We didn’t have much of a winter (so I guess that heavy coats on goats are not a weather predictor) and now spring is fully here. Leaves are unfurling. This is one of my favorite trees. It’s a Red Buckeye, a native plant that has tall, bottlebrush blooms, loved by birds and bees, and me! It’s a slow-grower and so hard to find in nurseries, but worth the search.

The Water Celery in my pond is taking over. To keep it in check, I pull it up and feed it to the goats. Last week when I stepped into the shallows to do this task, my boots filled with water. Once again, I’ve done in a pair of rubber boots. Here are my new ones:

Only $16 on sale! So, when they crack in a couple of months, I won’t feel so bad.

The anti-broody coop worked! It took only 2 1/2 days for Topaz to go from henzilla back to a mild-mannered Orpington. Here she is back with the flock. See how svelte she looks now that she’s not all huffed up and crazy?

I’m hoping that will be the last of it for awhile, but I have three Orpingtons, and I’ve a feeling I’ll be using the rabbit hutch again soon.

Agnes is, surprisingly, looking better. Still not good, but her comb is a tad redder and she’s roosting and eating. I think that the epsom salts was just the tonic that she needed, if not to extend her life, at least to make her comfortable while she’s here. Another dose can’t hurt, so I’ll be soaking her again today.

I promise that I’ll put up that FAQ about epsom salts soon, but I’ve been busy! This morning I visited 80 first-graders in Texas via Skype. Thanks to my husband/resident nerd, I have WiFi in my backyard, so I’m able to answer questions while showing the children Pearl’s fluffy butt (to gales of laughter!) and other things, like chickens in nesting boxes, and Candy eating hay.

Meanwhile, I’ve cookies to bake for the Chicken Keeping Workshop on Saturday. Speaking of which – I’ve added another workshop to my calendar – Saturday, June 9. The details are the same as last time, so if you’re interested sign up soon. It’s already filling up.

This morning I drove to the Abby Kelly Foster Charter School in Worcester, MA. Agatha came, too.

I read Tillie Lays an Egg.

Agatha listened and was as well-behaved as the incredibly polite and attentive first graders.

Agatha showed off chicken feet (like a dinosaur’s!) and ears, feathers and her beak (birds don’t have teeth!)

Agatha sat in my lap while every child came up, one by one, to pet her. She chortled, she looked, she never once pecked. My good hen and I did this program three times, for about 100 children and teachers in all.

As I was leaving, a little girl handed me this picture and gave me a hug.

I have the best job in the world.

How long do chickens live? I’m asked this question a lot. I’ve kept backyard hens for more than 15 years, and yet right now I have the oldest hens I’ve ever had, and they are eight. I don’t expect the most elderly of them to live past the summer. (Although I’ve said that about them the last two years running, so who knows?)

Chickens are not designed for long lives. Birds bred just for meat are harvested before they are mature – anywhere from 8 to 14 weeks of age. Kept longer, for breeding purposes or if they lucked out and are in a backyard flock, they’ll still not have long lives. They’re designed to put on weight quickly and their bones and hearts can’t handle the strain.

Chickens bred for high egg production, like my Golden Comets, Agnes and Philomena, are constantly depleting their systems in order to produce eggs day in and day out. Sometimes you lose a hen to what I call “sudden chicken death” (SCD). There are no warning symptoms. They simply give out and you find a bird, dead on the floor. If they live past three, they’ll often have health issues and stop laying.

Many of the so-called “heritage” breeds, (most of which were created about a hundred or so years ago), are “dual-purpose.” They were designed to lay eggs the first two years, but still have a quality carcass to be consumed as meat in their third. Breeders didn’t select for longevity beyond that. Some of these chickens, if not put in the stewpot are long-lived. Some aren’t.

All that said, with proper feed, housing, protection from predators and TLC chickens can live for years. The hens in my little barn are proof of that. They’re all retired and, for chickens, elderly. None are vibrantly healthy, but they do manage to dodder along.

