Tag Archive for chickens

16 Apr 2013
Gardening and Raising Cute Chickens • Homeschool

The Chicken Chronicles: Entry #11 by Asiila Imani

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Chicken Chronicles Returns, Part 3
July 30, 2012

FLOPPY IS DEAD!

She didn’t die from starvation or a lonely barren heart; she died from a brutal gang-land attack perpetrated by the other hens. In other words, Floppy was murdered.

Muhammad, who ran in the house to tell me the news, was the sole witness.

“I went out to collect the eggs and saw Floppy sitting between the two feeding cans. The other hens were pecking her, trying, I guess, to make her move. She was trying to eat but every time she grabbed a pellet, a hen would peck her in the head, and the others would kick her in the back and side. She really looked bad. Her comb was nearly white and she looked like she was about to faint.

So, I grabbed all the other chickens and put them in the coop, unloosening the rope that held the door up and closed all other openings so they couldn’t get out. I sat Floppy back next to the food and she started to eat really fast; like she hadn’t eaten in days. I got her some water and she drank that down too.

After I saw she was able to eat, I went back in to finish my homework, figuring I’d come back out in about 10 minutes–I never should have left her.

When I went back out, the other chickens had pushed the shutters of the coop open and jumped through them. They were viciously pecking her all over her body as Floppy lay on her side barely moving. Right after I ran the other chickens away, she seized up and died.”

All I could do was shake my head and thank God it wasn’t me who retrieved the eggs this day. I also felt a little sad at the tragic end of this poor hen that never seemed to be able to fit in or get a break. Yes, she got on my nerves, but she didn’t deserve to die like that. Poor Floppy.

And what a bunch of evil spirited “henches” that killed her!!!

My husband, in typical “there must be another angle” male think, postulated Floppy was a criminal found guilty and executed according to the ‘fowl code of law.’ I just looked at him as he explained:

“Didn’t you say the eggs she was laying on were suddenly found on the ground and another hen destroyed a few herself? You said you thought they were vexed with Floppy for ‘stealing’ their time on the eggs and mad at her for not producing, again. Wasn’t this her second time, in less than a year, of brooding? Maybe she was considered an egg terrorist, or saboteur for messing up the unwritten arrangement they have with us. And remember, they ARE modern day raptors where only the strongest survive. Floppy has never been the healthiest, bravest or brightest of the bunch.”

 

“Besides,” he added, “I told you from the beginning; those females need a male. If there was a rooster in the coop, Floppy would’ve had her babies and the other ones wouldn’t have been so malicious because they wouldn’t be so frustrated. You know how women can get without a man,” he chuckled.

 

Whatever.

 

Whether Floppy was executed for  criminal activity, beat to death by a sexually famished, blood thirsty mob, or simply put out of her misery; it proves, yet again, how unforgiving and ferocious these creatures can be.

 

We buried her near the compost pile on the north side of the house away from the garden and the “killing place.” Muhammad laid a good sized rock on her mound to mark the site.

I recently read a post that chickens naturally form clutches no bigger than 12. It said that if forced to live in a group larger than that they will fight more often, and even kill each other to lessen the population.

 

We’re down to 16.

 If that theory is true, the bottom four in the pecking order had better watch their backs.

 

Asiila Imani is a doula/midwife middle aged mama of two mainly homeschooled boys. She is also my auntie:-) 

Jamila Alqarnain | 4 comments | Tags: , , , , , , ,
03 Apr 2013
Gardening and Raising Cute Chickens • Homeschool

THE CHICKEN CHRONICLES: ENTRY #10 by Asiila Imani

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Chicken Chronicles Returns, part 2
JUNE 12, 2012

The seeds and starters are planted and doing nicely. The best thing about chickens is that they will “mow” and till a yard. They took care of all the weeds. The only thing needed was adding compost and double digging. I now have two small raised beds.

Thing is, Muhammad saw two chickens on the garden side earlier today! He hemmed them in and scared them with the rake (they are deathly frightened of the metal sound it makes; plastic bags rustling have the same effect) and then forcibly threw them over to the other side, hoping they’ll be too afraid to do it again. I reminded him they are rabid opportunists and it will take much more than that.

The big question is how are they getting over?

Hoppy, by the way, has begun to limp on her bad leg. It seems to be twisted inward and might hurt when she walks on it, but she’s a trooper…it’s slowly healing.

Muhammad saw Floppy out and about eating today. She ran back inside the coop when she saw him.

JUNE 30, 2012

I’m seriously considering killing those chickens. I’ve wanted to grow my garden for months now, and they are still getting over to the other side! I’ve never seen them even look up or try to fly over, so they must have found a crack or hole, somewhere.

