I arrived at the stable early afternoon. It was a rainy day and the horses were all inside. There’s something so peaceful about a dusky barn. But I heard a noise that broke the mood. I’m deaf. Cochlear Implants allow me to hear. When I first come across an unknown sound, my brain can’t make sense of the inputs. I have to see the source of the noise in order to process it. Once I can do that, it usually sounds normal.

What I heard in the barn sounded like a leaf blower. Or maybe a horse in pain. Or a piece of machinery inadvertently left on. The other thing about wearing CIs is that I have minimal directional hearing. Especially with an unknown sound, I don’t have a clue where it’s coming from. I walked down the aisle, on alert.

That’s when I saw Lano, sprawled out. His eyes were open and he was making the most awful noise. I didn’t panic. I let my brain make sense of the scene.

Instead of finding a disaster, I had come across a totally ridiculous and hilarious horse.

He was snoring. Enjoy.

The molt is triggered by numerous factors. The age of the hen and the changing season are primary instigators. The poorest layers tend to molt first. Timing of the molt is also influenced by the breed. If under great stress, or ill, chickens will molt at other times of the year.

I have two Rhode Island Reds. They are the same age, from the same hatchery, eat the same food, and live in the same coop. One is only beginning to loosen her feathers in preparation for the molt.

The other is in the midst of loosing and growing feathers at the same time.

I have no clue why these two hens are on different schedules. It might be health, or genetics, or something else. I don’t even know who’s who! One is Ruby, one is Garnet. Garnet used to have a blue band on her ankle so that I could tell them apart. That fell off. I used to be able to tell them apart by their tails, but now I can’t compare them, being as one of the chickens barely has a tail. So, I will call the molting hen Ruby. Unless one of you has been keeping track of them?

The Gems and the Ladies know each other – and for the last couple of years have foraged on the lawn at the same time with no issues. But because these two flocks are housed separately, they keep to themselves. The Gems forage up towards the meadow and the Ladies stay in the woodland border near their Little Barn. I want to put them all in the Big Barn this winter and so I’ve been trying to get them to interact. For this, I bring out the cracked corn – a treat that none of the hens, even the shyest, can resist.

When I shake the container and call them over to a neutral spot on the lawn, their personalities become obvious. Pearl, the cochin, hangs back, and then pecks at the edge of the group. Veronica, the Marans, watches from a distance and cautiously approaches. It’s no surprise that Twiggy comes running. Not only is she always voraciously hungry, but she has lived with both groups.

Quite awhile back, Misty was banished from the group of girls that she grew up with because she was chasing and pecking at them. She learned to fit in with the Gems, who did not allow her to get to the top of the pecking order. Unlike Twiggy, though, she is cautious about making the reacquaintance of her former roommates. This is not because her temperament has mellowed, but rather because she is going through a dramatic molt, and she knows she’s not at the top of her game.

In fact, because a few of the more dominant hens are going through the molt, this is the perfect time to combine the flocks. The dynamic is in flux – top-ranked hens are unsure of their status – and so a new order should sort itself out quickly. At least, that’s the hope.

I’m planning on a couple of more meet-and-greets on the lawn. Agatha seems to be enjoying all of these interactions. She’s even including the goats in her social circle.

If only they were all like Agatha!

Fourteen hens. Most are in the midst of the molt. Some look fully-feathered but continue to be on a rejuvenating break.

One hen continues to produce an egg, almost daily.

Twiggy. She’s yet to molt. He schedule hasn’t changed. She lays her egg without difficulty. She has her normal, ravenous, appetite. She’s healthy – I know this because, after that situation in which the Ladies shunned and pecked at her, now she’s back to being an accepted member of the flock No aggression. No bloodshed. Not even when she’s on the lawn and puts herself amidst the Ladies.

However, while the White Leghorn was once a sharp dresser in a sleek white coat of feathers, she is now clothed in raggedy feathers.

Twiggy seems unconcerned about her attire, so I will be, too. Besides, I’m grateful for that one good egg a day.

As you know, the goats pride themselves on being useful.This time of year, they are a great help with the fall yard chores.

The grass needs one last cutting, and leaves have to be raked (or eaten) up. The goats are on it. The chickens also help by making sure that grubs don’t overwinter in the lawn. Such a hard-working crew!

We’ve had several hard frosts, which have wilted the mums. Pip tidies up the planters.

The raspberry canes need to be cut back. The goats make the job easier for me by removing the leaves first.

The goats even do jobs that I didn’t think of. Both boys were adamant that before the first snowfall that parsley should be eaten back to the root base. They were so enthusiastic about this task that they convinced me that they were right. Caper says that his miraculously expanding belly is up to the challenge.

Thanks for easing the workload and leavening the mood, boys!