I have a large vegetable garden.

Ostensibly, I harvest the vegetables to put on my own table.

But, I have a few others to share with.

This is fine with me. They like the parts that I don’t.

The goats get the carrot tops.

Phoebe gets the twisty, gnarly, split carrots.

The hens get the weeds and the overgrown cucumbers and zucchini. Not to mention the chard leaves chewed by insects.

What the girls don’t eat gets turned into compost and goes back into the garden.

The birds and the bees get the sunflowers.

My harvest is divided up among many, but there’s still plenty for me.

Who do you share your garden with?

I didn’t need to isolate Opal for more than six hours to decide the next course of action. (To read why I isolated this hen, start here.) This is what I learned:

Although Opal would occasionally stand like a penguin, most of the time, she had a normal posture.

Although at first Opal was lethargic, within an hour she kicked the shavings out. She ate and drank.

It was four hours before she passed manure (which is a long time for a chicken) but the feces were normal in color, size and firmness. This was very good to see. Diarrhea and stringy black, or worse, green, manure is an indication of serious problems.

However, Opal did not lay an egg.

There was nothing more to learn. I put her back in the with flock. The next morning, Opal looked okay. If I hadn’t seen her off behavior the day before, I wouldn’t have noticed the subtle lack of vigor that she still presented. My best guess, and it is only a guess – don’t believe anyone who gives you a definitive prognosis in a case like this – is that there is some sort of glitch going on in her reproductive tract. The good news is that Opal doesn’t have an infection, and it’s not yet life-threatening. Perhaps there is a malformed egg inside of her that she needs to expel. Perhaps she internally laid an egg. (The reproductive tract is not a closed system, and eggs can and do drop into the abdominal cavity.) Perhaps she was briefly constipated. All of those issues can be alleviated by a simple therapy, an epsom salt soak.

I’m not one for most “natural” or herbal remedies (I’m quite the skeptic) but epsom salts truly are a cure-all for many minor ailments. It’s the basis of my spa treatment. Epsom salt is a combination of magnesium and sulfate. You can find it in the pharmacy, as it’s used by people as a laxative and as a foot soak. For such a simple and inexpensive product, it has many curative functions. The magnesium improves circulatory health, flushes toxins, improves muscle and nerve function, maintains the proper level of calcium in the blood (very important for hens!) and increases oxygen use. The sulfates help form brain tissues and joint proteins, creates mucin proteins that line the digestive tract, detoxifies contaminants, and improves absorption of nutrients. Obviously, it’s a general and potent cure-all. Fortunately, it is absorbed readily through the skin, which makes treatment with it easy.

I put 2 cups of epsom salts into a tub of very warm water. Some hens love a soak. Opal needed a gentle push with my hand to get down into the water. This is not a bath. You do not have to get the hen wet all over. It’s enough that the epsom salts reach the skin of her bottom.

Once in the water, the hen usually settles and relaxes. Opal did.

I let her soak until the water turned tepid, about 15 minutes.

Wet feathers allow you to take a good look at the vent area.

Many good layers, like Opal, have few feathers in that area. What looks like dirt at the base of the feathers are remnants from a winter’s lice infestation. The dark masses are egg cases. Opal doesn’t have any lice on her now that she is regularly dust bathing outside. Because hens molt only once a year, damage like this to feathers will remain long past when the original problem occurred. Don’t worry about it.

The vent area was not hot (a good sign that there’s not an internal infection), nor was it red or irritated. I palpated it. There were no hard masses, nor did it feel like a water balloon. That was also good. The vent itself was healthy-looking, which means it looked moist and soft. I was feeling encouraged that whatever had laid Opal low the day before was something that was not going to get worse, at least not for awhile.

On a cold day, after a soak, I blow dry the hen. But it was hot, and Opal was eager to rejoin the flock. She cared not a whit about how she looked, although a bit of preening was in order.

The following day Opal was fully active and social. Her comb is bright red, which is an encouraging sign. However, she still hasn’t laid an egg. Time will tell if she is all better. That’s the way it is with hens.