During fajr prayer we heard the chickens leave the coop and in short order some ended up close to the house. Sure enough, two Reds were in the garden biting off bits of my transplants, and scratching up my seeds!

Muhammad told me earlier they squeeze through a small hole we had to cut out for the hose to reach their watering pail. I didn’t believe him, but when I ran out there–with intent to kill –they scrambled back through this sliver of a space between a brick placed to close off the hose opening. One panicked and couldn’t find it, so I had M throw her over the fence after terrorizing her a few minutes.

Hopefully, the plastic bucket cover and two more bricks stacked to keep it in place will do.
Insha’Allah.

I haven’t seen Floppy for awhile. Muhammad says she’s looking pretty haggard, but is alive in the coop…

JULY 12, 2012

After my morning walk, I decided to give the girls leftover rice and salad. As usual, they all met me at that fence, all except one. She sat by the feed dish with her back to me, but turned her head to the right and cawed. Her sisters ate everything– gouging each other in competition–in less than a minute. But she never moved. I figured she wasn’t hungry.

Later, when Muhammad went to collect the eggs, he said she was in the same place trying to get up. The sun was setting and she wanted to go inside the coop, but couldn’t. She looked to him and clucked for help… He picked her up, and she couldn’t move either leg.

We decided to separate the new Sick Chick from the others. When we placed water and food in the cage she practically inhaled it all. Poor thing was famished and probably hadn’t had anything all day.

I have a feeling this time it’s Merak’s.

JULY 13, 2012
This morning we found Sick Chick 2 still unable to move and no longer hungry. Her breathing was labored. We’ll keep her in the cage a bit longer and see what happens. A group of hens surround her cage.

In the meantime, another chicken lay in the same spot we found Sick Chick the day before. She lay there right by the food, unmoving and uninterested. When I went toward her she didn’t seem she could move either, until I gently pushed her with my foot. She squawked and ran away.

Muhammad says that later on she was laying back in the same spot, but did eventually go into the coop.

JULY 14, 2012

From God we come and to God we return. Sick Chick 2 died during the night.
Muhammad buried her to the south of one of garden beds. She’ll eventually turn into some good compost.

The chickens, of course, gathered around Muhammad as he removed the dead sick chick from the cage. As they edged closer, he had to shoo them away in case this was Marek’s (as I mentioned earlier, there are many diseases that can kill chickens). I figure if it was, our hens are doomed. We’re down to 17.

Floppy was outside, but stood back from the crowd. She still doesn’t eat except when absolutely hungry, preferring to spend her day egg sitting. I get the distinct impression the rest of the hens will not let her eat when they do. She gets the scraps.

Now that it’s warm again, we’re getting 9-10 eggs per day.

JULY 17, 2012

The last few days we’ve only gotten one egg. Muhammad found some cracked on the ground, and actually witnessed one of the Reds stomp an egg open and eat its contents. What now?

Could Floppy have gotten a backbone and pushed the eggs out of the nest in a jealous outburst? Have the other hens decided they rather destroy and eat their eggs rather than Floppy have them; sabotaging production because they’re mad at Floppy (broody hens after all do not lay eggs at all)? Are they simply trying to snap her out of it?

 

Asiila Imani is a doula/midwife middle aged mama of two mainly homeschooled boys. She is also my auntie:-)

Jamila Alqarnain | One comment | Tags: , , , , ,
26 Mar 2013
Gardening and Raising Cute Chickens

THE CHICKEN CHRONICLES: ENTRY #9 by Asiila Imani

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Chicken Chronicles Returns; Part 1
It’s been nearly a year since the last April 12, 2012 Chicken Chronicle entry.  At that time I reported that “all was quiet on the home front.”I spoke entirely too soon. Just two days later, the chickens turned me into a liar.  What follows are short synopses, in diary form, of what the “girls” have been up to…APRIL 14, 2012:One of the Red’s right claw was curled under her belly like a stroke victim. When Muhammad straightened out her leg, it dangled, paralyzed.  She could not straighten it or stand on it. There didn’t seem to be in any pain, just that her leg was suddenly un-useable.A Google search to find out what could cause this, uncovered a myriad of viruses and diseases that can afflict chickens. It’s a wonder any of these creatures survive at all!Narrowing our search to leg and foot ailments, we found the following:
1. “Bumble foot (an abscess on the foot pad)”
2. “Crooked toes,”
3. “Straddle legs,”
4. “Scaly leg mite,” and
5. “Egg yolk peritonitis,” (egg follicles released into the abdomen causing swelling that affects  walking).

