We weave all sorts of stories for why our animals do what they do. I left the house for a day and my cat was mad at me so peed on the bed and the dog knows to come but is blowing me off or the horse slams me into the wall because he has no respect for authority. Most of those stories are wrong. I don’t say that because I discount that animals have feelings. I do believe that animals are cognizant beings with emotional lives. But, when people talk about their pets, they often see them through their own skewed lens of being human.

I tell stories about my animals, too, and I don’t hesitate to use words like happy, clever and confused when talking about them. But, I like to think that at the base of my tales are truths about the who these animals truly are, not my own needs and emotions painted over them. To understand another, an other, one must pay close attention. I’m trained to do analyses of behavior. I start by noting all interactions and body language. I don’t assume that I know what is going on. I look for details and nuances. For example, a dog doesn’t just wag her tail. The tail might be held high, or low, it might be swinging fast, or slow, the hairs might be erect or flat. Those details give essential information.

We live in close contact with our dogs, and opportunities to observe them abound. Horses are more of a challenge. Tonka is boarded at a barn 20 miles from my home. Although I drive there daily, and stay a couple of hours, it’s still a limited block of time. When I arrive, I bring him in from a paddock, groom him, tack up and ride, then clean him off. I try to make time to hand-graze. I try not to rush, but our interactions are all within the context of me deciding what happens. It doesn’t allow for getting to know who he is on his own terms. Or for problem-solving situations that come up. For that, I need to step back and watch.

Tonka spends his days in a fenced area with Maggie. They get along okay. Horses who are best friends do mutual grooming, stand head to tail swishing flies off of each other, and eat together. Maggie and Tonka do none of those things. But, they greet each other with affectionate nose snorts and peaceably spend their days in the paddock. Mostly. Although there are two slow feed hay nets, I’ve noticed that when I arrive at the stable, I often see Tonka several feet from Maggie, while she polishes the last of the hay out of one of the nets. When there’s hay in both nets, I’ve seen her leave hers, threaten Tonka with pinned ears and move him away from his food. I’ve been concerned that Maggie isn’t letting Tonka eat all of his hay. (They get 2 flakes each in the morning, and another flake at noon. Later in the day, they get two more feedings when in their stalls.) Maggie was doing what is often seen in groups of animals in a confined space, she was resource guarding. In a more natural setting, the horses would be surrounded by acres of grass. One horse couldn’t claim all of the food, and so she wouldn’t even try. So, although Maggie was pinning her ears and showing her teeth to Tonka, I wouldn’t use the term aggressive, nor even the word mean,  nor greedy.  Those are all words with negative connotations, and once said usually instigate some sort of retaliation or punishment. Maggie was simply trying to keep all of the food for herself. Despite the fact that I didn’t use negative labels on Maggie, I did make assumptions. When I saw Tonka standing with his head lowered, facing Maggie twenty feet away while she ate, I assumed that my horse was dejected and hungry. But, I knew that my assumptions could be wrong, so, I decided to take the time to watch.

I arrived right at lunchtime when the horses were each given a flake of hay in  their respective nets. I sat down in the shade with a notebook and pen, and a timer. I recorded who ate, when and where, I recorded body language. (Were the ears pinned flat, or at an angle? Was he facing her, or was his back turned? Was a hoof cocked?)

I watched for an hour and a half. My assumptions were mostly wrong.

The two horses started out eating, each at their own net. Within five minutes, Maggie walked over to Tonka’s net. All it took from her were her ears pinned flat back and an outstretched neck. Tonka had seen that body language before, and he walked away. He stood quietly for about 5 minutes and I started to worry. Was he so fearful of Maggie that he wasn’t eating? But then at the seven minute mark, he calmly walked  over to the net that she had left. She didn’t even flick an ear in his direction. She didn’t move him away from the net. All was peaceful. They ate. And ate. After 50 minutes, Tonka moved off and stood in the shade. He was done eating. A third of his hay ration remained in the net. Maggie continued to eat. Tonka had a drink. He went back to nap in the shade. Maggie continued to eat. Once she finished at her net, she went over to finish what Tonka had left. So, it wasn’t that she was preventing him from eating! In this case, it was simply that Tonka had eaten his fill. All of those afternoons, when I’d arrived at the barn and seen only Maggie eating and not Tonka, I’d seen the end of the story. My assumptions were wrong.

What was also clear from my observations was that Maggie was eating a tad too much hay and that Tonka required more time to eat his. The solution is to continue to feed as we do outside. However, inside, Maggie’s rations are being reduced. Tonk’s might be increased. I’m keeping an eye on his weight.

Stories can change. How animals behave isn’t set in stone, Rather, it’s like that game of

. Upset one stick in the pile and everything changes. Recently, Tonka and Maggie were moved to the paddock to the left. Same rocky New England dirt. Same feed. Same hay nets. And yet, in this paddock Maggie was truly not letting Tonka eat. I put some hay in each feeder so that I could document the dynamics.

Tonka waited for Maggie to pick which hay net was hers before he walked over to the other to start eating.

 

Maggie decided that she would rather have Tonka’s hay, and moved him off with a bit of body language.

