Yesterday morning I noticed that Betsy Ross’ vent area (for you chicken neophytes, that’s her butt) was messy with runny poops. I bathed her bottom (gentle dog shampoo in warm water) and could then see that she was suffering from a prolapsed cloacae. This happens when a hen lays an egg that is too big, and she pushes out some of the vent along with the egg.

All of the extension service poultry Web sites will inform you that a prolapse is cause for culling. The other hens will peck at the red butt (the sites don’t use these exact words), and/or infection will set in. Besides, once a hen prolapses, even if fixed, it’ll happen again.

I’ll try to save Betsy. I purchased some Preparation H, and applied it several times yesterday. I pushed the prolapse back in. But it doesn’t stay in. She’s been moved into a little dog crate, safe from the other hens. She’s eating and drinking and bright-eyed. No infection yet. I’m not optimistic, but I won’t give up on her.

As with any animal that you own, you are responsible for their well-being. You do the best you can. But there are limits, especially with farm animals. A farmer could more easily put a price on what it is worth to save her, both in time and money. In my little farmette, Betsy straddles that line between pet and producer. I’ll nurse her. I’ll bathe her. I’ll take the time to care for one little hen. But, she won’t be going to the vet (which would be a costly long-shot) and I’m prepared to cull her if she suffers. This is the reality of living with chickens.

Pecking order in chickens is literally determined by pecking. Usually, this jostling for status is only briefly dramatic. Once everyone knows where they stand, the top hen just has to turn her head in a threatening manner, and the lower-ranked hen moves off.

When I selected the seven hens to live in the new barn, I based my choices on which ones I wanted in my children’s book. I picked six hens out of the flock that I already had, and I decided to purchase Prudence, as I wanted a classic solid brown hen, too. I’ve never had a problem integrating a new hen into a flock, so I was chagrined that Prudence was not only at the bottom of the pecking order, but that the other hens kept her there aggressively. Poor Prudence’s comb was ripped raw and she spent her days on a window ledge avoiding the other girls.

It became clear that Petunia had it out for Prudence. I don’t know why. Today, I finally decided that enough was enough. When I saw Petunia grab Prudence by the tail feathers, and then Edwina pin Prudence down and peck viciously, I ran into the run, picked up Petunia and put her in the other pen (the one you can see on HenCam.)

As soon as Marge and Petunia saw each other, they fluffed feathers, chest-butted and then Marge clucked loudly, welcoming her old friend back into the flock. And even though there are hens in this group that Petunia doesn’t know (the Party Girls and Alma), she doesn’t appear to have any of the antagonism towards them that she showed to Prudence.

Prudence has left her window shelf. Edwina half-heartedly chased her, but without head-girl Petunia to be the aggressor, Edwina doesn’t have it in her to do it alone.

Friendship is a mysterious thing, even in the animal kingdom.

I am not a toy dog person. I don’t like shivery, yappy little dogs, and I certainly don’t like to see tiny dogs used as fashion accessories. I look for athleticism and brains in my dog companions. So, I am a tad embarrassed to tell you that I happen to have the cutest little dog in the world.

Scooter looks to be a mix of Corgi, Chihuahua and some sort of rough-coated terrier. When I picked him out of the litter, I knew he’d be small, but not this small! At six months, he is just over nine pounds. He’ll max out around 12. I knew he’d have Corgi turned-out feet, but who knew he’d have comical bow legs? I noticed that his mom had an underbite, and at 5-weeks when I peered into Scooter’s mouth, it didn’t look perfect then, but I had no inkling that he’d have such a toy dog face with a jutting lower jaw.

Luckily, Scooter’s bark is as deep as a St. Bernard’s (he scares delivery men!), he’s got a terrier’s attitude, nothing fazes him, including my big, athletic, smart dog, Lily (who thinks that Scooter is the best toy I’ve ever brought her) and, best of all, Scooter cuddles with my kids (something that Lily doesn’t do). Everyone is ecstatic about this addition to our household. Surprisingly, even me.

One myth about broody hens is that the hens go all sweet and motherly. Children’s books depict the hens wearing calico scarves on their heads and smiling. I wish someone had told Blackie that’s how she’s supposed to behave. A few times a day I pick Blackie up and put her outside. It’s to be expected that she doesn’t want to leave her nest. Still, she turns into a raging henzilla. Because her feathers are all fluffed out (broody hens  do this to increase body temperature), she looks twice her size. Whichever poor girl is in her direct line of sight gets charged at. This is one bad-tempered hen. But Blackie got her comeuppance today. She went after Candy and got a beak full of rabbit hair. Blackie spent the next five minutes trying to get it off. This was such a distraction that her feathers laid down flat and she looked like the placid hen that she normally is. Unfortunately, she’s back on the nest, and her raging alter ego is back.

It’s that time of year when half of my emails are about broody hens. A broody hen is one that stops laying. Instead, she is fixated on sitting on the nest as if she is going to hatch a clutch of eggs. A broody hen will sit whether there are eggs under her or not. Her feathers will fluff up and she might pluck a few out, all so that her body temperature rises, so if there were eggs there, they’d be the right temperature to develop into chicks. Broodiness varies by the hen and the breed, but it can last several weeks.

Most broody hens do get up to eat and drink and poop, although you’re unlikely to see that as it will be a brief excursion. With Hencam, I can spy on my broody hens, and I know they are doing fine. Still, whenever I go into the coop, I unceremoniously scoop up the broody hen(s) and shove her outside into the pen. She always eats and drinks before coming back to the nest. Snowball, my broodiest of hens (is anyone surprised at this?), rasps a warning at me when I pick her up, but I ignore it and toss her out. Within seconds, she is happily scratching in the yard. But only a few minutes later, the impulse to brood takes over and back in she goes.

Hens bred to supply most of the world’s eggs have been selected to lay an egg each day, and once they’ve done their job, to ignore that egg and eat and drink so that they can make more eggs. Even some of the old-time breeds of chickens were developed to lay but not sit on their eggs. This makes a lot of economic sense. So, even within a backyard flock, only a few hens might be broody at a time. I tend to tolerate the reduced productivity, but I do get the the hens off the nests a few times a day to make sure that they are drinking enough.

If you only have three hens and two are broody, you will yearn for fresh eggs and want to break the broody cycle. During the day you can lock your hens out of the henhouse and away from the nest. Or, you can put your hen in a wire cage (with food and water) – the air circulating under the hen will cool her body temperature, which will send a message to her body that the broody cycle is over. Or, to speed that up even more, put a bag of frozen peas under her. (Then feed them to the hens when thawed. It’s a welcome treat.)

Broodiness is a normal thing for many hens. First time chicken keepers often think that their hens are sick. Don’t worry, they’re not – but they are boring sitting there all day! Despite your hen’s protestations, it is good to get them up and out. But, breaking that cycle takes effort, and you have to be more determined than your chicken! I’m sorry to say that in this flock, Snowball always wins.

(Viewers of Hencam will notice that Blackie is currently broody.)