These problems did not include paralysis so were unlikely the cause.
Next, on the list was the possibility of a vitamin B or mineral deficiency, a plain old broken bone or the fatal Mareks, also known as Chicken Herpes. The last two seemed the most likely, although we had no idea how she could’ve broken her leg (or how she could’ve caught herpes for that matter)!

Our new neighbors let us have the small cages the previous tenants used to corral and torment their fighting cocks in.  We put the immobile hen in one to separate her from the others in case she had Marek’s. Apparently, it is highly contagious and progresses quickly to total paralysis and death.

The rest of the chickens– nosey as ever–huddled around her cage for the first day. Obviously, if Sick Chick has Marek’s they’ll get to too.

Sick Chick was calm and looked comfortable; ate and drank normally.

APRIL 17, 2012:

Sick Chick is out and hops on her one good leg; the other leg still held close to her body, motionless.

After three nights of peace and quiet, she was ready to leave the cage. Except for her leg, nothing else was out of order. When I came with the morning vittles, she pogo-legged, racing with the fastest of them. We figure she somehow caught her leg in the chicken wire under their coop and either strained or broke it. Now that she has adapted to getting around on one leg, she’s earned an official name: Hoppy.

And, she’s doing fine.

I wish I could say the same for Floppy: she’s broody, again!

Floppy sits on the others’ eggs, refuses to leave the coop to eat or drink and in general looks more pitiful than usual.   I expect she’ll figure it out, like last time, Insha’Allah, so we’re not even worried about her.  Muhammad makes her leave as before, but does not lock her out. To be honest, everybody is actually pretty tired of Floppy’s delusions. Girlfriend is a bit crazy, but not suicidal.

Tonight when I went to collect rent, she sat in one of the nests watching as I gathered the eggs. When it came time to check under her, she lifted up a bit so I could take the 5 she was trying to hatch.

I had to say something.

“Floppy, you do realize there are no chicks in these eggs. You do realize we’re not going to worry about you anymore. You do realize you need to snap out of this…” I said.
She looked sideways back at me, and I swear, shrugged her shoulders, err, wings.

So be it.

APRIL 28, 2012

This is the day the Shams and Ebraheem came over to raise 6’ of chicken wire across the yard to separate the hens from my planned garden. We have to make sure to not run any colored wire across the top like we had before. The chickens will see it as something solid to land on and with a short flight be able to jump it. Anyway, they’ll now only have half the amount of land to graze on, which is still way more than your average city brood has. Their days of being spoiled are over.

Of course, they were curious and watched the brothers work. They seemed nervous, perhaps sensing what was happening.  Big Red let all of us know, repeatedly, loudly, that she was not pleased. She strutted out of the coop, observed the length of the fence,  the lessening of her perimeter,  and began to caw and screech and cluck non-stop, looking from me, to Shams, to Ebraheem and back to me.

Ebraheem and Shams actually stopped to look at her incredulously, and laughed. She got even louder.

I had to say something:

“I told you Big Red, for months now. I told all of you full access to the yard was about to end. I told you I was going to start another garden,” I said.

“CAWWW!”
“Shut up and get used to it. It’s happening. And I better not find you on the other side!”
She continued to protest so we ignored her.

 

After the work was complete, all the hens paced up and down the length of the fence looking for a hole, mashing their heads against the chicken wire trying to go past it.

The plan is to give the chickens time to adjust and feed them from the other entrance (the north side) Hopefully, they’ll soon forget about it.

 

I’ll start the garden in late May, Insha’Allah.

 

 

Asiila Imani is a doula/midwife middle aged mama of two mainly homeschooled boys. She is also my auntie:-)

 

Jamila Alqarnain | No comments | Tags: , , , ,
12 Apr 2012
Gardening and Raising Cute Chickens

The Chicken Chronicles: Entry 8 by Asiila Imani

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All Quiet on The Homefront

It’s been awhile.

The hens enjoy each other’s company as long as they remember their place. Of course, poor Floppy remains at the bottom rung; attacked and chased off at whim. Even Buttless, her fellow Leghorn, and Bantam Babe, both of whom used to just pretend they didn’t know her, now actively treat her with disdain.

But, while the others hens begin to molt, losing feathers and looking downright shabby, Floppy’s new coat of white feathers stand out. She’s the finest fowl in the  yard which is perhaps another reason a few jealous (?) hens have been seen snipping feathers out the back of her neck. Her beauty is yet another curse.

The weather is warmer, so the ladies lay more eggs.
The feral cats no longer bother chasing them, nor walk through the backyard.
When the hens are allowed to graze, they come back to their enclosure when called. And except when the door is accidently left open, they do not jump or dig their way out.

All is well.

