Over the years, I’ve written a multitude of posts about chick care, and it’s all available through the search button, but finding the information that you need when you have those chicks peeping in the box has been difficult. So, I’ve put the most essential advice into a FAQ.

While writing Chick Care, I had to sort through old posts and photographs. What fun! Here is Veronica, giving me her exactly same gaze as she does today. Those personalities are obvious from the get-go if you look for them!

Please feel free to share the FAQ with others, and to share on Pinterest and FaceBook.

Having graduated from the KPA-TP course, I’ve decided to get back into being a professional trainer, and part of that plan is to have Tonka assist me. He is a young horse (9 years old) but sane and careful. He’s also one of those unique individuals who’s very presence calms down other horses. Tonka and I will be teaching others how to enjoy getting out of the riding ring and onto the trails. For horses who have always been restricted to a flat surface and told where to place their feet, a path through the woods can be scary. This is true for the riders, too! We’ll be there to guide and reassure.

Tonka and I haven’t gotten out for months. My trailer was under several feet of snow. The paths were too deep and too icy. But, before we can teach others, (our students include two retired Grand Prix dressage horses and a young horse who’s never been outside of a ring) we have to get the miles under us. I also need to scout out the best places to take my clients.

Yesterday we went to Hazel Grove, where there’s a big grassy riding field to stretch out in, and flat trails through the woods to walk down.

Even for a horse like Tonka, it’s asking a lot to leave his friends from the barn and to go out alone. Horses are herd animals, and can be insecure and scared when away from other horses. Tonka has to put his trust in me. We are a herd of two. A frightened horse can be dangerous. A horse’s first reaction to something that startles him is to flee and then look. I’d rather that Tonka not bolt off, but wait and ask me if everything is okay. There are different ways to train this. One method teaches the horse to be compliant. It doesn’t matter what happens, he behaves the same way, regardless of what is going on around him. This is taught by shutting down the horse’s natural flight reaction. In the science of behavior, it is called learned helplessness. This can feel safe to the rider, but to achieve this state requires training with punishment, which I don’t do. Besides, it’s not what I want. I want a cooperative horse, one that is calm because he’s thought through the situation and knows that he can handle it, one that trusts that communicating with me will be worthwhile and rewarding. I want an engaged partner. This takes time and skill, and it also takes listening to one’s horse. It paid off yesterday in an unusual way!

We were the only ones at Hazel Grove when we arrived at 10:30 am. Tonka and I warmed up in the field. He was a bit “high” which means he was on alert. There was tension in the way he moved, but we talked it over (my deep, calm breathing relaxed him) and I let him look around. He settled. So, we headed down the trail. About 400 feet into the woods we came across a tree blocking the way. I was riding “on the buckle” which means that the reins were loose. We stopped and I looked about to try to figure out how to get around the obstacle. A worried horse would have jigged or tried to wheel around to get back to the safety of the trailer. A compliant horse would have stood there like a statue. My cooperative horse put his head down and snuffled in the leaves. What the heck was he doing? There wasn’t any grass there for him to eat. He was clearly telling me that there was something on the ground that I should pay attention to. I looked. There was a small black leather purse. I got down and picked it up. Someone had lost their cell phone. I’ve known dogs who find things, but a horse? This is what happens when you allow a horse to be curious and to talk with you.

There was no convenient stump to use as a mounting block, so we walked the short way back to the trailering area. (I can get on without a stump, but it’s kinder on his back if I use one.) Tonka raised his head to alert me to something going on up ahead. Sure enough, things had changed. Two trailers had pulled up. I hoped that someone had arrived who was connected with the group that manages Hazel Grove. I could give them the phone to return. I asked a woman. She said, no, she’d just driven up from Rhode Island, which is two hours away. I said I’d found a phone. That’s mine! Her excitement was the first thing to rattle Tonka all morning. She had been to Hazel Grove the day before to do a 16 mile ride. She had no idea where she’d dropped her phone purse. So, she and a friend had returned with two horses, assuming they’d have to ride the full trail again, in the vain hope of finding the phone in the leaves. What a coincidence that we were there at the same time! If not for Tonka’s curiosity and communication, it would have remained lost. Tonka has a new fan.

