If you have a small flock, say three or five, or seven hens, at some point you’re going to want to add another chicken. Just one or two. For a few more eggs, perhaps, or maybe you went to a poultry show and couldn’t resist a pretty grey chicken. Or, maybe you’re satisfied with your flock, but someone calls and says that a fox got all of their hens, but one, and now she needs a new home. So you welcome her. We’ve all done this. I’ve done this. Buffy came to me because an aggressor in her flock aimed to kill her. I took in Tina and Siouxsie when they were a year old.

Taking in a mature hen is a huge risk. Huge. It’s one that I no longer take. Even the healthiest-looking hen, from a known flock, can bring disease onto your property.

There are precautions that you can take. You can do an external examination to look for parasites such as lice and scaly leg mites. You can check for signs of health, like clear eyes and colorful combs. You can go a step further and isolate the new stock for 10 days to see if they develop any signs of disease. But, that still won’t be enough. Perfectly healthy looking hens can be carriers. I once bought a Rhode Island Red pullet from a known breeder. She was hale, hearty, glossy and vibrant. Within a week every bird in my flock came down with a severe respiratory disease. They required medication. The Rhode Island Red never took a raspy breath.

Hens can be carriers of many diseases and you’ll never know it. They’ll look fine. But, when a chicken is stressed (and joining a new flock is very stressful) what had been a latent virus will shed, and hens that had previously not been exposed to that pathogen, will get sick.

I recently talked with a woman who had four laying hens. She went to a local poultry dealer and bought two more. Within days her older hens’ heads were covered with lesions; they had gotten fowl pox from the newcomers. The new hens never showed symptoms.

Perhaps you have successfully integrated hens into your flock and you are saying to yourself, “I’ve done this, and it’s a small risk.” I used to say that, too. But, not long ago I talked to a woman who had the worst experience. She had four chickens who were getting older, and she wanted a few more. She went to a local farm and bought 3 hens, including the prettiest Favorelles. She did everything right. She kept them in isolation, and when she added them to the flock all was peaceful. But, not long after that, her original hens got very, very sick. The Favorelles were carriers of a horrible disease called Infectious Laryngitis. It’s telltale sign is coughed up blood. She lost her entire flock.

The least risky way to add to a flock is to bring in chicks. This is what I’ll do this spring. I can, because I have the space, time and ability to raise them. They’ll arrive vaccinated for Marek’s disease and coccidiosis. They’ll be gradually exposed to the barnyard environment and so will develop natural immunity to whatever infectious agents are floating around in the dust and are harbored in the dirt.

I realize that raising chicks isn’t possible for everyone. If you’re limited by zoning to only three hens, and you’re down to just one, of course you’ll want to bring in two new pullets. I would. You might luck out. You might get a Buffy, who lives to a great old age. But, plan for the worse. Be hyper-alert for signs of illness. Caught early enough and treated aggressively, many diseases aren’t lethal. My flock is proof of that.

What are your experiences with bringing adult hens into your flock? Have you had problems with disease?

What could those be? Why look!

Eggs!

It appears that feeding alfalfa really does work to increase winter egg production. The first week of January the 12 Gems laid a total of 5 eggs. On January 6 I began feeding alfalfa leaves. I collected one egg a day, until yesterday, when I found 4 eggs in the nesting box! (Yes, I know there’s only 3 in the photo, I’d already collected the first egg laid by Garnet at 8 am.) I’m betting that there will be more eggs laid today (the seventh day of the experiment) so, egg production more than doubled!

This is, admittedly, a very unscientific test of the value of alfalfa. To really know what caused the egg laying to increase, I’d have to have a control group of exactly the same breeds and age. There are so many variables that affect laying. It was especially warm this week, in the 40s, and that could have encouraged the laying. But, it was also dreary and dark, which should have discouraged it. Days are lengthening, but not by that much. In my experience with two-year-old hens, laying doesn’t kick into gear until the end of February.

I’ve heard from some of you that you feed alfalfa, both in the cubes and in the baled form. Some swear by it, and some say it doesn’t increase winter egg production. In any event, alfalfa is a good source of greens, something that hens should get daily, but that are in short supply in winter. Alfalfa in the cubed form is a convenient source of greens, but the quality varies. To make the cubes (which are rather like huge rabbit pellets) the stems are ground up and included. Some brands mix in regular hay. It can be stored for long periods. What I’m feeding is a step up from that. My hens are getting leaves from this year’s crop. The leaves are the most nutritious part of the plant and contain the most protein and nutrients. They’re easily digested.

I’m optimistic that the alfalfa leaves are making a difference. I’m hoping that I can fill an egg carton this week. If so, I’ll be making chocolate meringue pie next weekend!

One query that I frequently get asked is, “Can bantams and big hens live together?”

Bantams are tiny hens, no more than about two pounds. A standard-sized hen weighs in at four or more pounds.The worry is that the big hens will shove the little ones around, that the pecking order will never settle down, and that day in and day out the bantams will be harassed.

This could, I suppose, be the case, but it doesn’t have to be. You can have a peaceful mixed flock, it just takes adjusting the environment for the hens’ needs.

Bantams tend to be quicker and flightier than their more earthbound cousins. Provide them with outside and inside roosts so that they can separate themselves from the bossy big girls. Also, if the nesting boxes are hung about 6 inches off of the ground, the bantams can go under to hide out, and the large hens can’t reach them. Make sure that food and water dispensers are hung so that there are no corners that the banties get trapped in. And, as always, give the chickens an interesting environment so that there are things to think about other than how jealous the hens are of each other.

