Hens and other Layers of my life, Sept. 14, 2009

So it looks like I am (finally) going to get some goats. I have been threatening to get goats, reading about raising goats, stomping off the dimensions of a little house I want to build to keep goats, and putting up with listening to all the reasons why I will be sorry I got goats for over a year. Now I am getting goats. I found an ad on Craig's list and began a lovely email correspondence with the nice lady who owns them now. She lives outside of Portland. She and I are plotting together to put two little miniature Lamancha does into dog carriers on Oct. 2 and making them endure a seven-hour car ride back to Idaho. They will eventually forgive me.

Just now I have two borrowed horses who live in my pasture and love me mainly for the apples I feed them in the fall, and the homemade treats I give them in the winter. I have had more shallow relationships in my life than that so I'm satisfied with the cupboard-love from the horses in trade for their presence on my place. I like it that they whinny to me when I get out of my car, and I like the smell of horses. I think I may like to become a horse-rider but I have promised them I won't do that until I lose 50 pounds, just out of kindness to them and for fear someone might be moved to take our picture when I get up on the horse for the first time. I really don't want that gem framed and sitting on the mantle for the next ten years.

I also have twelve hens and three roosters of my own. A year ago I went to a farmer's market to buy pumpkins and ended up buying a chicken and a rooster. I knew we had a dog kennel (with a large wooden dog house inside) on our place so I asked him if that would work to keep chickens. The owner of the poultry -- obviously hoping for a sale-- assured me that arrangement would satisfy any chicken since they aren't too picky. He did suggest that perhaps I should buy a few more chickens since that one poor hen would have trouble holding up taking care of a rooster on her own. I agreed, since I myself have been in the position of taking care of one "rooster" on my own for 35 years. I sensed a sisterhood between us. I bought from him two more chickens, black Orpingtons, and named them after the three women who were making political headlines at the moment: Hillary, Sarah, and Michelle. I settled them in to the kennel and introduced them to the dog house, promoting it to them as a "fine home." They looked at me skeptically. Even my husband who has no love nor appreciation for any animal except trout could see the dog house was not going over very well. He offered to build me a chicken coop. Max, the husband, has a generous heart that occasionally moves him to do nice things but usually for friends, not family, and never for animals. I was suspicious of his offer but accepted gratefully and watched with fascination as he planned and dug and nailed and and leveled a lovely chicken coop attached to the end of the dog kennel. I was uneasy with this digression from his usual moaning and complaining about my animals until he was almost finished with the kennel and demonstrated to me that he could drive his four-wheeler right into the chicken coop and it fit perfectly as a garage. Ah ha! The ulterior motive. I was at peace now and moved my chickens into such a luxurious chicken coop that the kids nicknamed it the Taj MaCoop. The hens and rooster survived the winter beautifully in their heated digs and the hens returned the favor by giving us one brown egg every day. Unfortunately, two of my chickens (Hillary and Sarah -- I get the unfortunate metaphor...) met with an untimely end by what we think was a coyote. That left only poor Michelle and that one growingly arrogant rooster. He was getting on both our nerves. I went for reinforcements and brought home four beautiful pullets who I named after other women I admired: Madame Curie, Mother Theresa, Dolly Parton, and Madeline Albright. It made a lovely family. Soon after that we put out a contract on the bad-tempered rooster who was killed and eaten by our neighbor and none of us were sorry. I should have left well enough alone, but my grandkids were coming for a visit in June and I thought it would be fun to have a whole box full of baby chicks for them. I ordered a dozen baby hens and, ever hopeful, one baby rooster.

Evidently sexing chickens is not an exact science because they accidentally sent me ten hens and three roosters. Of course one can't tell the difference for several weeks but gradually it became obvious that of the survivors (I am learning that sudden death is going to be part of life on the ranch) three of them had big red combs on their heads and a decided strut to their gait. So far we are living together peacefully. The younger hens are content to be herded around by the three roosters who are quite protective of them. Once in awhile the biggest of the roosters will take a run at bossing one of my older hens but she just turns and gives him stink-eye and he shuffles away. I collect five eggs a day now and soon I should be getting eggs from my new hens. What I am going to do with a daily gift of a dozen eggs I am not sure but it will work itself out. That is pretty much my motto anyway, and the mantra I am operating under for bringing home my goats. No shelter yet, no fence, no plan for the winter but it will work itself out.