The Cycle of Life: Hen Edition

I stopped counting at seven.

Where was number eight?

I opened the hen house door, hoping to get a better view. Three Buff Orpingtons, three Buckeyes and one Silver Laced Wyandotte lifted their eyelids. The hens had settled onto the roost for the evening and were slumbering. The other Silver Laced Wyandotte was nowhere to be found.

Could she be sitting on a nest somewhere? If she was, she'd make an appearance at feeding time in the morning.

She didn't show up in the morning.

The fox must be back.

Last summer, a fox killed six of our hens. I wanted to post a sign telling the fox to eat bunnies, but leave the chickens alone. But foxes can't read. Instead, we built the chicken enclosure and surrounded it with electric netting.

After several months, hoping the fox had gone elsewhere, we let the hens out to free range again. For months, the hens have delighted in roaming the sheep and horses pastures, plucking dandelions, worms and bugs.

We had no losses until a few days ago. After a hen went missing, I confined the others to their fenced-in run and pondered how to outfox the fox.

A few days later, I found black and white chicken feathers in the horse paddock.

Maybe it wasn't a fox. Maybe it was a hawk.

Last summer, my friend told me how she saw a hawk swoop into the horse paddock and carry off a pigeon.

I wish the hawk would take all the pigeons, I thought at the time.

A few years ago, some pigeons escaped from a nearby farm, took up residence in our big barn and multiplied rapidly. Our pigeon eradication program--involving a gun and lots of arm flapping, yelling and running around the lofts was unsuccessful. This spring, we resorted to covering all of the hay and equipment with tarps to protect them from pigeon droppings.

While standing in the horse paddock, examining the chicken feathers, I realized that the pigeons were gone.

Had the hawk, upon running out of pigeons, swooped into the paddock, picked up the chicken, eaten it and said, "Hmmm, tastes like squab?"

Sometimes I think we paint our barns red, install four-board fences and plant flowers to distract from the messiness of farm life and nature. Birds and animals have to eat, and sometimes that means eating other birds and animals.

Try as I may, I cannot tell the wild animals to leave their claws off of the domestic ones. Nature doesn't work that way.

So,when I let the hens free range and roam free, I accept that one or more may die. When that happens, I confine them for a month or two, hoping the predator moves on and they can roam free again.

For now, the hens will remain confined to their small chicken run. In a month or two, I'll let them out, and in the evening, I'll count them. When I stop at six, then the confinement begins again.

Night Sounds I Don't Want to Hear

This was not the lamb bleating in the night. That would require too much energy for this guy.

Funny how a day after reading about the increased use of melatonin among children, a lamb is keeping me awake.

It is raining, as it has been for hours, and the windows are cracked open to let in a bit of breeze.

They're also letting in the sound of a bleating lamb.

It's not the cry of pain or fear or lonesomeness.

It's the cry of "I'm awake and I want my mommy."

Lambs, like children, play hard and sleep hard.

In the hours before sunset, they engage in lamb races, where the lamb pack runs in circles around the field, hen house or their mothers. After about 20 minutes of this, they fall into a heap, exhausted, and sleep through the night.

But downpours canceled lamb races last night. Instead of racing, the lambs retreated to the barn. And, at 3 a.m., one is not tired.

Usually when a lamb bleats, its mother responds. No ewe responds to this lamb, though.

I'm sure they're doing what parents do everywhere--hiding their heads under the pillows and hoping that someone else will take care of it.

Dog Training during a Pandemic

Frost practices penning over the weekend.

When I receive the Outlook calendar notifications, I'm reminded of where I planned to be this spring: at dog trials in Virginia, Tennessee, Wisconsin, Kentucky and Colorado.

Instead, I'm at home, training dogs and discovering some truths about myself, my dogs and training.

1. I like training and working dogs. Some love competition above all else. Others prefer to train. Others just love the farm work. The absence of competition made me realize that while I like the competitions, I also like working my dogs. With no competitions in the near future, I could stay inside when the cold wind blows (which it's been doing a lot this spring), but nearly every day I'm working the dogs. Even when moving the sheep to pastures, I find myself throwing in a little drive or flank work with the dogs.

2. Dog training has become more thoughtful and less stressful. Instead of reacting to a recent trial or preparing for the next one, I focus on what I, or the dog, need to work on. With my older dog Bubba, I've been playing around with shedding and penning, paying attention to where he is and where I am, and how we can impact the sheep. With my young dog Frost, we continue to work on driving, but throw in other exercises. This past weekend, we worked on penning and started some shedding training. If something's not working, I stop, think about what I can change and try again the next day. She's relaxed and eager to work every day.

3. More time means the young dog gets more practical farm work. If I have to move or sort sheep, and I'm in a hurry, I use an experienced dog. With more time, I can set up the situation where the young dog is likely to be successful. So Frost has helped move ewes and lambs, drive groups into the barn and other tasks.

But training in pandemic time has its downsides, too.

1. Staying at home doesn't put the needed miles on the dog. I still need to get Frosty out to new places where the terrain and the sheep are different.

2. Clinics or observations from experienced handlers are lacking. I tend to a wishful observer and benefit from professional input. While videoing a session helps, it's not the same as in-person observations.

3. It can be lonely. Sheepdog training has its highs and lows, and it's always more fun to have people to commiserate with and laugh about it.

Eventually my Outlook calendar will stop reminding me about canceled events, and eventually the dogs and I will get out and about again. I'm hopeful that we have benefited from pandemic time training.