Set Free: The Broken Legged Hen Saga Continues

We had no release party.

But the sun was shining, the snow was melting, and temperatures were climbing into the 30's. Even our fair-weather Wyandottes chickens ventured outside the hen house.

Now in approximately week six of her confinement, the Broken Legged Hen was tired of her 8 by 8-foot stall, and I was tired of feeding her separately from the others.

"Be free," I said, opening her stall door.

Then I left the barn and took the Border collies on their morning dog walk. When I returned, the stall was empty.

From a distance, the Broken Legged Hen looks no different than the other Buckeye hens. Up close, her now-healed broken leg is thicker--and she walks with a limp.

She settled back into her routine of hanging out with the two Haflinger horses. Either she'd forgotten that a horse hoof broke her leg, or she didn't care.

At night, rather than joining the other hens in the hen house, she settled into the corner of the horse stall.

When the horses were fed, she was there to snatch up loose bits of grain.

I've given up arguing with her.

The horse stall is where she wants to be.

And I will let it be.

The Trickster Goes Herding

Cold weather and short days make for a bored barn cat.

When Trick the Cat spotted Emma the Border Collie and me trekking toward the sheep pasture, he fell into line behind us. And when Emma brought the sheep to the gate, he stood smack dab in the middle and dared the sheep to walk by.

The ewes gathered around the 12-pound cat and sniffed him. One rubbed her nose against his back. The cat purred in delight.

Emma looked at me. I shooed the cat aside so that the sheep could pass and Emma could work.

As Emma drove the sheep around the wheat field, I walked behind her, and Trick behind me.

"You are so in the way," I told the cat who happily ambled along, enjoying his break from snoozing on top of the hay bales.

"You could spend more time catching mice," I told him.

Yesterday I spotted a mouse feasting on the Broken-Legged Hen's food. I scooped Trick up from his the hay bale and tried to place him in the stall with Broken-Legged Hen and the mouse.

He yowled and braced, claws extended. No way was he stepping one paw into the pen with Broken-Legged Hen.

I relented.

Trick the Cat has survived 10-plus years on the farm. No barn cat gets to be that old without being an excellent judge of character.

The Things We Do...

For weeks we had our nightly ritual. After dark, I'd step into the horse stall, walk around the two Haflingers, scoop up the hen and carry her to the hen house.

"You are a chicken. You live in the chicken house," I told her.

She ruffled her feathers and returned to the horse stall every morning.

"Fine. Live in the horse stall," I said.

And, then the horse stepped on her and injured her leg.

"A horse stall is no place for an injured chicken," I said, scooping her up and carrying her to the hen house.

She stayed there for two days before she walked one-legged back to the horse stall.

So we compromised.

I put her in a horse stall without a horse, and agreed to bring her food and water every morning and night. She agreed to be waited on and to squawk her disapproval with me daily.

We're week 2 into the agreement and it seems to be working so far.

The Hen vs. the Human

The Buckeye hen senses that is is spring and time for chicks. Every day she lays an egg in a nest in the hen house.

When I realize she's gone broody, I give her a few extra eggs and let her sit.

She takes her job seriously and turns the eggs daily so that they chick doesn't stick to one side. Once a day, she leaves the nest to eat and drink.

I, too, sense it's spring and time to incubate chicks. I collect eggs and place them in a carton in the workshop. I elevate one side of the carton and turn it every day.

Until one day, when I'm not paying attention, and I drop several of the eggs.

But I am persistent and go about collecting eggs.

When I've collected 30 eggs, I add water to the incubator and plug it in. The perfect conditions are 100 degrees and 58-60 percent humidity.

It reaches 99 degrees. I put the eggs in and turn the temperature a little higher.

I planned to go back and check it again. But I'm distracted by the garden, the horses, the sheep, the lambs, the cats. Hours later, I go to bed, tired from an evening spent outdoors.

In the morning, I remember the incubator.

The temperature reads 104 degrees.

I fried my eggs.

I've resumed collecting more eggs for the incubator. Meanwhile, the hen sits, waiting for the peeps that indicate she has chicks.

Chick Freedom Day

Mama Hen hatched her chicks in the lamb pen about 3 weeks ago.

Every day, I gave them food and water and watched as they scratched and pecked in the 6 x 6 stall.

But Mama Hen grew restless.She wanted to rejoin the flock and roam the pastures and barnyard, looking for bugs and worms.

Every day she flew to the top rail of the stall and beckoned her chicks to follow.