We said our good-byes, and returned to the trail. Not many horses would have willingly left the company of other horses to go back into the woods. There wasn’t anything else to find and we had a pleasant, uneventful walk. Good boy, Tonka!

One of the many reasons that chickens seem so other to us is that their eyes are so different than ours. We’re used to reading emotion in eyes – squinting from puzzlement, tears from sadness, eyes open from surprise. Physically, birds can’t do those things.

Their eyeballs are mostly stationary. When we glance at something we can swivel our eyeballs. A hen can’t, instead she moves her head. Like birds, we have two fleshy eyelids, but we close our eyes by dropping the lower lids down. The hen does the reverse – she raises her lower lids to close her eyes. The hen’s blink is very rapid and you’ll rarely see it, though you might catch it when she’s about to doze, or when she’s preening.

A chicken has something that we don’t have – a nictitating membrane. This functions to clean and lubricate the eye’s surface. It slides horizontally over the eye, moving from the inside corner across the lens. Here is Beatrix in the nesting box.

In the time it took to snap this photo, the nictitating membrane swept over her eye

and disappeared again.

How hens see is for another post. I’m working on it.

In the meanwhile, you might want to read about goat eyes and eyesight here.

In my home library, I have a small volume, The Biggle Poultry Book. It was first published in 1895, but there is much wisdom in it for today’s chicken keeper. In the chapter, The Village Hennery (how wonderful is that phrase!) Mr. Biggle states, When confined in small yards they become unhealthy and unproductive.

I have a collection of these agriculture books from before the era of confinement and antibiotics. They all espouse the value of exercise for hens. My Girls agree.

Mr. Biggle discusses the differences in the energy level and roaming needs of the various breeds. Active breeds require higher fences. How true! The other day, Misty made her way halfway up the beech tree. She clambered down before I could get a photo. But here is Twiggy, who stayed on the ground because she was so busy eating grass and bugs. It didn’t take long for her crop to fill. That is a satisfied and healthy hen..

Note: I found my copy of the Biggle Book on EBay. A reproduction is available through

Spring is here, but we’ll see the effects of the hard winter for months to come. I’m not speaking about my garden, but rather my hens. Confinement, lack of loose dirt to scratch in, and boredom, leads to feather picking. Sometimes this is associated with bullying and aggression, but often it’s not. It’s a social behavior that relieves stress. Some hens, like Jasper, actually encourage the other hens to peck at the feathers at the base of her tail.

Owly’s feathers have been broken off by her flock mates.

Veronica prefers to have her neck feathers removed. She also lets the feathers near her vent get pecked at.

Some hens don’t take part in the pecking party. Misty doesn’t stand still long enough, and for whatever reason, Amber, the Buff Orpington, is as gorgeous as ever.

Although the breed of the hen can be a contributing factor to the likelihood of being pecked (or being the offending pecker), that’s not always the case. Of my two Rhode Island Reds, only one has damage, the other doesn’t have a single broken feather.

Hens grow new feathers only once a year. First they molt their old feathers (they drop off) and then new ones come in. This happens in the late summer and into the winter. (They stop laying at this time.) So, the roughed-up feathers that my hens now sport will be retained until autumn of next year. I’m going to have a scruffy-looking group.

There’s always the exception to the rule, and in my flock it is Twiggy. Twiggy did not molt with the others. She kept laying. She’s still laying – not daily, but she hasn’t had a break. Recently, though, I’ve noticed that she’s missing the feathers around her vent. No one gets near this fast and busy hen. It’s not feather picking. I think it’s a molt. Unique to her.

If the feather-picking had turned nasty, if skin showed, if blood was drawn, I would have intervened. I would have reevaluated housing and feed. I might have separated out the most avid of the feather-pickers. But, my flock remained peaceful and healthy. I let them be. If I took these birds to poultry shows, their feathering would be totally embarrassing. But, in my backyard, they’re fine. Spring is here. They have better things to do.