Of course, they’re still vicious. Not only is Floppy everyone’s kicking stone, they must realize that with a small twist of fate, anyone of them is in danger of being turned on by their sisters. Muhammad found one of the reds laid out and struggling to remove a long piece of twine that had become tangled around her feet and legs. She was hungry, thirsty, covered in dust and so fatigued she just lay there wings askew–every once in awhile straining to raise her head and pull at the string with her beak. When Muhammad freed her, she barely had enough energy to limp to the food and water to gulp down all she could. She was probably tied up most of the day.

Did any of those hens try to help her? Did they make the usual noise to alert us? No. Instead, they sat around her in a semi-circle, waiting, waiting, waiting… for supper, perhaps. In addition, Muhammad swears he has witnessed the hens snatch a bee or two out of hole in the wall of our home, no longer deterred by the possibility of an attack.

Big Red is subdued. She has not interacted with me since our last tete-a-tete; not even a squawk when i call her by name. In fact, I can no longer readily identify her from the other Reds. Me thinks she lost her ‘queen diva’ spot after the other hens witnessed what has come to be known as, “The Battle of the B’s” (not what you think).
She may have also simply decided I’m no longer worthy of her attention.

Anyway, per Jamila’s request, we (muhammad the cameraman, and I) taped part 1 of a  2-part mini movie on raising hens. This episode is the every-other-day morning snack, watering and view of the coop. Unfortunately, our video camera has a substandard mic so its hard to hear what’s being said at times. Then, somehow TWO THIRDS of the footage was not recorded before it broke down altogether. We bought it from Big Lots– enough said…

Alhamdulillah, we were able to salvage 4 minutes

Let us know what you think. Leave a comment on youtube and below.

Part 2 is coming up…one day, soon. Insha’Allah.

Jamila Alqarnain | No comments | Tags: , , , , , ,
28 Dec 2011
Gardening and Raising Cute Chickens

The Chicken Chronicles: Entry 7 by Asiila Imani

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Uncle Kelly was right.

It took six weeks for Floppy to realize she’ll never be a mom.

For 42 days we coaxed Floppy outside to eat/drink and move. The mere act of opening the back door was enough to send her into a panicked sprint, at least with Muhammad. When I tried, she’d bristle, hiss and refuse to budge. She called my bluff each time. I’d summon Muhammad who just couldn’t understand why I was having such a problem. “Mom, just smack her on the butt, push her out the nest, she’ll run. She’s afraid of everything!” Everything, except me.

Once Floppy was outside, we’d shut the door and windows for two hours. She’d eat very little and drink even less. She’d avoid the other hens and nervously pace up and down the ramp looking for a way back inside. As soon as we opened the coop door, she’d race back onto a nest and sit for the rest of the day. She stopped laying eggs too.

One morning, desperation bred ingenuity: After the two-hour recess, I went outside to open the coop to let Floppy back inside, and she was already there! I couldn’t figure out how she got inside; the hatch and windows were closed as we left them. It turns out she found a small separation underneath the coop between the chicken wire floor and the frame it was stapled to. She must’ve pulled at the wire to widen the gap and jumped inside. A few well-placed staples remedied the situation.

These days, Floppy is the first to leap out the coop and race to the front of the mob for the a.m. snack. She voraciously eats the regular feed too. Her comb is returning to its natural crimson color, and she lays an egg on occasion.

That’s the good news.

The bad news is that she has traded places with Bantam Babe and is at the bottom of the pecking order. Her baby strike backfired and the other hens are far less accommodating than they were two months ago. I don’t know how chickens make their way back up the social ladder, but her sister hens are making her work for it.

And that’s not all. Floppy has begun to molt prematurely, shedding her old feathers for a new coat. Dozens of white feathers blow all over our and the neighbors’ yards. Molting normally occurs in the fall, but not before hens reach their first birthday, which is about 3-4 months away for our clutch. The process takes 3-5 months during which the reproductive system shuts down, meaning no eggs. Molting can also be initiated by stress and poor nutrition, which has been the entire life of this special needs hen. Given her new lowly status, some of the hens peck her feathers out too. The poor thing looks like a lawn mower ran over her head and neck. The bare quills stick out like a hedgehog, and the hot pink skin underneath looks scalded.

THE SHOW DOWN

One morning, I woke up in a top notch, A-1, funky mood. I didn’t want to be bothered with human beings much less hens. But, that wasn’t right. My mood was my problem and should not interfere with my duties.

So, I brought their bowl of rice, leftover kale and apple bits to the yard, said “as salaam alaikum ladies” and watched them bolt toward me to eat. Big Red was MIA in the chow line.

While the hens ate, I opened the coop to collect the eggs we forgot to collect the night before. Red was nesting. Usually, opening the door is the clue to get out the way, but not this time. Girlfriend sat there, glaring at me like she dared me to say anything. She hissed, bass clucked (they actually lower their voice) and raised her hind feathers.