 

I was in the paddock taking the photos, and that changed the interactions a tad. Tonka looked over at me with a Did you see that? expression. I told him to go eat his hay, so he headed back down to the feeders.

 

Note that Maggie is eating stretched out at one net, and has her rear facing the other. All the better to claim both nets. Which she does. When Tonka arrived at the net on the left, Maggie swung around and threatened Tonka with teeth, then wheeled and showed off the kicking half.

 

You can see Tonka’s breeding here – daddy was an agile roping horse! As soon as he is safely out of her reach, Tonka walks in a relaxed way, back to me, once again saying, Did you see that?

 

I told him that I did and to go eat his hay. He tries once more, but he can’t get near either feeder.

 

So I gave him a pile of hay far away from Maggie.

 

She decided she’d rather eat off of the ground.

 

Tonka went back to the hay net.

 

But not for long. Maggie was persistent about claiming whatever hay that Tonka had.

 

This went on for fifteen minutes. At last, Tonk was allowed to finish the pile on the ground. Perhaps Maggie finally got hungry enough to stand in one place. Or perhaps she left him alone because I was standing closer to Tonka. I’ve got some well-understood body language, too!

 

Despite this drama, I wouldn’t label Maggie as bossy or mean. In a paddock where there’s no grass, a pile of hay is a resource to be guarded. At least this is true in her mind. Other horses at the farm share hay nets with their friends. Maggie does not. Behavior like this is often determined early in a horse’s life. Possibly at weaning, or even before. If Maggie ever experienced a limited food supply, she would carry that memory with her.

I don’t like seeing Tonka pushed around. However, there has never been any physical contact between the two horses. Tonka has never had a bump or scratch on him from Maggie. He’s very good at reading body language and moving out of the way. And moving around isn’t all that bad. Horses are designed to walk. Studies show that horses in more natural settings spend 60 to 70% of their day walking while grazing. That’s not possible in a dirt paddock. (In my area, it’s rare to have grass pasture. The trade-off at this barn is excellent care, facilities, and people, and the trainer that I want to work with.) Perhaps I should consider Maggie Tonka’s exercise coach? There are only thirteen horses at Tonka’s barn. The barn owners try their best to be match-makers. Tonka has yet to find a best buddy. Tonka and Maggie get along fine when there’s no food involved. Being with Maggie is better than being in a paddock by himself. Maggie will have to do for now.

In any event, there was an easy solution to returning to the feeding detente between these two. It was obvious to me which stick in the pile had upset the equilibrium. I mentioned a solution to the barn owner and the next day all was fixed. In this paddock, the hay had been put into nets that are near enough to each other that Maggie could physically control both of them. Fortunately, there’s a third net further down the fence line, and that’s where Tonka’s hay is being put. Now that there is space between the two horses all is fine.

(Tonka is turning away from the net to come and say hello to me. It’s hard taking photographs when your horse is happy to see you!)

I’ll keep watching. You never know what’s going to change the story.

I’m available to do this sort of observation and behavior analysis for your horses (or other animals). Read about what I do at my other website, The Cooperative Horse. The first consultation is free. Email me.

WARNING: graphic photograph

A leading cause of death in caged laying hens is fatty liver disease. Also called FLHS or Fatty Liver Hemorrhagic Syndrome, it’s a disease in which the liver becomes compromised and eventually hemorrhages. Fat can no longer be processed and it is deposited on the organs and in the body cavity. Although the way that we care for our backyard hens seemingly has little in common with the industrial agriculture model of confinement in small cages and cheap food, our small flocks are also succumbing to fatty liver disease.

This is bad news, because the hens quickly loose vitality and die, but also good news, because it is entirely preventable.

FLHS is primarily caused by feeding too many carbohydrates, usually in the form of corn. This excess energy can’t be processed – basically the liver gives out trying. You might be feeding corn and say that you don’t have a problem. This is because unlike caged birds, most backyard hens are getting exercise and can burn some of the excess energy off. Also, caged birds succumb to FLHS because they are additionally stressed by confinement and high temperatures. However, even if kept in optimal conditions, as chickens age, they become more susceptible to the disease. I’ve seen and heard of many cases of fatty liver disease in backyard flocks.

When hens in commercial flocks die of fatty liver disease, it’s because the companies are cutting corners, feeding cheap grains, jamming the birds into cages, and not keeping the buildings clean and dry. Our chickens don’t live under those conditions, but they’re still getting FLHS. Why? The answer is that we are loving our hens to death.

Cracked corn is like candy to hens, and once they learn the sound of a can of corn rattling, they’ll come running. I know, because I’ve trained mine to come, and it’s hilarious and a lot of fun to watch (See video here.) But, corn, or the similar product of scratch grains, is nothing but empty calories. There’s no reason to feed it to your hens. Even “scratch grains” are not necessary to feed. I do have corn on hand for calling the hens back to the run, but I know the danger of feeding too much. Each hen gets less than a teaspoon as a treat and I don’t feed it on a daily basis.

