It’s been a couple of years since I wrote my FAQ on keeping a rabbit in with the flock. It was pre-Phoebe. There were no photos. I’ve revised it. In doing so, I went through years of photos and found this gem. Some of you will remember Candy, the Empress of the Barnyard. Here she is, talking to Pip, when he was still a youngster.

No doubt she was imparting some kernel of wisdom. Did Pip listen? I’m not sure. His brother, Caper, is the smartest of the Goat Boys.

Tonka was born in Dripping Springs, Texas on February 11, 2006. His sire was a black and white paint stud, named Last Chance Investment, who was known locally as quite a good roping horse. Tonka’s dam was also a black and white paint. Her name was Moon King Bea. As far as I know, for his first four years he was pretty much left alone by people. He lived in a large group of horses, likely with his aunties and cousins. He learned how to read horse body language from the mamas who kept him in line. He was outside 24/7, able to graze all day and during the night, too (horses wander and graze at all hours.) That made him strong and kept him sane – horses are designed to forage, not stand in one place and eat only a few times a day. Tonka and the other youngsters played games, which is essential if you want a horse to know how to relate to others. Animal ethologists and behaviorists have recently learned that play isn’t about asserting dominance or even, among predators, all about learning to hunt. Rather, it’s about cementing social relationships, and it’s important for brain development. For horses, who are amenable herd animals, and who must get along with others in order to survive, play is not frivolous time. It’s necessary.

Tonka was lucky to grow up in a herd. Socializing with other youngsters and aunties is more essential than constantly being handled by people. In fact, foals that are kept stalled and separated from the group often have behavioral issues. When Tonka was four, he was purchased by a kind rider, who taught him gently about saddles and life with people. She brought him up to Maine, and although she loved him, could no longer own him. When I first met Tonka, it was clear to me that this was a horse with a sound mind. It’s why I bought him. The fact that he is handsome is icing on the cake.

Back there in Texas, in his herd, Tonka learned how to gallop, to watch his footing, and to take care of himself. And so, when I ride him out on the trails, I respect what he has to say. Some people teach their horses to be compliant – to always and only do exactly what is asked of them. You see this with horses trained in “natural horsemanship” in which they are chased around until they give up and either do as told, or do nothing. I don’t want that relationship with Tonka. I want a cooperative horse. I want a dialog. Here’s an example. Last summer I was riding Tonka on a trail in the woods. We were walking along when he stopped dead in his tracks. If I had a compliant horse, I would have told him to go on, and he would have. But, I have a cooperative horse, one who trusts that if there is an issue, that I’ll weigh it with him. I looked to see what he was alerting me to. A yellow jacket (a very nasty wasp) zipped past. It’s uncommon to see them in the trees. Tonka took a moment to cautiously look for a ground nest. There wasn’t one in our way. We continued on. I was grateful not only for his caution, but also that we were able to communicate about what we both knew about the trail. This is not to say that I let him do what he wants. I do assert my right to be in charge of the decisions. He’s learned that if we disagree about something that worries him, (for example, he has a fear of wild rabbits) that if I insist that we go on, that nothing bad will happen. Trust is built, not forced.

 

Today Tonka turns nine. A horse reaches his prime in his teens. With luck and good care a horse can be ridden into their late twenties. Here’s to a lot of good years, Tonka!

(That’s his I just had a peppermint candy face.)

As you’ve noticed, it keeps on snowing. It’s like we’re in a fairytale with an evil King who won’t allow the seasons to change. We’re New Englanders. We’re used to challenging winter weather. But this is record-breaking snowfall and although we like to think of ourselves as stoic – we pride ourselves on our fortitude in the face of adversity – this is a bit much, even for us.

 

Here I am heading out to check on the animals. It is 2 pm. Steve snapped this photo from inside of the mudroom door. Just so you know, although he often, very kindly, does the barn chores first thing in the morning, I also do them in this weather!

 

There’s a reason that I had a barn built – not a little prefab coop the size and height of a rabbit hutch (that I’ve railed against in numerous posts.) On a day like this I’m oh so grateful for an indoor area that has storage for tools and the chicken feed.

 

The hens are grateful for the light and the space. It’s a winter like this that confirms that my criteria for chicken coop design of a minimum of 4 square feed per hen of inside space is not excessive. My chickens are active and despite the lack of outside time, there aren’t any pecking order issues.