Good grief, is Big Red going clucky too?
There are no other signs of broodiness so I doubt it. Nope, Big Red has always had attitude. This is Queen Cluck being her regular alpha hen, pain-in-the-butt self.

Thinking my voice would inspire her to move just a bit, I mumbled a “salaam,” and she promptly pecked me on the wrist!

My first thought was to do the usual: call my son to run her away for me, but it dawned on me how ridiculous it is to depend on my 14-year old to handle these birds. Plus, I was not in the mood. I gave her my stink eye.

She pecked me again.

I couldn’t believe this female–and a hen at that– was actually trying to start a fight! Did she not understand who owns whom? Did she not know that I am human (hear me roar)? Clarification was in order.

I tried a simple command: “Move, Big Red.”
She hissed in reply.

On my last nerve, I tried again, this time louder and with more force: “MOVE, Big Red!”

Big Red stopped hissing. She knew I meant what I said, but she had also witnessed me back down from Floppy. She stared, unimpressed.

I pushed her. She sat deeper in the nest and stared more intently, begging me to take it to the next phase.

Willing to give peace one more chance, I tried diplomacy: “I need to distribute the eggs today, so please move. Please.”

One eye cocked in my direction, she blazed subversion and a short cluck, “No.”

I prodded her harder.
She pushed her body back against my hand, “Hell. No.”

It was obvious I had to go there, get “hen” on her, establish myself as top dog, so to speak.

So, I shoved the plastic collection bowl in her face knocking her off balance and quickly gathered the five eggs she was sitting on. She stood up, flared her wings, and released a litany of screeches that, I’m sure, referred to my mother.

But I had the eggs and my first victory.

DIET

We’ve been feeding the hens way too much treat. Some are getting fat, which affects their egg laying ability. Combined with the cooler weather, which lessens production (and Floppy’s molting hiatus) our weekly quota of eggs has dropped from 8 to 6 dozen. Consequently, we’ve lessened their rations to half the usual amount of rice, greens and apples.

This was the first day of their diet and they devoured it before Big Red and my “discussion” ended.

As I triumphantly left the yard, all 17 (Big Red remained in the coop calling me out my name) followed at my heels, complaining. They gathered en masse waiting for more. As I closed the gate, they, in unison, blared a cacophony of duck-like exclamations as if to say, “Is that it? You have GOT to be kidding! Where’s the rest! We demand our fair share! MORE!”

Those daggum divas are going to have to adapt.

WE ARE NOT ALONE

During one of those addictive electromagnetic computer nights where everything and anything online catches your attention; and even when nothing no longer does, you keep looking, I thought it would be fun to google “chicken chronicles.”

I found a book, a movie and a blog.

The book: Alice Walker’s latest, released in 2011: The Chicken Chronicles: Sitting with the Angels Who Have Returned with My Memories: Glorious, Rufus, Gertrude Stein, Splendor, Hortensia, Agnes of God, The Gladyses & Babe: A Memoir.

The movie: The Chicken Chronicles is a 1977 “raunchy teen comedy,” set in 1969 starring Steve Guttenburg who plays David Kessler, “a high school student who will go to any lengths to impress a pretty cheerleader, while juggling his job at a chicken joint and trying not to get thrown out of Beverly Hills High – a fate that could get him sent to Vietnam.”

The blog: Mad Chicken Lady’s adventure of raising fowl is also entitled, The Chicken Chronicles.

I plan to check them all out, well, all except the movie.
I grew up in the 70’s when raunchy teen comedies began. I’ve seen enough.

Asiila Imani is a doula/midwife middle aged mama of two mainly homeschooled boys. She is also my auntie:-)

Jamila Alqarnain | 3 comments | Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
11 Dec 2011
Gardening and Raising Cute Chickens

The Chicken Chronicles Entry #6 by Asiila Imani

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Unlike the reds, it’s easy to tell the three white hens apart. Of the two leghorns, one has a broken head comb that flops up and down when she walks, ergo, her name “Floppy.” Bantam Babe is clearly unique with her green legs and bald head; and the other leghorn has no hind feathers. We haven’t named her, yet. One of the kids suggested we call her “Buttless” but I encouraged them to come up with something better than that.

Five days ago, while giving ‘the girls’ their morning snack—a tropical medley of guava, coconut shavings and banana—I noticed Floppy was missing. Usually, she’s third in the rush to eat, behind Big Red and Bantam Babe. I looked through the coop windows and did not see her. Was she kidnapped, did she run away from home, or was she dead? If so, where? Did the hawk finally make a move?

