed over nicely, indicating that it had probably been an old cage injury. Another bird had a very distended abdomen, which was extremely soft and the skin was greenish in colour. I didn't like the look of it, and decided to keep a close eye on that one.

The hens were intrigued by their new surroundings, but were reluctant to explore because they could not walk properly. They needed to be encouraged to put one foot in front of the other, and with a little gentle nudging, they learnt to walk a short distance of two feet from their feeder to their drinker. They also needed to be encouraged to eat - this was achieved easily by poking at their feed with my finger in a pecking motion. The curious battery hens would then make their way over to me to see what I was 'pecking' at, and start feeding immediately.

Within a week, most of the new battery hens had learnt that they could walk almost halfway up the garden. Unfortunately, on the second morning of the battery hens' freedom I noticed that one of them had completely disappeared. I searched dark corners and hiding places in the shed and the garden for her, but she was nowhere to be found. She did not reappear during the day, and I decided that she must have escaped and become prey for a badger or fox.

Every morning I had to lift the battery hens down from their sleeping shelves and encourage them to go outside. Within a week, about half of them had become strong enough and/or brave enough to jump down from their shelves on their own. At dusk, I'd find most of them huddled together on the shed floor. They would literally pile up on top of each other, stacking themselves three birds high in the darkest corners of the shed. So every evening I would have to pick each bird up and gently place her onto the soft sleeping shelf. It was nescessary to do this, because the hens at the bottom of the pile would suffocate otherwise.

Surprisingly enough, the existing hens hadn't bothered the new birds at all. The older birds kept themselves to themselves and did not mingle with the newcomers - this was because they were outnumbered, and therefore too 'chicken' to attack anyone!. Introducing a group of 20 newcomers to a group of 11 existing birds had been the most peaceful integration of chickens which I have ever experienced. The two bands of birds designated themselves territorial rights to the areas closest to their respective sleeping-houses (this was decided automatically, without conflict; seeming to be the most sensible way for the birds to sort out their differences without fighting); the existing flock occupying the top end of the garden, and the new battery birds staying in the bottom end of the garden, closest to the shed they slept in. If any new battery hens ventured too far into the existing flock's area, then they would be immediately chased away by a group of dominant hens in the pecking order, such as White Tara, Nicad, 9-Volt or Hawking. The arrival of the newcomers raised Little Wing's confidence, and she took the opportunity to become sidekick to White Tara, the very top hen in the pecking order. Occaisionally one of the dominant hens would venture down the garden toward the shed, for an inquisitive look at the group of new birds....but as soon as she got within a few feet of the flock of 20, she would lose courage and run back up the garden to her friends.

One of the new battery hens seemed to have become partially imprinted to me. Whenever I came into the garden, the friendly bird, 'Orange' (which I had labelled with an orange ring), would constantly follow me about. She would follow so closely to my feet that she would often get under them. 'Purple' (labelled with a lilac coloured ring) had developed a limp within a few days of her rescue. She had obviously strained a muscle, as I found no breaks or signs of injury when I examined her. Muscle strains are a common hazard to the recently freed battery hen, because the bird has had no exercise during the 18 months to two years spent in the battery cage . Therefore the muscles, ligaments and bones are weakened due to lack of exercise, and can easily be pulled or strained by the bird if she flaps her wings, leaps or runs over enthusiastically. 'Purple's limp was quite serious at first - she was extremely reluctant to put weight on her right leg, and found it difficult to move it backward. The other hens prevented her from getting to the feeder, so I made a special enclosure for her in the shed in which she could recover and gain access to food and water without being hassled by the rest of the flock. Purple spent the days in her shed enclosure, and the rest of the new battery hens joined her for the night. Five days after her initial injury, 'Purple' was still limping, but not as seriously as before. She was able to get around extremely well, so I let her back out into the garden with the rest of the flock.

