First of all, I've been getting one to three eggs from the pullet pen every day, most of them laid in one corner. One morning, though, I found one on the board covering the sheep hay feeder:
|Fortunately, I found it before it rolled off!|
One morning – I don't remember which one – I found a pullet in the sheep part of the fold, tucked down between the wall and the five-gallon water bucket. I figured she'd escaped from the pullet pen (it's happened a few times) and had then been pestered by curious ovines into hiding.
It's definitely time to move these girls in with the mature flock!
It's past time to move these girls in with the mature flock!
I picked up the pecked-on hen, and she sat calmly on my wrist.
Yesterday morning Brian headed down to do chores before me. Before I could get out the door he came rushing back in, calling in a distressed voice. Perch was in his arms, bare and bloody on the back of her head and neck. I called Laura, my mentor for many things, for the best course of action. From my limited arsenal of options, we decided that some Derma Gel I had on hand would be the best treatment – that, and putting Perch in protective custody. So Brian set up side-by-side cages for Perch and Goldilocks (who is low hen in the mature flock pecking order) on the grass in the shade, with food and water.
Last night, Rick got busy and finished the new chicken yard enough to be secure.
It was finally time to move the pullets in with the mature flock!!
Things are going relatively well this morning. Perch is still in protective custody; the pullets are sticking together, trying to avoid the dominant hens, and getting the lay of the land. Interpersonal relationships; they are the blessing and bane of every species, it seems!
That's the chicken report from . . .