Muhammad went out to look for her.

A few mornings earlier, he found Floppy in the yard, her bottom half buried in the ground, underneath one of the bushes. She, apparently, was unable to get back over the fence before sundown, dug some kind of shelter before falling into the aforementioned chicken zombie-esqe sleep where she was. That was the first place he looked, and then around the rest of the yard. She wasn’t there.

He finally found her in the coop, squeezed into the upper corner nest, hiding in the shadows where I could not see her from the coop window. He said she must be sick; that she’s been acting strange like that for a few days; not wanting to leave the coop, not eating; putting up a fuss when he makes her leave the nest in order to get the eggs.

Uh oh.

Unless Ms. Floppy is depressed or cold (the weather is getting chillier), she’s more than likely gone broody, or ‘clucky’ as they call it in Britain. In other words, her maternal instinct has kicked in. She wants a chick of her own. It doesn’t matter that there is no rooster, she has decided her eggs are her babies and she only has to wait for them to hatch. Thinking back on the few times I collected the eggs, it was Floppy who would run inside the coop and watch me, looking very concerned, occasionally squawking protest as I gathered them up.

We have three options: 1. Borrow a rooster. 2. Place fertilized eggs in the nest.
3. Break her mood.

Number 1, we decided, is not an option at this time. The rooster will probably impregnate all the hens, and will most definitely upset the neighborhood’s early morning peace.

Number 2 is a possibility. Another Muslim family who also raises eggs has a rooster. They mark some eggs with an X, leave them to hatch, if they hatch, and use the others before there is a chance of an embryo developing. The problem is that it’s not an exact science. It’s impossible to tell which eggs are actually fertilized. Which hens has the rooster mated with? Does each mating guarantee a fertilized egg? What is the cycle of fertilization, ie. when is he with which she????

Assuming we get fertilized eggs and Floppy realizes they’re hers to hatch, what will keep those chicks safe? I’ve read a few accounts of hens channeling their ancestral raptor memory and fighting tooth and nail with predators to protect their babies, but is it fair to pitch her against the hawks that still check out ‘hen central,’ or the feral cats who have become adept at catching small birds and also have full liberty to the yard and coop? No.

That leaves the last option, the break.

According to The Poultry Site.com breaking a brood mood can take a week or more.
They say:

<< Fence off a small area with some wire and put a dog kennel or something in there for her to sleep in to keep her out of the elements at night time .. but it has to be so she can't get out ..but not separated from the other birds... so wire top and sides... she is to say in this confined area for 7 to 10 days.
You will need to tie down the feed and water dishes... to something as she will tip them over. She is to have NO nest or nesting material in this area. She IS to have a roosting area to take her up off the ground .. and she must still be able to walk around .. but not too far, give her a couple of feet square.
She will scream.
She will sulk.
She will stop eating.
She will walk up and down all day long.
You must keep her in this area for 7 days...
Make sure she has fresh food and water at all times.
On the seventh day let her out ..
If she goes straight back into the coop and gets into a nest... go in after her.. don't leave her in that nest for one second.. very important... pick her up and put her back into the confined area for another 4 days..
Then let her out again... making sure she doesn't go back into the coop and into the nest box.
If you feel sorry for her and let her out too early she will take weeks to stop being clucky. If you let her out and she goes back to the nest and you don't go and pick her up straight away, you will have wasted the the first 7 days of isolation... even one hour will put her back to being clucky again.>>

Sounds work intensive and a bit cruel.

The site also makes it clear that no matter what you do, hatch or break, the chicken must get out everyday to eat, drink and exercise. Muhammad has, at least, gotten Floppy outside each evening in order to get the eggs. She’s afraid of him. Once he yells and pushes her off the nest, she runs outside; and then back inside once he’s left the yard. We’re not sure if she eats and drinks during that time.

I’ve made it a point to throw a handful of food in her nest each morning. I remind her she needs to get over it as those eggs will not hatch and she’s just making herself sick. She brustles, and hisses at me, angry and unfazed. (Here I must make a confession: I have yet to pet or pick these creatures up. I fear their beaks and talons. I haven’t perfected the alpha-human demeanor to bluff them into submission, thus I can only attempt to persuade them with kind or harsh words, and as needed, a water hose.)

Often a broody hen will end up being harassed by the others because she is not producing. On the other hand, a broody hen can also remind the other hens of their feminine nature, spreading the broodiness to the entire clutch.

This morning, instead of gathering at the window during fajr, they remained inside the coop, screeching and clucking madly. Maybe Floppy had gotten on their nerves and they were telling her about herself. Or maybe, Floppy had died and they were mourning her passing.