 

 

I don’t because I’ve seen this:

 

You won’t find photos like this on veterinary sites or in research sponsored by the agriculture industry because this is what happens to an older hen with fatty liver disease. Even if you’re not feeding corn, this can happen. Sometimes it’s caused by bread and pasta. Whatever the excess carb, the liver is destroyed and the body cavity fills with thick fat. Often, when a chicken stands like a penguin and looks listless, the hen keeper thinks “egg bound.” That’s rarely the case. More often, it’s this.

But, it’s preventable! Don’t feed cracked corn on a daily basis, and if you do, offer it only as a training treat. Provide lots of interesting scraps from your kitchen, but make sure they’re vegetables and the like, not leftover breads and rice. Give your hens plenty of exercise and sunshine. Give them protection from extreme heat. There are so many diseases that we can’t prevent, but this one we can.

Please share this post with your hen-keeping friends. Let’s get the word out.

It’s time to wake up,

 

and face the sun.

 

I’ve been gardening on this property for a dozen years, and in that time I’ve had plenty of failures (for the life of me I can’t grow clematis!) but one success every summer has been sunflowers. Each year I plant more, and make sure that I have plenty of variety in color, size and height.

 

 

(Note the jagged petals – birds eat them.)

 

I purchase

 from my local plant nursery. Always read the labels – although the “pollen-free” varieties are tidier in cut flower arrangements, there’s nothing there for the bees.

It’s not only the flowers which are beloved here. I give the stalks to the goats, who think that the leaves are delicious and that the tough stems are good for head scratches.

Not, yet, boys. The sunflowers will stay in the garden awhile longer!

The other day, a small drama played itself out in the Little Barn’s pen. Veronica, the Marans hen, has gone broody. Midday, she took her bad-tempered and ruffled-feather self out of the nest to eat, drink, poop, dust bathe and preen. Broody hens look different – their feathers not only stick straight up, making them look larger and of a different shape, but they’ve often pulled some feathers out of their breast (the better to incubate those eggs that they deludedly believe that they have.) Different is not welcome in a flock. The other hens pecked at her head and chased her off.

In a free-range situation, Veronica could have put distance between herself and the flock and all would have calmed down. But my girls are in a fenced pen, safe from predators (and my garden safe from them.) If it was a bare enclosure, Veronica might have been cornered and harmed, so to prevent carnage, I provide several escape routes. The one that Veronica chose was the old ladder roost.

 

It’s under the

, which makes it bearable on a very hot day. Even better, for a bad-tempered broody, it’s in full view of everyone, but safe from them. In between preening, Veronica yattered away. But, up on the ladder, no one took notice of her. Not even the goats.

 

*Notice Veronica’s bare bottom. It’s nothing that I worry about. The skin color is normal, there’s no sign of damage from pecking. It’s not due to external parasites. My best layers often have bald spots. After last winter’s cold, snowy confinement, my flock is looking especially ragged. The girls won’t replace the worn out patches until after the molt late summer. They’re not up to beauty pageant standards, but that’s okay with all of us.

It’s the last day of Phoebe Week, but I promise you that there will be more posts about the birds that have taken up residence on my front porch.

We’ve watched these slight little birds with the funny tufts of feathers on their heads,

 

build a stunningly beautiful nest and lay eggs the size of nickels.

 

Each day, in succession, another perfect egg was laid until there were five. They all hatched successfully.

 

I can’t say that the hatchlings were as pretty as the eggs, but no matter, even better, they show off their dinosaur ancestry. In five days they transformed from bare, wobbly, eyes-sealed-shut, helpless beings to these voracious and demanding creatures.:

 

Soon, they’ll leave the ledge on the porch.

Then these Eastern Phoebes will enter the wide world.

 

It’s not simply a bigger space, with food to find. It’s a community, and not just of other Phoebes. Birds are aware of and know other species of birds. They’re familiar with the squirrels and the chipmunks. The birds in my yard know my dogs and my goats. They know me. There’s a wonderful book,

, that gives insight into these communities of animals and how birds relate to them and to each other. Once you, the human, knows what to look for, a whole world of interactions opens up to view.

Over the last couple of weeks, watching the Phoebes, I realize that I have more questions than answers. When I do school visits, I tell the children to put on their science thinking hats, and they all pretend to tie a cap to their heads and then look at me with serious thinking faces. I then pose a question like, What do birds not have in their mouths? The answer is: teeth. Then the next question, How do they chew? The answer is: by swallowing rocks that go into the gizzard, which grinds food. As I watch the Phoebes, I put on my science thinking cap. The more that I watch the birds, the more I don’t know. Where do the parents sleep? If they reuse the nest, do they repair it for the next year. If so, how? If I remove the nest, will they rebuild in the same place? How far away do the Phoebes look for food? The survival rate for fledglings can’t be very high – if it were we’d be overrun with Phoebes (ten babies a year!) What’s the biggest risk? Do the ones that do live stay in the neighborhood? Do they return home after they migrate in the fall? Have you read a book that answers some of these questions? Do you have a natural history book to suggest for my summer reading list? It doesn’t have to be about birds. I recently read

by Katherine Courage. Now that’s an animal I’d like to get to know.