This morning, when I went to let the Gems out, I noticed that Opal was still on the roost. That’s unusual for her. She looked okay, but the fact that she wasn’t on the floor of the barn, active and about, had me concerned. I picked her up and listened for respiratory distress. Nothing that I heard (though my hearing isn’t the best.) I checked her crop. Full. I looked at her bottom and her vent and didn’t find or feel anything unusual. I set her down. She walked off. I finished my chores.

An hour later I checked on the flock. The other hens were busy doing their morning scratching around. Opal was under the ramp. I watched. She closed her eyes and looked sleepy.

When I went into the pen, she took on a normal stance. Sick hens will do this, which is why I like to observe them from a distance before rushing in to handle them.

She was easy to catch, which was another sign that something is amiss.

At this point all I know is that Opal is feeling off. This is exactly the type of situation for which I isolate a hen. If Opal is carrying a contagious disease, isolation might help to protect the rest of the flock – although certainly they’ve already been exposed to the pathogen. Mostly, I isolate so that I can gather more clues. I’ll be looking for:
breathing issues
swollen eyes
appetite (is she eating at all?)
is she able to drink?
is she producing manure?
if there is manure, what quantity, color and consistency?
does she become more lethargic?
what is her stance?
does her comb change color?
is she laying?
does she show signs of wanting to lay an egg but is unable to?

The Gems are now three years old and heading into the molt. They’ve been having issues with thin-shelled eggs. Opal is a breed that was originally created in the 1940s as a meat bird. She’s heavy and she’s been a consistent producer of big brown eggs. Much can go wrong inside of an older hen like her. Or, she could be developing a respiratory disease. The only way I’ll know what’s going on is to isolate Opal and observe her carefully.

If you have to isolate a chicken, try to do what I’ve done here. Do not bring her into your house. She could be shedding pathogens. She will surely stink. She won’t get any comfort by being in your kitchen. Keep her in the shade or in the barn, somewhere quiet, but with fresh air. Some hens get anxious if they can’t see their flock, others stay calmer out of view of the others. Use your judgement. Put fresh water and laying hen pellets in front of her. Don’t immediately try to feed with high-value treats. Many ill hens have intestinal issues, and making them eat only causes suffering. Let her be and check in to observe any changes. Then you’ll be able to determine what to do next.

I’ll let you know what I’m going to do for Opal. Hopefully the prognosis will be obvious by this evening, but, I’ve seen enough ill hens, and done enough necropsies to know that a clear diagnosis is rare. We’ll just have to wait and see.

I’m about six weeks into the six-month KPA Dog Trainer Professional Program. This is mostly an on-line course, and it entails both  theory and hands-on training. In order to take the class you have to have access to a dog that has not yet been trained. That means that I can’t use Lily. Luckily, I do have a dog at home that has not been taught much of anything. Scooter.

Yes, he’s house-broken, and he has some manners, but I’ve never trained him to do anything, not even a basic “come” or “down.” Why bother? For the life that he has here at home, he’s perfect. It’s come as a bit of a shock to him that he has to work for yummy things, but he’s getting enthusiastic about the program. So far, he’s learned to lick his nose when I say snack. There’s a point to this exercise – it’s an opportunity to learn how to capture an innate behavior and put it on cue. Besides, it’s cute. I taught Lily to do it, too. Now, when I say snack! both dogs lick their lips. I’ve also taught Scooter to sit (which can be quite a challenge for a tiny dog built as he is) and go lie on a mat, and go into a travel crate. He also jumps into a box. I’ve managed to teach these behaviors and put them on cue despite the fact that Scooter is truly, I do not exaggerate, a dog of little brain. Hence the need for frequent sun-bathing breaks, as seen in the above photo. I don’t want to stress him out.