After I drew the others away with their morning snack, I found Floppy alive, but looking even more haggard. Ants crawled on her feathers. Her comb, now a mauve-like pink, hung over her face like a fat bang. And, good grief, next to her were two other hens; one sharing the same box and the other in the upper tier. Have they gone broody too? Or, are they sitting in solidarity with their determined sister in their own version of the Occupy Movement: Occupy the Hen House?

That evening, in a possibly related incident, Big Red and two other belligerents ran after Muhammad. He had just gathered only 6 eggs (down from 13-17). They literally ran in front of and tripped him. Muhammad dropped 4 eggs; they broke. The hens rushed to eat their contents.

I called Uncle Kelly.

My 91-year old Uncle Kelly and Uncle Bert (deceased) ran an egg business in the 1940’s. They had 1000 chickens and no roosters. I figured some of them must have gone broody.

He confirmed that many did.

“So, Uncle Kelley, what did you do about it?”

“Nothing.”

He explained, “They’re not completely stupid. Sooner or later they’ll figure it out and get back to laying eggs, rooting, eating and doing what layers do. And the other hens will stop acting onery when she does.”

Sounds like a fourth option, and one worth a try.
It takes about 3 weeks for an egg to hatch. I’m hoping Floppy’s instincts are in tune. It’s been nearly a week since she began to brood.

In the meantime, and just in case: we’re figuring out a way to gather the materials to set up a solitary cage if we decide to break her or others. And depending on how Floppy looks, after a few days we’ll make it a point to get her out and make sure she’s fed and watered.

Insha’Allah, Floppy will snap out of it soon.

UPDATE:

Four days later: Muhammad has seen Floppy outside a few times! He’s not sure if she’s eating. I also found that I should NOT put food in her nest as it will only make her want to stay there. Muhammad must take her over to the food and water once a day.

Asiila Imani is a doula/midwife middle aged mama of two mainly homeschooled boys. She is also my auntie:-)

Jamila Alqarnain | One comment | Tags: , , , ,
17 Nov 2011
Gardening and Raising Cute Chickens

The Chicken Chronicles: Entry 5 by Asiila Imani

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One of the chickens died.

A few weeks ago, I took over the ‘AM snack and water routine’ from my son who prefers to collect the eggs in the evening.

Early one morning, the hens, who always race to the gate, clucking and cooing in anticipation of their leftover goodies, were particularly loud. I normally greet them with “Good morning ladies; as salaam alaikum!” They huddle around my feet nearly tripping me while I walk to the middle of the yard to throw them their treats. However, Big Red, would not stop squawking and almost seemed to be purposely trying to make me lose my balance. I figured she just missed me (or was angry). I was a couple of hours late.

I emptied the bowl of food on the ground and watered the lemon tree making sure to leave a puddle for them to drink (they really like taking a large swig and raising their heads back to swallow a beak full). I gave salaams to the hens and the bees (they get really testy if you don’t acknowledge them), and turned to leave. And there was Big Red, blocking my path. She followed me to the gate, clucking non-stop. I salaam’d again and told her to make sure she instruct the rest the hens to lay an egg, and left.

An hour later, two hens jumped the fence. My son went to put them back, and found a New Hampshire Red, leaning up against the house, stiff as a board. He asked me how I could miss seeing her. I explained I only watch my step through the poop mind field and where to place the food and water. It then dawned on me that was what Big Red was trying to tell me.

Muhammad had already buried the bird, but something told me to ask where…I’m so glad I did. Turns out he buried it in the compost pile! I explained that only uncooked plants and left over cooked scraps go in compost, not “we don’t know what they died of” freshly dead, whole animals! He re-buried her alongside one of the feral cats that died a couple of weeks earlier.

I researched why the hen may have died. There was nothing definitive but raw rice and possibly any other uncooked grain can swell up in their stomachs and be fatal. Hubby had been throwing them both. No more.

So now we’re down to 18 hens but still don’t get 18 eggs a day even though they’re all of egg producing age. Sources say that each chicken lays one egg every 24 hours. We average only 15-17, and as little as 12-15 on cooler days. Muhammad says that some take breaks and do not lay them everyday. I wonder if they need more room…

Asiila Imani is a doula/midwife middle aged mama of two mainly homeschooled boys. She is also my auntie:-)

Graveyard picture from www.freedigitalphotos.net

Jamila Alqarnain | One comment | Tags: , , , , , , ,
21 Jun 2011
Homeschool

Raising Chickens

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5 months ago our jumat (community) decided to raise chickens so that we could have healthy, free range eggs to eat. We divided the chicks between the families to raise for 8 weeks. Then they went to live at my auntie and uncles house. Helping raise chicks to chickens was a very rewarding experience alhumdulilah. The chicks have great personalities. They are also relatively easy to care for. Throw in the fact that they provide us with fresh nutritious eggs and I can’t think of a better pet to have around! We were very sad to give the chicks to my auntie and uncle at the end of the 8 weeks. We had grown quite attached. Inshalah we plan to build a chicken coup to have at our house, but for now we enjoy visiting our dear chickies. Meanwhile my auntie will keep you posted on the adventures of raising chicks in urban San Diego. Here is her first entry:

The CHICKEN CHRONICLE by Asiila Imani
Entry 1:
The numbers 18-22-36 are blazed in my memory.