November continued to be a very wet month, teaching the new battery hens how to find shelter from the rain. I had built the birds a new shelter during the almost constant rain of October, because the geese had begun to use one of the hens' existing shelters during the heaviest downpours, and were preventing the hens from sharing it with them. The new shelter was a long poly-tunnel which would house the whole flock. I had also set up some other smaller shelters which could only be used by the chickens. Most of the battery hens soon learnt that they could find shelter from the rain; apart from about five of them, who would crouch next to a fence or wall during rain, obviously thinking that she had shelter but wondering why she was still getting wet ! As soon as I spotted one of these poor confused creatures I would go outside and herd her to shelter, hoping that she would then learn what shelter was. It took a couple of days for some of them to catch on to the idea, but eventually they did.

The battery hens were shocked by the geese - they had never experienced such large birds before, and so kept well out of their way. The geese seemed to enjoy asserting their authority by simply walking through a group of hens, and watching them move out of their way.

'Orange' continued to be a friendly little hen, following my every step whenever I was in the garden.

On 3rd December, two weeks after the battery hens were rescued, I decided that they had recovered enough strength and learnt enough to be able to cope with living with the rest of the flock. It was also time to move the young chickens outside for the night. Currently they had been sleeping in an old chipmunk cage in the living room, being let out into an outdoor enclosure during the daytime. The cage was now becoming too small for them, and now that I could move the new battery hens out of the shed, the vacant space in the shed could be the chicks' new home.

Firstly, I let all the birds out in the morning and installed the old chipmunk cage into the shed (after first cleaning it out, of course!). Everything went normally until fowl bedtime at dusk. The new battery hens all huddled outside the shed, waiting for me to allow them access and put them on their sleeping shelf. Two by two, one under each arm, I carried the battery hens up to the henhouse and the Ark, distributing them evenly between the two houses, and placing them on perches. Some of the birds held onto the perches, gripping them tightly with their feet, but most of them simply jumped off the perches, preferring to sleep on the flat floor which they were used to. The existing flock in the henhouse didn't appear to mind sharing it with the newcomers - probably because it was getting dark, and chickens are generally more subdued and docile in the dark.

When I checked and counted all the hens before finally shutting them in for the night, I found that one of the battery hens was missing. I searched for her, and eventually found her waiting outside the shed for me to let her in. I decided to take pity on her, and leave her these so that she could sleep in the shed with the young chicks, and hopefully help teach them about life in the back garden. The young chicks were not impressed by the new location of their sleeping cage. As I placed them into the cage one by one, they would leap out almost as fast as I could put them in. They obviously didn't like being in the shed at all - but they would just have to get used to it, because there was nowhere else for them to sleep at night! The weather was fairly mild for December, though extremely wet, so the move ouitside for the chicks wasn't as much of a cold shock for them as it could have been.

The youngsters got used to the shed within a few days, and would go in of their own accord at dusk. 'Purple' continued to sleep in the shed with the youngsters every night, and became very friendly with them. Perhaps she preferred the chicks' company because they didn't seem as threatening as the larger birds - also, the injury to her leg when she first arrived would have caused her to feel insecure among the adult hens, so no wonder she was so glad to get a break from them by taking the opportunity to hang about with the young chicks, who showed her much respect.

21st December saw the Winter Solstice, when the sun rose for the first time after the longest night of the year. Kellagh the young Cream Legbar cockerel was certainly glad to see it, because he crowed heartily as soon as I let him out in the morning. This was the first time I had heard him crow, and he still cannot properly crow because he is too young, so the noise which actually came out sounded like a cross between a seagull and a carrion crow. Today we had only 7 hours of daylight, as the sun rose at (approx.) 8.40 am, setting at (approx) 3.40 pm (15.40).

On 25th December (Christmas Day) the weather suddenly turned cold. The first hard frosts of the season arrived - extremely late....here in England frosts are usually expected to begin during late October and November. The frost had frozen the ground solid, which was a great relief from the muddy quagmire caused by the weeks of rain we endured over the past three months. The frost had been so hard that the water-saturated door of the wooden poultry Ark had frozen solid, and was impossible to open. Luckily the Ark's pop-hole was still working, so at least the chickens could still be let out.

