It’s raining. It’s pouring. All of the sensible hens are indoors (that leaves Lulu and the Polish out getting soaked.)

Being indoors is boring, and that can lead to problems. Bored hens peck each other. If blood gets drawn, they’ll keep pecking and it can get so bad that they’ll kill. You’re more likely to have issues if the indoor space is tight. Many of the prefab coops on the market claim to be suitable for a certain number of chickens – but, that’s assuming that the hens also go outside. Often these chicken tractors and small coops have indoor space for nesting boxes, but not roosts. Chickens need a minimum of two square feet of floor space per animal. Chickens of all one breed, as seen on most commercial farms, tend to get along more easily than flocks composed of different sizes, colors and temperaments. Mixed backyard flocks need generous floor space and multi-tiered roosts. On snowy, stuck-indoors days, my tiny bantams, Betsy and Coco, stay out of the way under the nesting boxes. The bigger girls claim spaces on the roosts, and everyone avoids crazy Lulu who paces the floor. If all they had were three nesting boxes and a short roost (as is seen in coops advertised for “up to ten chickens”) there’d be bloodshed.

Keeping the girls amused with greens keeps everyone healthy. I’ve attached a suet feeder inside the coop and on bad-weather days fill it with whatever vegetables I have around. Today my garden has overgrown lettuce, so I clipped a bunch and gave it to the hens. They’ll peck at it instead of each other. Also, feeding greens through the fall and winter is a good nutritional supplement.

It’s also nice for the bunny!

There’s no crowding problem in the big barn. The floor is about 12 foot square, and there are roosts and nesting boxes. Only seven hens live in this palatial coop, but I still like to give them something to do during inclement weather. The sunflowers have gone to seed and are falling over in the garden, so I tossed them two. Even the old, arthritic hens, Eleanor and Edwina, are appreciative.

On a dreary, rainy day, it’s satisfying to take a moment in the barn with content birds. Now I’ll make myself a cup of tea. Then, I’d better see what I can do to keep Lily Dog from going stir-crazy.

I am always thrilled to pieces to hear that HenCam, my blog and Tillie Lays an Egg have inspired others. I’ve heard from people who got chickens, and goats(!) because of what they’ve  seen on the cams. Teachers and libraries have created entire programs centered around chickens. I get especially happy to hear that my girls have becomes muses to artists. Recently, I heard from a potter who asked if she could send me something in thanks. Today I got this in the mail:

Julia, the artist, says that it was Tillie who provided the inspiration for this:

It has holes for hanging, but it’s on my kitchen counter, already useful as a spoon rest.

Thank you, Julia! To see more of her work, go to her etsy store.

Yesterday was the opening day of the Fryeburg Fair, which is one of the classic New England fairs. Sure, there’s fried food and a midway, but the real show is in the barns, where there are 4-H kids dressed in white, tired looking parents, grandparents in overalls wielding pitchforks, and stalls full of animals.

Piglets are cute.

But they grow up to be this big, so I didn’t bring one home.

Speaking of big, look at these gorgeous spotted steers.

Even bigger, was this oxen team. I think they were the gentlest animals at the fair. The owner says they work for cheese doodles and head scratches.

I’d rather be around those massive oxen with their sharp horns, than this llama with her annoyed expression.

There were also border collies herding sheep, ginormous draft horses, goats, chickens, ducks, geese, pheasants, and a whole barnful of rabbits! I thought about taking this Harlequin bunny home.

But I didn’t. I did come home with maple sugar sprinkles and goat milk soap in the shape of a tractor, which was enough.

Pip:  Peanuts?

Yes, Pip, you can have two.

Pip:  Just two?

Yes, it’s not good for goat boys to eat too much rich food.

Pip:  But I can look even cuter. Please?

No.

Caper:  She’s just keeping them for herself. I bet there’s more in here.

Let go of the zipper.

Caper:  It won’t hurt to have three peanuts. Just three.

No.

Pip:  Oh so sad and hungry! See, I’m not wagging my tail anymore.

Okay, okay. But this is the last one.

Thanks, Goat Maid. You can have one too.

The summer that I was five years old, my brothers went to sleep-away camp. My mother, worried that I would be lonely, got me a guinea pig. His name was Chester and he had belonged to a family who no longer wanted him. He was full-grown and a chestnut brown and I thought him the most beautiful animal in the world. I didn’t miss my brothers at all. A few weeks later, when told that my brothers would be coming home soon, I howled and cried, thinking that their return meant that I had to give Chester back. Given a choice between siblings and Chester, I much preferred the piggy. As it turned out, I got to have both.

Chester lived in a plastic baby bathtub in my room that was layered with newspaper and bedded with hay. Hay at the pet store was expensive so we went to a feed store. It was an old building next to a railroad track. I was allowed to go into the loft and fill a paper bag with loose hay and it didn’t cost a thing. I remember the slants of light on the wooden floor, the quiet, and the green of the bales, a color unique to hay. It was timothy, and I recall it’s ticklish feel. Mostly, though, I remember the smell. There is nothing like the smell of hay.  It speaks of meadows and grazing animals, and of animals closed up in fragrant barns in winter. Later in my life, I would know what it was like to throw bales into a moving wagon, and the itchiness of sweat mixed with hay dust after a long day of working on a farm. I’d know about waking at five am to feed a barn full of hungry horses, and of opening bale after bale and tossing flakes to the animals. But, even at the age of seven, before I’d experienced any of that, the hay spoke of it, and I knew.

I bought hay for the goats today.

I bought two bales. I could buy more and have it delivered, but it makes me happy to go to Erikson Grain. The guy who loaded my car asked, a bit incredulous, “in here?” I drive a BMW. “Yes,” I said. The BMW smells just right now.