That combination unlocks the back door of our chicken coop giving easy access to 10-15, fresh, free range eggs each day. Insha’Allah, we’ll get at least twice that much in a few months when the rest of our 19 hens mature, and with a little help from chicken psychology. I’ve been told, if you collect the eggs more than once a day, the chickens will lay more. They are maternal and want to ‘mother,’ so when they see the first egg missing they just lay another.

Having chickens is an unexpected and delightful adventure. Growing up, my family had dogs, cats and fish. While homeschooling my sons we “raised” a cockatiel, tadpoles, butterflies and a hamster. Although chickens definitely have personalities and are engaging to watch, they aren’t necessarily the kind of animal you get cozy and consider part of the family. In other words, it’s hard (for me anyway) to think of chickens as pets. Our relationship is more akin to business partners: We feed, water and take care of them, and they lay eggs for us. And when they can no longer lay eggs, we will consider eating them, although I hear old hens are no good to eat.
Apparently, it’s a growing phenomenon for city dwellers to grow their own chickens for more nutritious and safer eggs and meat. You can find everything you need to know online.

It was brother Ebraheem who got our jamah involved after he began raising hens last year. He convinced the rest of us to do the same as part of our “grow your own” DIY (do it yourself) efforts we strive towards. We also figure in time, and with enough eggs, our young teenage man cubs can try their hand at running an egg sales business.

We bought 20 New Hampshire Reds and Leghorn chicks from a local hatchery and divided them between the five families. They lived in our homes for about 4 months. Each batch of chicks lived in a cardboard box with wood shavings, a heat lamp, water and chick feed. They grew incredibly fast–from little palm-sized puffs of yellow down to huge chunky red or white birds. All the kids enjoyed interacting with the chicks. They cheep incessantly, but would stop and stare if you recite al-Fatiha! Muhammad, my 14-year old son was in charge of the 7 chicks at our house. He vacillated between looking forward to the daily tasks of changing the bedding, pouring the feed and cleaning the water bowls and playing with them, to complaining about how much they pooped, especially in their food and water.

These animals are relatively easy to raise but a few just don’t survive. My step son awoke one morning to find one of his chicks dead, leaving us with 19. We almost culled another chick when it looked like she was actually a he; she was not.

It’s a sexist thing to say, but no males are allowed in our clutch.

Technically, our mini-chicken farm is illegal. The space between us and our neighbors is not large enough to legally keep chickens within city limits. Like bigamy, raising chickens is a crime that is ignored until someone complains. To avoid that we share eggs with our neighbors on occasion and opted out of adding a disturbingly loud rooster to the mix.

There’s no denying a rooster would be a serious deterrent to the neighborhood chicken predators: feral cats and possums. The cats–part of the landscape for years– prefer chasing the hens around the yard 2-3 times a week just to see them panic. We feed them just enough cat food to stick around and kill mice. Consequently, they’re not hungry and the hens are a curiosity. Over a year ago, a nasty looking possum moved into the crawlspace under the house and will eat the cats’ food when she wants. So far, it has not discovered the hens, or perhaps has developed a taste for Kibbles and Bits. For sure, chicken and eggs is a favorite possum meal.

I’m not so sure a rooster could’ve done much with the hawk that landed in the yard last week. When its shadow graced the ground, one of the chickens gave a LOUD squawk and they all ran and huddled under the coop. He may have been on a reconnaissance mission or simply shocked to the size and amount of birds roaming about, but he didn’t try to snatch one. My husband heard the commotion, ran out and picked up a rock. Sir Hawk looked at him and flew away.

In defense of roosters, my husband says it’s not fair to deprive “all those women of a man,” and perhaps it’s not. But since our intent is to obtain eggs (is it halal to eat fertilized eggs?) and not more chicks, as well as to keep the peace in the neighborhood (and thus continue to keep our hens), roosters are out.

Besides, Allah has proved (as always) to be an even better protector.

Asiila Imani is a doula/midwife middle aged mama of two mainly homeschooled boys. She is also my auntie:-)

Jamila Alqarnain | 7 comments | Tags: , , , ,