 

In fact, the Girls are content enough to be laying.

 

The biggest challenge so far has been what to do with the manure.

 

The manure pile is out back, beyond those two trees.

 

I am not about to trudge out through snow up past my waist. I have an alternate manure pile in the goats’ paddock, and a short path will be shoveled out to that tomorrow.

My family doesn’t ski, and the snow is too deep to take the dogs for walks in the woods, so none of us are particularly enjoying this bounty of snow. For now we are all staying safe and cozy indoors. Even Tonka is dry and well-cared for at his stable a half-hour away. There is, however, one amongst us who is having the best winter, ever.

The snow hasn’t stopped coming. We haven’t had a thaw. Is this what it’s like to live in Hobbit-land during the winter?

This sort of weather poses challenges to the flock owner, but perhaps not what you think. This morning when Steve let the animals out (thank you for doing that chore!) it was -6° F. The cold isn’t going to directly harm the Girls. The hens are eating, drinking, active and showing no signs of cold stress (no shivering, no frostbite.)

If you’ve read my blog for any time at all, you know that three things are required to keep your hens healthy: plenty of space, sunshine and good ventilation. All of those are compromised because of the snow.

The run has been shoveled as best we can, but It’s down to a fifth of its normal area. Because the hens are crowded, I add extra bedding, and keep them from getting bored with treats in the suet feeder. My hens have good-sized coops with plenty of roosting bars. That keeps the pecking pressure reduced, as well.

The hens continue to go outside, but we’ve had far too few brightly sunny days. The piles of snow block the light that there is. And now, there’s another issue. The coop is darker than it usually is because the windows are iced over.

 

Interior icing is due to too much moisture in the air – it comes from the hens’ breathing and from the water in their manure. Just because the poop is frozen doesn’t mean that it’s not contributing to damp in the barn. The Little Barn has excellent ventilation. It has a working cupola. Air comes in the pop door and flows up and out through this effective vent at the roof. But, right now, that cupola is covered in snow.

 

Someone has to get up there, on a ladder, with a broom, and clear it off. Someone. Not me. Thanks, Steve! I suppose he can wait until the snowstorm that is coming on Monday passes by. After it dumps another foot of snow.

In the meanwhile, the temperature hovers in the single digits, but the door is open during the day.

 

The hens are fine with that.

It’s snowing. Again. Despite shoveling, the hens’ outdoor space has been reduced to a modest rectangle, enclosed by four-foot walls of white. Less space and dreary days can instigate pecking and feather picking amongst the girls. I’ve been proactive, trying to stave off the cabin fever that leads to bad habits.

Chickens are hard-wired to move about and forage all day. Don’t be tempted, during the cold of winter, to give them a big bowl of warm treats in the morning. They’ll gorge and then stand around. Instead, give them something interesting to do that will keep them busy for hours.

Every day, the students in Ms. Sibilia’s classroom in Florida, watch my animals. They’ve been vicariously enjoying the snow, (and asking excellent questions about the science of weather – these are model students who think!) The class decided that the critters needed a special winter treat. With great generosity, they pooled their resources and sent me a check to “help feed the animals.” With their gift in hand, I went right out to the market. I was thinking of buying a pumpkin, or maybe a big bunch of kale, but what I found was a truly special food for the hens. I only buy locally raised corn on the cob, and this time of year even imported corn is usually unavailable, but I guess that down in Georgia, someone still had a store of fresh ears. I bought four.

I have

 in the coops that I use to provide treats to the Girls. The Big Barn has enough room to have one hanging from a chain. It takes effort to peck at the corn. A challenge is mentally and physically good for all animals.

 

I don’t recommend feeding quantities of hard, dried scratch corn to your flock. It’s too high in carbohydrates, without useful protein and minerals. But, fresh corn is another story. It’s more water than concentrated calories, and the suet feeder prevents guzzling it down too quickly. The corn distracted and engaged the hens all day. If you don’t have fresh corn cobs, the packaged frozen ears will do (I’d defrost before putting them out.)

 

The goats ate the husks – one of their very favorite treats.

 

Pip says All done. Thank you, Ms. Sibilia’s class!