Betsy is an elderly hen. Pick her up and she is literally as light as a pile of feathers and old bones. But, she’s had seven years to figure out what’s what. She’s had seven years of being a determined little hen that goes about her business the way that she wants to. I used to take her on school visits. Unlike my other traveling hens, who settle down in my lap while the children pet them, Betsy made it clear that she would meet the students on her terms. She would stand on my forearm and gaze at each child as they reached over to touch her. Betsy has long been retired from such work, and she spends idle stretches of the day quietly basking in the sun and napping on the roost. But she still knows what’s what. In the morning, Betsy likes to stand at the top of the ramp, taking in the surroundings.

That’s her place. Betsy will not change her routine, not even for a rabbit that wants to hop back into the coop.

The conversation is brief. No drama ensues. Betsy makes it clear what’s what.

The impasse never lasts long. It is no surprise that Betsy continues to go about her day, exactly the way she wants it to go.

One of the reasons that chickens are such successful domestic farm animals is that they are easily bred for traits that we like. Color, size, temperament, type of comb, and even quantity, shape and hue of feathers, have all been manipulated by us to suit both our economic needs and also our fancies. Certainly, there is no reason for a cochin to be covered in a heavy coat of soft feathers other than because we like the looks of it.

A hen has about 8,000 feathers, and, like all birds, they vary in shape and purpose depending on where they are on the body. Some are longer and harder and are found on wings and tails. These are more prevalent and obvious on a Leghorn like Betsy, than the aforementioned cochin.

These outer feathers act to shed rain and act as a barrier to wind. That is, they do so unless we’ve bred the birds to have soft or twisted feathers in their place.

All chickens have undercoats of downy feathers. Here is a photograph of Veronica, and you can see what a splendid job these under-feathers do of keeping her bottom warm.

Feathers along the neck are often short and pointy, and are called hackle feathers.

It doesn’t matter which way the hen turns to look, these feathers keep her skin covered.

Each type of feather has a unique structure. The flight feathers have minute barbs, rather like Velcro, to keep them tight. Chickens preen to keep these feathers smooth and flat. When I do school visits, I hand out feathers for the children to rough up, and then to make right again. You don’t pet a hen like you do a dog. You never want to, as the saying goes, ruffle her feathers. Always stroke in one direction, gently.

Feathers have origins going far back to the beginnings of life on earth. Some dinosaurs had feathers. Not all dinosaurs died out. Some evolved into birds, and some of those birds became chickens. We all have layers of ancient beings inside of us. I recently heard a radio interview of the author of Your Inner Fish. I will be buying this book, if only to read further about how our hiccups are related to how tadpoles breathe.

The Cornell Lab of Ornithology is a font of information about all things bird. The Lab has recently put up the best explanation of what feathers are, how they function, and how they evolved, on their page, All About Feathers. As an adult who likes reading about science, I found it fascinating, but, this site’s clear graphics and precise language makes it suitable for grade schoolers as well. Peruse it, then go back again and look at your own dinosaurs chickens.

I had a blogpost planned for today. It was filled with science, feathers, and the evolution of dinosaurs into birds. This morning I went out to the coops to take photographs for it. Phoebe had other plans for me.

There will be Easter egg hunts on Sunday, she said. There will be rabbits doing the important work of delivering chocolate. You need a photograph of the Easter Bunny.

Me.

The post about feathers will be up next week. Have a wonderful weekend.

It’s not that unusual, but somehow it always takes us by surprise. April snow.

This year’s April snow is pretty rather than a problem. I love how it clings to the moss on the path to make a graphic pattern.

The color of the water celery pops against the white snow. It reminds me of how very green that plant is. (The goats say that it is also very delicious. I will take them out to the pond later to graze.)

It’s below freezing, but I don’t mind. I know that the beauty is ephemeral and the temperature will rise.

The snow won’t affect the peas, lettuces, chard, kale, spinach and carrots that I planted last week. Those seeds have only just sprouted and the seedlings will be fine.

The goats, still shedding off their heavy winter coats, were quite happy and comfortable in this morning’s chill. Phoebe was delighted and hopped around the pen. However, the chickens were aghast. There was quite the pileup at the pop-door when they saw what was outside.

Curiosity and hunger overcame their consternation, and all of the hens have now ventured out.

The only hold out is Scooter. He remains curled up in a ball on his bed. When I walk by, he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t care a whit for the beauty of April snow.

Taking care of a horse is complicated and rife with worry. It is not just that these animals are big (though they are) but it is also because so much can go wrong.

The digestive system is large and yet sensitive to upsets, called colic. A twist in the gut can kill. Proper feeding is essential. Tonka is fed four flakes of hay day, a small scoop of grain, a probiotics supplement, and has plenty of water. Changes and stress can cause colic. The farm has a grassy field that the horses will take turns in (but not until this rainy spring is over and the sod has firmed up.) Because his paddock doesn’t have grass, I’ve been hand grazing him daily, gradually increasing the amount of fresh greens that he eats. We both enjoy this peaceful time near the wetlands, where birds are singing and the spring peepers (small frogs) are making a ruckus.

A horse carries himself (upwards of 1,000 pounds) plus a rider on four hooves, which aren’t simply solid cartilage – no, they have bones and capillaries and cushions, all of which can be damaged. The hoof walls are continuously growing, and so need to be filed. Some horses have to wear shoes to protect them from bruising and cracks. So far, I’ve been able to keep Tonka barefoot, which I prefer, both for financial reasons and because he has a beautiful natural angle to his hooves, which I’d like to preserve. However, shoes don’t hurt the horse, and if Tonka shows signs of hoof damage, I’ll have no qualms about having him shod. For now, every five weeks, Tonka’s farrier trims his feet. (My dogs, by the way, are given the hoof trimmings to chew on. They love it when Georgia comes!)

Being a farrier is back-breaking work. I don’t know how Georgia does it. But, she does, without complaint, and is even capable, while working, of answering my questions. She’s skilled and educated and I always learn something from her.

Horses teeth, too, are always growing, and do not wear down evenly. The edges can become so sharp that the horse gets ulcers in his mouth. Twice a year I  schedule a horse dentist to file Tonka’s teeth. After this session, Tonka was much relieved. Chewing his hay and holding the bit in his mouth was so much more comfortable!

And then there are communicable diseases to worry about. Thank goodness for vaccines. All of the horses at Tonka’s barn will be getting their spring shots tomorrow. EEE, rabies, tetanus, West Nile, and rhino.

As with any animal under our care, we can protect them only so much. Lyme disease is epidemic here. Injuries happen. I can only do the best that I can, stay as educated as I can, and as always, pay attention. One of the reasons that horses are so wonderful to be around is that they are expressive animals that communicate with us humans. I’m listening, Tonka.