Animal Training

There are many reasons why a person does animal training. There’s the basic, you have to get along, training: pay attention, no biting, no kicking, go where I need you to go. There’s the training for usefulness: herd the sheep, find the bad guy, guide the blind, pull this cart. There’s sport: flush the quail, go over the jump, catch the frisbee. Much of training is simply for fun: roll over, high five.

All training requires communication between the handler and the animal. Some people train for compliance: do what I say or there are serious consequences. I’d rather train for cooperation: this will be rewarding for both of us.

Although the study of behavior is a relatively new science, animal training has been going on for thousands of years. The Greek soldier, Xenophon, wrote about horsemanship in 400 BC, and the debate over how to work with the animals in our lives hasn’t stopped since then.

I don’t know what training methods Myrtle used with her horse Tony.

Myrtle and Tony

 

But I have a feeling that they were quite the team.

Tony

A Full Crop

A chicken can’t chew. She doesn’t have teeth. She does have a pointed, hard beak that pecks. Sometimes she breaks food into smaller bits with it, but often she takes in as large a chunk as she can swallow. She has a triangular tongue that fits perfectly inside of that beak. The tongue helps to push the food to the back and into the esophagus. Muscles help her to then move the food further down the digestive tract.

Chickens are designed to eat small amounts, constantly. That’s why feeding big handfuls of treats is a bad idea – hens need to be active and work for their food. Their systems aren’t made for eating a few distinct meals a day. But, sometimes what a hen swallows is big. I once saw Lulu slurp a baby snake down whole, like a strand of spaghetti. Sometimes hens find a bonanza of bugs in the garden and gorge themselves all in the course of a few minutes.

The first stop for all of this food in the digestive process is the crop – which is a pouch in the hen’s neck. Physically breaking down the food happens later, in the gizzard, which is a very powerful muscular sack, inside of which are tiny pebbles (grit) that the hen has swallowed on purpose. The gizzard effectively acts as a millstone to grind up food as coarse and hard as corn. The crop isn’t like the gizzard at all – it’s mostly just a holding area. Watch your hens over the course of the day, and you’ll see the crop change shape. This can be worrisome for a new chicken owner. A hen that looks like this:

Veronica

 

will sport a huge and solid bulge like this:

full crop

 

It’s normal!

What isn’t normal is when that mass becomes impacted. This can happen when the hen eats long strands of grass, or too many sunflower seeds with the shells still on, or other such foods that get tangled up and hardened in the crop. If that happens, your hen will show signs of distress. She’ll stretch her neck. She’ll become listless. She might look panicked (as one of my hens did when she got a long, tough leek stuck in her.)

If your hen is impacted (and not just a glutton, as Veronica in the above photos – she’d just come in after a glorious afternoon of free-ranging), then there are a few things that you can do. You can massage the crop to try to break up the mass and move things along. You can also feed her olive oil, either by soaking some food with it, (if she’s still eating) or by carefully dosing her. (See my YouTube video.) Crop impaction is serious. I’ve done a necropsy on a hen that died from impaction. It was a friend’s bird and what I found out was that she had gorged on long grasses and leftover garbanzo bean curry (fed to the hens with the kitchen scraps.) What the hen didn’t have in her crop were laying hen pellets. That’s why I like to see my hens eat easy to digest pellets before going free-ranging. I think that it reduces the risk that they’ll gorge on the wrong stuff.

In any event, impactions are rare. What is normal is a healthy, happy hen with a ridiculously bulging crop. Don’t worry about her.

Almost Time

The first tomato is almost ripe. I’ve had to use every ounce of self-control to wait to pick it until it is truly red. Today. For sure.

tomato

 

On the opposite end of the spectrum are the herbs.I always plant more than I can use. I’ve been snipping and snipping, but even the basil blooms and bolts. Last night, mint, Vietnamese basil, parsley and lovage topped a peanut noodle salad.  I plant some varieties simply because I like to look at them. How pretty is this combination of chamomile and lavender?

lavendar and chomomile

 

This patch of herbs is a feast for bees and butterflies, but I’m sure that they could spare me some.  Later this week, I’ll be picking a small handful of lavender which will be baked into cookies for the garden party on Saturday.  I’ve never dried and stored the chamomile – any suggestions?

Totally unrelated to this gardening post is this photo of Tonka:

Tonka in trailer

 

Yesterday was one of those pitch-perfect New England summer days. There were blue skies, a strong breeze to keep the biting flies away, it wasn’t too hot, and it was a day after a rain storm, so the woods smelled piney and the scent of milkweed drifted in from the edges of the fields. A friend asked if we’d like to join her for a ride at a state park. Her good boy, Nelson, is a 20-year old Morgan. Tonka was happy to explore new trails with him.  As a reward, he got carrots that I’d thinned from my patch. There – I managed to tie this into the gardening post!)

Chicken Garden Party

There’s still time to signup for the Chicken Garden Party here at Little Pond Farm. It’s this coming Saturday, July 12 at 1 pm. I’ll talk  a bit about gardening with chickens, and then we’ll mingle and stroll. We’ll talk poultry, you can share photos of your own flocks. There will be food and good conversation about our favorite topic – hens!

Rain or shine. Children welcome. Register on my Events page.

Opal

Independence Day

Here in the United States, we celebrate Independence Day on July Fourth. It’s a big, rollicking, firework shooting, backyard cookout, sort of holiday. My little town of only 5,000 inhabitants has an “Old Home Day” the weekend before the fourth. There’s a parade. With balloons.

balloons

 

A band.

music

 

A fire truck (we’ve very proud of our truck and our on-call, volunteer fire fighters.)

fire truck

 

There are Minutemen. Behind them are a group of folks dressed up as ticks for “tick awareness.” We’re that sort of town.

minute men

 

Townspeople with vintage cars are encouraged to join the parade. This year my son has the perfect car for the procession.

by Ferns

 

We also have the perfect parade dog!

scooter in car

 

I could leave this post at that – with Scooter’s smiling face. I never write about politics on this blog, but read the news. There are tens of millions of people in countries where this sort of parade is unimaginable. Too many live where there is brutality and violence driven by ethnic, tribal and religious zealots. The horrors are hard to fathom from my sweet and safe little town. I am so grateful that I am here. I am so grateful to live in a country where freedoms and tolerance are written into the constitution and those laws are respected and upheld (and even expanded – I’m all for same-sex marriage.) Happy Birthday, America.