But their wings are small and four feet is too high for them to fly.

They cheeped and called their mother back to them.

Last night, when darkness settled, we gave Mama Hen more freedom.

We moved her to the Young Chick house where the 9-week-old chicks are living.

"They're big enough to venture into the Young Chicken Yard," I tell the spouse. "Mama Hen will keep cats at bay."

Today, Mama Hen is happy. She's taking her three chicks around the chicken yard, eating bugs and greens.

Meanwhile, the juvenile chicks remain huddled in the Young Chick House, terrified of Mama Hen and her chicks.

Stop and Watch the...

It's easy to get caught up in the farm's endless "to-do" list. We spent the weekend, mowing, trimming, tilling the garden, weeding, removing thistles from the pastures, planting, cleaning stalls, vaccinating lambs...

But, every once in a while, I was reminded to stop and enjoy the farm. Mama Hen and her chicks were a constant source of entertainment.

Hatched six days ago in a lamb stall, they spend their days scratching and pecking. Here's Mama Hen giving a lesson.

Sometime another hen ventures into the stall.Mama Hen is quick to puff up, but then they settle into scratching and pecking again. Here's Mama Hen and the Intruder.

Never Underestimate a Determined Hen

In February, when temperatures stayed below zero and I pulled a bale of hay from the barn, I discovered the hen's first nest. Frozen eggs fell to the ground.

Undeterred, the hen moved to a new location--bales of hay closer to the ground.

But those bales disappeared as winter lingered and lambs were born.

The hen gave up on making nests in the hay bales and moved to a lamb pen.

The grass greened, and the lambs and ewes moved to pasture.

The hen sat and sat.

Most mornings, I felt sorry for her and offered her a bowl of grain and some water. She squawked at me, but accepted the food.

I calculated the days.

When it passed 21 days--the incubation period for eggs, I told her to give up.

She ignored me.

And, this morning, I discovered why. As I was feeding, I saw a chick peeking from her feathers, and then another.

This evening there are three chicks.

And I am leaving her alone.

Respecting the Mama

The lambs are just a week old, but they've already learned to listen to mama--both the one with fur and the one with feathers.

The chickens roam the pastures and paddocks on the farm.The lambs learn at an early age to ignore them.

Sometimes a hen will hop on a ewe's back. Often in the afternoons, the hens and ewes snooze together under the overhang.

When the hen jumped into the lamb pen, mama ewe  paid her no attention. The lambs followed mama ewe's lead--and another generation of chicken-sheep coexistence begins.

When temperatures hit 40 degrees...

The temperature rises above 40 degrees and the sheep, after spending days in the paddock area, amble toward the pastures.

Snow still covers the grass, so there is no grazing. But there is running and leaping and twisting in the air.

The hens, too, are eager to move about. Several test their wing strength and fly onto the stall rails.

One even lays an egg.

I, too, dressed in just a windbreaker, and no hat or gloves, run about and celebrate the warmth.

But I am reminded that I do not have hooves or exposed toenails, and I slide on the melting snow and go crashing to the ground.

My Ten Percent

A farmer once told me that 10 percent of the animals cause 90 percent of the work.

It could be the dog that must be walked separately because she "works" the other dogs; the ewe that has trouble birthing; the bottle lamb; the horse who is an escape artist; or the horse that requires a special diet.

A solution to the problem could be culling the offending animals. But then, another steps up to cause woes.

This week, the aggravation comes from this pretty little pullet. A week ago, she discovered that she could fly over the fence and get into the yard which has better grass and more space.

It also has a chicken-herding dog.

So, before letting the dogs out, I must make sure the hen is not in the yard. If she is, I must get some scratch grain, feed the other chickens, and open the gate so she will join her friends.

I usually have about ten minutes before she flies back into the yard.

"I'm trying to watch out for you," I tell her.

She ruffles her feathers.

I look at her. I look at the remaining nine chickens in the chicken pen. I consider if her offenses are worse than something one of those might do.

Shaking my head, I walk away.

To Understand Hen-Pecked

When the 55-pound foster dog entered the barn, he encountered a hen who had flown over the gate and into the aisle.

The Border collie gave her a stare.

The Buckeye hen ruffled her feathers, marched toward him, and pecked, pecked, pecked his nose.

He cowered.

Peck, peck, peck.

He cowered more when he realized that she stood between him and his escape -- an open door leading out of the barn.

I intervened, allowing the dog to escape.

Shaking her feathers back into place, the hen resumed scratching and pecking.