The Chicken Wars

The guests weren't a bother.

They didn't raid the refrigerator, drink my beer, or complain about the amenities.

But I was tired of them occupying the guest bathroom.

"It's time for you to move out," I told the three-week-old chicks.

They cocked their heads and gave me the one-eyed stare.


Before the chicks could move to the pullet house, the pullets had to move from the pullet house to the old hen house.

Early Saturday morning, I plucked the pullets from their perch, placed red bands on their legs, and moved them to the hen house. The pullets grumbled, as did the old hens. I locked the chickens inside so that they could become accustomed to their new home and friends.

On Sunday morning, I let the merged flocks out and fed them scratch grain. On Sunday evening, five of the six pullets had flown back into the pullet yard.

So tonight, I will again move the pullets, one by one, to their new home and lock them in with the old hens.