On 26th December I noticed that Professor Mendel's comb and wattles were looking purplish, so I kept an eye on her. There was a slight change for the worst on the following day, as poor Mendel looked fluffed, and her comb and wattles were an even darker shade of purple. So I brought her into the house, placing her in a cage in the living room so that she could keep warm. I consulted the internet about Professor Mendel's condition, and discovered that purple comb and wattles are a sign that the bird is under physical stress. It could also warn of an imminent heart attack.

On 28th December I was delighted to discover that Professor Mendel had survived the night, was looking perkier and her comb and wattles looked redder, and less purple than they had done yesterday. We also awoke to a white world. Nearly 5 inches of snow had fallen during the night, covering everything in a thick white blanket. The fowl were not amused by this. First I let the youngsters out of the shed at the bottom of the garden. The little pullets and cockerels had never seen snow before, and when I opened the shed door, instead of enthusiastically rushing out as normal, they all cowered in the doorway, peering out in bewhilderment at the strange world before them. They certainly didn't want to come out of the shed immediately, so I left them to take stock of their altered surroundings while I went to let the rest of the flock out.

When I opened the pop-hole of the Ark, the ex-battery hens living inside did not emerge. I waited for a few minutes, to see if any would pluck up the courage to come out, but none did. Not so much as a beak was to be seen peeking out of the pop-hole, although I could hear the birds inside the Ark. These un-named ex-battery hens had not witnessed snow before, and were obviously perturbed by it. So, as with the youngsters in the shed, I left them to take stock of their surroundings while I went to let the rest of the chickens and the geese out.

The geese were surprised by the snow, but they did not seem to mind it as much as the chickens. As soon as I opened the door of their house, the geese saw the snow and honked at it for all they were worth. It seemed as if the geese thought that they could get rid of the snow by shouting at it as loudly as they possibly could.

When I opened the henhouse door, the birds were reluctant to come out - especially the un-named ex-battery hens. Heads would peek out of the doorway and promptly disappear back into the house. This caused congestion in the doorway as chickens loitered there, peering out at the unfamiliar white world but not wanting to set foot on the snow outside. I had to encourage the birds to set foot on the snow somehow, so I grabbed any hens who loitered too long, and placed them on the snow just outside the henhouse. Each bird simply stood in the snow where I had set her down, staring bewhilderedly around and looking utterly confused. White Tara, Little Wing, Flathead, Roadkill, Ashley, Nicad, 9-Volt and Professor Hawking all emerged from the house on their own, for they had seen snow before and knew what to expect. They didn't like it, but obviously knew that they would just have to endure it. Meanwhile, the un-named ex-battery hens which I had placed on the snow still had not moved, and were standing in exactly the same position I had put them in earlier. I gently gave some of them encouraging nudges, but they refused to move. They obviously didn't know how to walk on snow, so I gave them some more gentle encouraging nudges. A few of them took delicate steps back toward the henhouse door, while others took leaps into the air to avoid stepping on the cold snow. They were rather shocked when they touched the ground again, immediately sinking hock deep into the snow, and then standing still, totally confused by their situation! Most of the chickens hung around the entrance to their house, reluctant to go any further on the cold snow. I left them to work out what they should do while I checked on the un-named ex-battery hens in the Ark, and the youngsters in the shed.

Some of the birds in the Ark had worked out that they could walk on the snow and had found their way out into the open, but not all of them had. I left.them to work things out for a little longer while I checked on the youngsters. When I got to the shed, I discovered that the young cockerels and pullets were still hiding inside, peering out at the snow in wonder and bewhilderment. I tried to shoo them out of the shed, but they refused to leave. So I had to take each bird and place it a few yards away from the shed. As soon as its feet touched the snow it would fly up into the air in surprise, flying up again as soon as its feet touched the snow again. The youngsters did this repeatedly until they realised that the snow could not hurt them.

As the weather was so cold, I decided to give the flock their feed early. I warmed it up for them, and brought them warm water to replace that which had frozen in their water containers.