Buffy has been on the brink of death numerous times and has pulled through. After her last bout, she’s back with the flock. I’m keeping a close eye on her to make sure that the bullying has stopped. Her comb is half gone, but she’s put herself right back with the others.

Twinkydink is the grand old age of eight. She’s an unassuming hen. Lately, I’ve notice something odd about her right nostril. See how it’s disfigured? I think it’s an old age thing.

Eleanor and Edwina are also eight.They used to be the worst bullies in the flock, but now they couldn’t be bothered. They haven’t laid eggs for years. They spend a lot of time resting – Eleanor especially. Edwina is the more active and healthy of the two – you can tell by her red, upright comb that her systems are still working.

Contrast that to Agnes’ comb. Agnes is only three, but she’s a hybrid and she’s done in. She stands hunched and fluffed, napping. Her comb is dark and shrinking. This bird is not well. I’ve done what I can, and we’ll just have to see how it goes.

Her sister, Philomena, is doing fine. You can clearly see the contrast between them in this photo. But, Philomena isn’t laying, either.

Tina and Siouxsie are the same age as the Comets, but they’re a fancy breed that doesn’t wear themselves out egg-laying. Tina lays about 3 eggs a week and takes a long break over the winter. The other day Siouxsie left a tiny, robin-sized egg in a nesting box, (these yolkless eggs are called “wind” eggs.) The effort was accompanied by much hollering and clucking. She appeared quite proud of herself, but hasn’t done anything as productive since.

Betsy Ross, is, at the age of 5, an old hen. I used to take her on my school visits, but she’s retired now. There are moments, when she stands still with her wings down, that I worry about her.

But then she perks up and looks like this:

The queen of the barnyard isn’t a chicken at all. It’s Candy, and she’s the most elderly of the bunch. She is eight, which is quite old for a rabbit. Candy still reigns, although I’ve noticed some subtle changes. In order to get up her ramp she has to get a straight, running shot (I’m going to lower her hutch soon to make it easier on her.) Awhile back she tore the lid of her right eye. It healed fine, but it does make her squint. I believe she’s hard of hearing, too. None of that appears to affect her status, or the joy she gets out of blocking the hen’s pop-door.

This is Candy’s attitude about aging:

A role model for us all.

Topaz, the Buff Orpington pullet, is broody. That means that she is huffed up in the most coveted nesting box, growling at anyone who comes near. There are no eggs, let alone fertile eggs, under her. She doesn’t care. Her hormones have taken over and she is determined to stay put. She could be like this for weeks.

If you dare to extricate her from the box, she becomes a gigantic angry ball of bristling feathers.

Topaz is in the prime of her egg-laying and yet she isn’t leaving a one. Every morning she exits the nest box to deposit the hugest, stinkiest pile of poo in existence (for a photo, go to Wendy’s blog – she was willing to photograph a similar load left by her broody. Me? I toss it as quickly as possible.) Topaz eats and drinks, and then goes back into the nesting box. Being broody does not do Topaz nor I any good whatsoever. I have a plan to stop it.

A hen’s body temperature becomes elevated when broody (all the better to keep the eggs warm.) If you can bring down the temp, you can break the broodiness.

I put Topaz into a wire-floored rabbit hutch. It’s a chilly, windy day. She’s got to cool off.

So far she’s mostly sitting. But, Topaz did get up to eat and drink.

Hopefully, she’ll be back to her mild-mannered, egg-laying self in a couple of days, and she’ll be put back in with the flock. Some hens repeatedly go broody, others get put in the anti-broody coop once, and that’s that. I’m hoping for the latter. I’ll keep you posted.

Eleanor, the old hen, is napping in the compost pile. It is peaceful and cozy.

Someone is coming!

If you sit quietly, says Eleanor, you can keep me company.

I’m not interested, says Eleanor, and she pecks Candy’s nose.

Sourpuss! says Candy.