Even a spacious chicken run will turn to dirt, and over time that will become so packed down that water can no longer drain through. I rake the manure and remove it from the pen weekly, but still, much gets worked into the ground, and eventually the surface of the run will become hardpan. For the chickens, it will be like scratching on concrete. An algae bloom appeared on mine, along with weeds that no one wanted to peck at.

When this happens, manure becomes a slick and nasty coating on the surface. There are few nice places to dust bathe. Simply put, it’s yucky.

We’ve been in the midst of a miserable heat wave, but I couldn’t bear seeing my flock in such conditions. So, at six in the morning last Friday, I got out my pitchfork. Owly was interested.

I dug. You can see how there was an impermeable layer at the surface.

Turning over the dirt exposed all sorts of interesting things for the chickens. Betsy led the way.

Soon everyone was investigating what was unearthed.

Bunnies are curious, and Phoebe liked having a different surface to hop on.

I bought 5 tubes of sand.

I mixed it a bit with the dirt and raked the surface smooth. The sand adds drainage.

The pullets immediately began to scratch in the soft surface, seemingly delighted that they could.

Buffy made the best use of the new loose soil. It was cool. It was comfortable. It was the perfect place to wait out the heat wave.

If only it was that easy for me to cool off! By the time I was done, I was hot, drenched with sweat, and streaked with dirt. A shower and an iced coffee revived me. All of the effort was worth it. The animals clearly said Thank You.

This was the view on the GoatCam this morning:

I’m surprised that I didn’t get an email or two from worried viewers urging me to run out to the barn to check on a dying goat. Pip does look like a beached whale. Is that bloated belly about to pop? No worries. This is what I call Pip’s “dead goat imitation.” Despite the fact that I knew he was just sleeping, I still went out to make sure that he was okay. As soon as the goats heard the back porch door open, they were up on their feet.

What? said Pip. Look, I’m positively svelte. Starving, in fact.

And itchy.

My small town (population around 5,000) celebrates Old Home Day on the Saturday before July 4th. It’s one of the best things about living here, and I make a point of staying put over the holiday. I’ve missed fewer than a half-dozen in the more than twenty years that I’ve lived in this town. There’s an ice cream social, a pet show, a frog jumping contest, a country fair with booths selling cotton candy, trail maps, and crafts (I was there with my Vintage Chicken Photographs postcard book and bags made from feedsacks.) There’s a ceremony honoring citizens, and the Minute Men fire off muskets. There’s even a soap box derby and a dunking booth!

It wouldn’t be a celebration without a parade. Ours doesn’t allow politicians. There are no marching bands. A horse and an American flag leads off.

There are floats. Sort of.

The Cub Scouts throw candy to the cheering crowds people (it seems as if half of the population is in the parade, so there aren’t that many folks lining the route.)

People dance down the street (this group raises money to support the school.)

There are vintage cars and our new fire truck (driven by the only on-call, volunteer firefighters in the county.)

It’s so exciting that most everyone takes a nap in the afternoon, and then returns to town for the Chicken BBQ at the fire station and then the CAKE WALK. A cake walk is like musical chairs, but the winner gets a cake.

The cakes are donated by people who go to the cake walk. This year, 89 were dropped off at the town hall. For 50¢ you get a chance to win. I won!

On July 4th I’ll be at a friend’s cookout. I’m bringing a huge green salad (my lettuce is at its peak) and deviled eggs. Do you have plans? Let me know!

The rabbit hutch was old, and this past week of high humidity and heat finally did it in. Ants were using it as a highway, and earwigs moved into the hay. Everyday I replaced the hay and everyday the insects returned. Phoebe let me know that she had no intention of going into the hutch unless forced. I didn’t blame her.

The old rabbit house was thrown out and replaced with a clean, dry and comfy (or so I thought) newer hutch. The chickens checked it out and declared it excellent.

Ancient Twinkydink said that it was about time that she was given a ramp into a nesting box. She’s now laying an egg in there every three days. Not bad for an 8-year old hen!

Phoebe said, The chickens are welcome to it! She saw no reason to go into the hutch during the day. Rabbit pellets are uninteresting to her compared to what else can be found. There’s usually greens and woody things to chew on in the compost pile.

Inside are more greens in the treat holder.

There’s room to run, which gets the goats going, too.

Like Candy did, Phoebe uses the corner of the pen as a litter box. Bunnies are tidy. (The goats and chickens could learn something from her!)

It’s been hot and humid, and the concrete floor of the coop is cooling. Phoebe found the perfect spot underneath the nesting boxes. She convinced Buffy to vacate the premises, and none of the other hens think to bother her there. There’s plenty of room to sit up and groom.

She’s moved the shavings to the side so that she can stretch out and stay cool.

Letting Phoebe making use of the full coop and run during the day is fine with me, but I wanted her to sleep in the hutch at night. I didn’t want her on the floor with the chicken manure. I worried that in the morning, when all of the chickens came off of the roosts, that it would be too crowded and that she’d be subject to pecking. I wanted her in her hutch, where she’d have hay to eat at night (rabbits stay busy in the dark.) But, those are all of my worries and wants. Phoebe didn’t share them. She wants to sleep on the concrete floor. She likes the company of the hens. She likes the hubbub in the coop in the morning. I listened to her arguments (for a silent rabbit, she’s quite clear in her communication) but was still not entirely convinced. Then my son pointed out that the mosquitos were bothering her at night in the hutch, but that they weren’t in the coop (the hens eat them.) Phoebe had made her choice, and finally I was fine with it. She can sleep in the coop. I’ll leave the hutch in the run. It’s a good place for her food and hay. Who knows, maybe she’ll decide that in the winter the concrete floor is too cold and she’ll move in. I’ll be listening to her. She’s a smart rabbit.

After my experience with the American Robins and the mites, you might think that I’d wish all of the wild birds would leave my yard, but that’s not how I feel at all. I just don’t want them on my porch or in my barns. Yes, there’s an inherent risk that my hens will be in contact with their wild feathered cousins and contract a disease or parasites. But, prudent management (without going overboard and locking the hens up) minimizes the likelihood that my flock will be endangered. I’m happy to provide homes for bluebirds.

I’m delighted to see them reducing the insect population to feed their babies.

Those little ones are voracious and demanding!

I love seeing flashes of blue in the backyard.

I’m looking forward to watching the local bird population from my nest and mite-free porch.

(note: photographs taken by Steve)