Last year I was approached by a forward-thinking nursing home director about installing a flock of chickens at her facility. The memory loss residents spend their days in a room looking over a lush green – and boring – lawn. She thought that a flock of busy, chatty hens would engage and delight the residents. I was brought on to consult on this project. I selected the coop, and will train the staff who will care for the hens. I’m also providing the pullets, which is why there are 26 chicks in my brooder. I’ll be saving the five most distinctive, calm, healthy and friendly of the lot to live at the nursing home.

In the meantime, I’ve been meeting some of the residents through programs that involve me talking, and chickens being their charming selves. Yesterday I brought five chicks to the home. Already, the benefits of having chickens in their lives was quantifiable. An elderly and oppositional woman who usually paces the halls, sat for the full hour of my presentation, smiling and fully engaged. A resident who is usually reticent to talk up asked a question.

Because of privacy concerns, I can’t show photos of the residents, but I can show you this, which, I think, says it all.

Terry Golson and a chick visit a nursing home.

Instead of living her remaining days in the quiet calm of her private hutch, Buffy, once again, surprised us all, and revived. For the last couple of days she’s been standing at the door, obviously eager to get out. She also was quite loud in her demands. My food dish is empty! and More water! I set her down in the run with the other old hens, but Siouxsie looked at her like a bull sees a red flag and charged. The trouble with Siouxsie is that she doesn’t read body language. Another hen would see that Buffy does the “I’m not a threat crouch” and the tail tuck, and after a chest thump or two, the aggressor would accept victory and move on. But Siouxsie pummels anyone she can, and doesn’t stop. Siouxsie can’t get away with that nonsense with Twinkydink and Edwina, and Betsy is too quick. But poor Buffy can’t get out of the way.

I had a solution: move Siouxsie in with the strong and active Gems. They’d put her in her place, and the Old Girls would have some peace. All of my hens already know each other from forays onto the lawn. The two flocks, the Old Girls and the Gems, see each other, and go their separate ways. Yesterday the weather was lovely, and I let the chickens out onto the lawn. When I called the Gems to go back inside, Siouxsie came over. She’s like that. Totally clueless.

I closed her up with the Gems.

At first, the Gems stayed away from Siouxsie. They needed to take stock of this newcomer.

Once again, Siouxsie showed how truly clueless she is. She immediately challenged the nearest hen. It was a Sussex. The Sussex are the most fearless of the breeds in this flock. There was chest thumping. Florence pecked hard. Once.

But, unlike Siouxsie, the Sussex understand that outright bloodshed isn’t worth the effort. Siouxsie scurried off. The Sussex let her be. Siouxsie found her way inside of the coop and spent some (hopefully thoughtful, although I doubt it) time on the roost. She got down and ate and drank. She went outside and did not challenge any of the hens. What happened at nighttime was going to be the telling moment. Would Siouxsie integrate into the flock?

Sometimes, being clueless has its benefits. Siouxsie didn’t hide in a nesting box. She didn’t wait outside in the dark. She hopped right up onto a prime roost spot and squeezed in with the other girls. But she did keep her head down, which showed a modicum of sense. There she is on the left, next to Etheldred.

Meanwhile, what of Buffy? I kept an eye Edwina’s reaction to her back in their midst. Edwina has pummeled Buffy in the past. But, that was only after Siouxsie had already drawn blood. Edwina came over, gave Buffy a cold stare, and then ambled away. Twinkydink, though, settled in next to her friend.

At night, Buffy managed to get onto the lowest roost.

If Buffy’s health takes another turn downward, I’ll know because Edwina will attack. But for now, all is right in the Old Girl’s world. And Siouxsie? She’s fine. I saw her checking out a nesting box this morning. Does she have enough sense not to tangle with broody Topaz? Who knows? It will be lesson that she should learn!

It was a sunny day and the temperature reached above 50 degrees F. There was a hint of green on the lawn. The chickens were desperate for an outing, and as soon as I let them out, they eagerly downed the green grass blades.

After months of not having anything to graze, the goats were also eager for an outing.

I didn’t let them gorge as they can overdo it and get bellyaches. So, they ate some grass, and then I moved them over for a bit of the water celery coming up at the back of the little pond.

Notice that the boys are dragging leashes. You’d think that with all of the green around them that they wouldn’t get into trouble. I had to step inside the house for one minute. Just one. I left the boys ankle deep in the water celery happily munching away. When I came out this is what I saw:

The boys were all the way on the other side of the yard. At the raspberry patch. Pip had a mouthful. He declared the buds delicious.

While Caper was scratching his head on last season’s canes.

Thanks to the leashes, I was able to pull them away before there was too much damage. By the way, that pile of white on the other side of the fence? It’s snow. It makes the grass look all that greener, doesn’t it?

It’s still a chilly and windy 40 degrees F, but the sun is out and springtime is definitely here. I know because the goats are shedding. Pip has a thick and sticky undercoat that is now more like an overcoat.

Lucky for him the Goat Maid has a FURminator.

All of the grooming and attention makes the boys playful. They do like to show off for the Goat Maid.

But, nipping a brother’s ears during shedding season means a mouthful of fur. Yuck!

Buffy has been itchy, too. You can’t dust bathe in a rabbit hutch. So, yesterday she got some much needed sun and dirt time. The other hens still beat up on her, so she had a spa hour with the goats. They were perfect gentlemen.

Little fluffy chicks need help staying warm. Their downy feathers aren’t good insulation. A cold wind goes right through them. A mama hen provides protection under her thick coat and next to her warm skin. But, chicks don’t stay under the hen all day. They venture out and about. In nature, most sensible hens hatch their chicks late in the springtime when the weather has warmed up. Still, weather is variable, and the chicks, even just a few days old, experience a range of temperatures.

Those of us who order chicks through the mail keep our babies warm with a heat lamp in a protected box called a brooder. The rule of thumb is that the first week the brooder should be at 95 degrees F. Each week thereafter the temp is dropped (by raising the lamp up) by 5 degrees. But in reality, it’s more complicated than that. Chicks can easily get overheated, especially if you have only a few babies in a small plastic carton. Last year I heard from two different people whose chicks were dying. I finally figured out that they were too hot. Instead of judging if the temperature is right using a thermometer, use the chick’s behavior as a guide. To do  this, there must be enough room in the brooder for the chicks to get out from under the heat lamp! There should be shadowy, cooler areas.

Comfortable chicks are evenly spaced. They are generally quiet. If there’s a lot of high-pitched cheeping, they’re distressed. These chicks are just right.

Chicks will go from very active to asleep in a blink of an eye. Sometimes, they fall asleep in mid-step! They sleep near each other but not piled up.

If it’s too cold, they’ll huddle directly under the heat lamp. It got down to about 20 degrees last night. The air in the shadows was quite chilly, but the chicks were fine under the lamp. I could tell that they were okay because there’s still some space between them, and they were quiet.

If they’re too warm, they’ll move away from the lamp. Here they’re keeping their butts warm, and their heads in the shadows.

They look like a group of Brownie Scouts around a campfire. I’m waiting for them to burst into a version of Kumbaya. If the chicks entirely avoided going directly under the heat lamp, I’d raise it up a notch, but as I watched them, they finished their naps and hurried hither yon, under the lamp, and drank and ate. The chicks were able to regulate their body temperature by moving around the brooder.

Taking good care of the chicks is all about paying attention. Of course, that means that I have to spend time watching the chicks, which is about the best excuse ever to procrastinate from my work.