Along with doing the on-line program, I’m part of a small group that will meet four times. We’ll be training together, and working with an instructor. I’ve no idea how Scooter will react. Each time, he’ll be away from Lily for two days. He’ll be around other dogs. He won’t be sun-bathing. But, he’ll be getting lots of treats and attention. At these workshops I’m supposed to be show off all that he’s learned. However, he’s not a dog that goes places with me. He stays home with Lily. I’ve been teaching him in the familiar surroundings of our house. I fully expect that the behaviors won’t be as solid at the group session, but I’m hoping that at least it will look like I’ve done some training. I’m not sure how much Scooter’s little brain can hold. Our first group session is today and tomorrow. Wish us luck!

As the course title states, it’s focused on dog handlers, but good training methods are applicable to all species.  Sometimes, you can learn a lot about your own skills, when the emotional baggage that you carry around and attach to your dog is removed. One class exercise is to train a species other than a dog to do a behavior that it already does, but to do it when asked, on cue (this is another “capturing” lesson). These training methods rely entirely on positive reinforcement, which, for this exercise, I would have had to use anyway, as I trained a fish, and you can’t exactly punish a fish that isn’t doing what you want. Here is a video.

Another exercise required that I teach a non-dog species to do a behavior using the technique of shaping. Shaping is when you have a trick in mind, and you break it down into very small components, and then you build up and reward each step. There’s no luring. There’s no placing the animal where you want him. It’s all about observing the animal and rewarding incremental movements until you shape the whole behavior. I trained Caper to stand on a plywood square with his two front feet, and to wait there until released. Caper is a genius and he is totally fun to work with. He’s engaged, he’s cheerful, and he never gets frustrated. He works for pieces of carrot and an occasional peanut. (Whole with the shell. Crunch.) Here’s a video of Caper being brilliant.

If I could do the course with Caper, I’d be done by next month. But, most exercises are to be done with a dog. In my case, with Scooter. This little dog is quite the challenge, but he’ll make me a better trainer!

(In case you’re wondering, Lily is not left out. I do some training just for fun with her after I work Scooter. She puts her toys away, crawls, does a figure eight, bows, etc. etc. I haven’t worked with her in ages, and she is thrilled to pieces that I’m dusting off the old tricks. Also, FYI, the next time there’s a non-dog behavior to teach, I’ll use Tonka!)

Bucolic

Lovely word, isn’t it? Last week I had a chance to use it.

I drove out to the Berkshires, which is a corner of New England that borders Massachusetts, New York and Connecticut. I was there to take my son to the Lime Rock Race Track. This is not bucolic, but it is where you can take your teenager for a one-day driving course, during which professional drivers put your children into situations that you hope they’ll never face. But, if they do, they’ll be ready.

This is my third son to go through the course. It truly does turn them into excellent drivers. However, there’s only so much watching my boy spin out on a skid pad that I can take. I went for a drive that didn’t involve squealing tires.

The Berkshires are truly bucolic.

When I see a sign like this I stop.

I  bought brisket, hot dogs and ground beef from the Whippoorwill Farm Stand and had a nice chat with the farmer about her cows.

I drove past this sign. The Old Farm Nursery looked promising, so I turned around and pulled in.

This is what traveling serendipity is about. The Farm Nursery turned out to be one of the most spectacular garden centers I’ve ever been to. First you see this:

There were plants that I would have loved to bring home. I was taken with this green coneflower.

There are shade plants.

The ferns were nice to look at, but what was spectacular was the pergola. Look at the patterns, color and light!

There was a white garden. This planter was a centerpiece.

There was a magenta garden.

And there were borders with all colors.

There was a formal pool.

If someone had been serving iced tea and cakes, I’d never have left.

There were garden ornaments.

I loved these locally welded plant supports. My least favorite springtime gardening task is setting up the peony cages. These would solve that, and look beautiful, too. Alas, they were out of my price range. However, that boy tearing around the track at Lime Rock has learned how to use a welding torch. I know what I’m asking for for my birthday.

And there was this clever idea at the shop entrance – chicken wire on the wood porch to prevent slipping when wet.

It was time to  go back to Lime Rock. As I drove, I tried to absorb that bucolic feeling. It’s good to carry a little bit of it inside of me, especially with a teen driver by my side.