Do that and you will have this.

Edwina, an almost 8-year-old Barred Rock, with Betsy, an almost 6-year-old Bantam White Leghorn

Sweet, isn’t it?

Thank you for your thoughtful and loving comments about Candy. What comes through is that you knew her. You understood that she was demanding, crotchety, sociable, curious and imperious. She had a wicked sense of humor, but was never mean. You knew this because Candy lived a life where she was able to express who she was. You knew her because you paid attention. You knew her because you didn’t want her to be anything other than what she was.

It’s a message that I try to get across subtly, sideways through the stories that I write about my animals. But, let me be blatant here. Candy lived where she could fully express who she was. She had an interesting environment that changed through the seasons. She had other animals to interact with. She had human caregivers who were kind and consistent in their interactions with her.

If Candy had lived alone in a hutch and had been visited but once a day, her life would have been boring. She would have been boring. Also, Candy felt safe. So much so that she’d tease the dogs so that they would chase her from the other side of the fence. Secure and free from fear, she had plenty of energy and time to get into mischief! Give an animal an interesting, safe and appropriate environment and that animal will blossom.

But, it wasn’t just the environment that brought out Candy’s full personality, it was that I was willing to see it. Candy was as adorable as could be. Often, with a pet as cute as that, we allow our own desires for “fur-babies” to obscure the true nature of the animal. This can result in improper care because it becomes geared more to the owner’s needs than what is best for our companions. Want an example? House chickens. Need I say more?…okay, I will… little dogs who are carried everywhere.

In caring for my animals, I try to be as consistent as possible. This allows me to be alert to changes in behavior. It also opens the channels of communication. For example, I always let Candy out before attending to the chickens. One day, I opened the chickens’ door first. Candy rang her bell in annoyance. She quite clearly expressed her outrage. Without the schedule, without me paying attention, without her confidence that her actions had an effect, the bell ringing wouldn’t have happened. She would have remained simply a cute bunny, and we would not have seen the inner imperious queen.

Years ago, I adopted a dog from a shelter. She was a gorgeous ball of white fluff with grey rings around her eyes. She had first been dropped off at the shelter with her litter mates, and was quickly adopted. She was brought back 2 months later for excessive chewing and other misbehaviors. She was immediately adopted, A month later she was returned to the shelter yet again. By the time I got Nimbus, her dossier included destructive behavior and biting. Nimbus was very smart and she rightly believed that no one was as intelligent as herself. Certainly, no one communicated anything that made sense. It took me a month to convince her that I would listen to her, and finally she listened to me. Later on we took up agility. We made it to the masters level. Such stories are not uncommon with dogs. But, they are not often applied to other animals, and yet they should be. All animals communicate with us. We could have simply loved Candy for her adorableness and enjoyed looking at her. But we did more. We paid attention. We communicated. And she talked back. All animals have unique personalities. Luckily for us, Candy was an Empress. How fortunate we are to have been her subjects during her reign.

Yesterday afternoon Candy looked fine, she had spent the day as always, visiting with the hens, talking to the goats, sprawling on the snow, and basically lording it over the backyard animal community. I brought her a carrot, which she ate. But, at bedtime she did not eat her banana chips. Something was very wrong. We brought her inside to keep an eye on her, but there was nothing more to be done. She died peacefully early this morning.

Candy, at the age of one.

Candy was such a vibrant personality that, day to day, it was hard to remember how very old she was. Intellectually, I had expected that at some point this year that she would succumb to old age. But, it still came as a heart-wrenching surprise. In a way I’m grateful that it happened as it did, quickly and without suffering.

In the summer of 2004, I took my seven year-old son to the local pet store to get him a rabbit. His beloved bunny, Spot, had recently died and he was bereft. Spot had been a house bunny, or, more specifically, my son’s bedroom bunny. Spot didn’t like anyone other than his boy. My son has a way with rabbits. At the pet store, there were a dozen young bunnies to choose from. I picked up a sweet, cuddly spotted one. My son wasn’t interested. He pointed to Candy and said, “that one.” I picked up Candy. She was clearly annoyed. I said, “I don’t think so. This one is not going to be easy.” He said, “I want that one.” And so Candy came home with us.

She spent a year in my son’s bedroom, and then we thought to put her outside with the chickens. Candy immediately became the Empress of the Barnyard. My vet visited a couple of years ago and said that Candy was the happiest and healthiest rabbit he had ever seen (and he loves rabbits).

Candy was demanding. Heaven forbid that I was late to let her out of her hutch in the morning! She’d ring her bell and make a ruckus. Candy had rules. Hens were not allowed in her hutch (unless invited in). She was to be fed two (not one) banana chips at bedtime. On dreary days she got to sit in the sand-filled dust bath in the coop, not the hens. And yet, she had this centered, calm, zen-like personality. The chickens would be squawking and carrying-on around her, and she’d be sitting statue-still, as if meditating. I think she was.

Candy would have been nine years old this March. She was a very old bunny. She had a very good life. She will be greatly missed.

It will warm up enough to bury her under the peach tree today.

I will get another rabbit, when and what breed I don’t know yet. Today I’m just thinking of Candy. I expect that a lot of you will be as sad as I am to say good-bye to her. I welcome your comments and memories, but you’ll understand that I’m not up to responding. I have barn chores to do today, which is good, as that’s where I need to be when I’m sad. But, I’ll miss Candy’s supervision.