Burritos, Chickens...But not chicken burritos

I want to tell you about a very good butternut squash and black bean burrito that I fixed for dinner the other night, but first: a chicken update.

In a bitter twist of chicken irony, Polly, the lone survivor of the massacre and former picker who was rehabilitated when I chucked a tennis ball at her, is being picked.

Ugh.

See that bald spot on the right bottom part of her backside?
Also, see that chicken on the right? I love how it looks like she's
about to take flight. In actuality it's the butt of another chicken.

Dear Readers, I ask you: when is enough enough? Should I give up my chicken dreams and sell the whole outfit coop, stock, and barrel? Because I just don't know what to do. NO ONE is earning their keep by laying any eggs around here. I CANNOT figure out who is doing the picking because I've never seen any of the four new chickens (who I call Natalie, Blair, Jo, and Tootie) be anything but scared of Polly because she is the queen bee and is rude to them (pecking at their heads and chasing them from the corn I throw on the ground, for example).

And even if I did see somebody pick at her I'm not sure I could pick the perp out of a lineup because:

Can YOU tell these birds apart?

I know it's all very entertaining but I just don't know if I can do it anymore. These girls better start laying some eggs STAT so I can remember why in the world I put up with this nonsense. 

And just so ya know? I did have to rub Vicks Vapor Rub on a chicken butt AGAIN the other night, and it didn't seem to do a dang bit of good. 

Let's move on to a happier topic: Butternut Squash and Black Bean Burritos.

We had an absolute bumper crop of butternut squash in our garden this year. It was fantastic! I planted seeds from a squash I bought at the store, and the plants went absolutely nutso. Do you know how expensive butternut squash is? You see it at the store and you're all, "Oh, 99 cents a pound! That's not so bad!" and then you roll over to the register and the sucker weighs 4.75 pounds and you pay almost five bucks for your squash! They are HEAVY. 

When someone in this house asks what veg we're having with dinner, it's a pretty safe bet it's going to be butternut squash in some form: roasted, mashed, soup, and now in a burrito. 

And this is after we've been eating the crop down for a few weeks!
Good thing that these squash last a good long time.

I saw this recipe on Pinterest and, (drum roll, please): I actually made it! This doesn't happen often. If you don't already follow me on Pinterest I suggest you do so: I pin fabulous, gorgeous-looking meals that I'm sure would be delicious if only I'd remember to make them. (Here is my Pinterest page, if you are so inclined: http://pinterest.com/sshobbs/boards/)

This recipe is courtesy of the vegan recipe blog Oh She Glows, which I was already aware of through Angela's Green Monster Movement site of delicious spinach smoothies. (That's right, I said spinach smoothies. Look into it!)

Since I have SO MUCH squash on hand, I was eager to try these babies out, and they did not disappoint. Drew liked them, and I'm sure Kate would have too if she hadn't been "in a mood." I even packed them in Drew's lunch the day after!

So, here's the recipe. Check out Angela's blog for many more great vegan recipes and pretty food. Enjoy!

Black Bean and Butternut Squash Burritos

Yield: 4 burritos or 3.5 cups of filling

Ingredients:
1 medium butternut squash, peeled, cubed, & roasted
1/2 cup uncooked short grain brown rice (yields: 1.5 cups cooked)
1-2 tsp olive oil
1 cup chopped sweet onion
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 red pepper, chopped
1 tsp kosher salt, or to taste
2 tsp ground cumin, or to taste
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper, or to taste
One 15-oz can black beans (about 1.5-2 cups cooked), drained and rinsed
3/4 cup Daiya cheese
4 tortilla wraps (large or x-large)
Toppings of choice: (avocado, salsa, vegan sour cream, spinach/lettuce, cilantro, etc)

1. Preheat oven to 425F and line a large glass dish with tinfoil. Drizzle olive oil on squash and give a shake of salt and pepper. Coat with hands. Roast chopped butternut squash for 45 mins. or until tender.

2. Cook brown rice (for directions, see here)

3. In a large skillet over medium-low heat, add oil, onion, and minced garlic. Sautee for about 5 minutes, stirring frequently. Now add in salt and seasonings and stir well.

4. Add chopped red pepper, black beans, and cooked rice and sauté for another 10 mins. on low.

5. When b’nut squash is tender remove from oven and cool slightly. Add 1.5 cups of the cooked butternut squash to the skillet and stir well. You can mash the squash with a fork if some pieces are too large. Add Daiya cheese and heat another couple minutes.

6. Add bean filling to tortilla along with desired toppings. Wrap and serve. Leftover filling can be reheated the next day for lunch in a wrap or as a salad topper.

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Workout of the Day

Focus T25 Rip't Circuit

Why does a 25-minute program wear me out so bad? I suspect it's because Shaun T is some sort of evil genius.

Love, Loss, and Chickens

I sat at my desk in the house, which was quiet for the first time in nearly three months since the kids went back to school earlier that morning. A bump at the door, hard enough to make the blinds swing, interrupted the peaceful morning. I got up to see what had caused the noise.

Before I even stepped outside I saw something terribly wrong. Brown feathers everywhere, swirling in the wind on the patio. I swung the door open and stepped into the chaos of a dog attacking one of our chickens.

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This has been a difficult year for our family. In January Zach and I entered our tenth year of marriage with high hopes. We booked a trip to Disney World and made plans to celebrate our anniversary with a night out on the town at a concert, like we used to do before we had kids. 

Then came the diagnosis: Zach's Dad had stage four esophageal cancer. Prognosis was grim.

Ever since I've known him, Zach and his Dad have had projects. They put down ceramic floors. Laminate floors. Fixed troubled A/C units. Removed engines from trucks to change timing belts. Built patio covers (twice). Built our shop/gym. Four years ago they embarked on the ultimate project, the one they had always dreamed about: building a cabin on the land that they bought together. 

It took three years to build, mostly during three-day summer weekends. They built that cabin from the ground up, by hand, with no help. It's beautiful. Every time I walk in I cannot believe what an accomplishment that place is. A testament to their creativity, their hard work, their determination, their teamwork. 

While they were in the process of building the cabin, I often told Zach, "You know you guys are building your Dad's retirement cabin, right?" And we were fine with that. Nobody deserved a retirement cabin more than Zach's Dad, and we were happy that he was going to spend many quiet, lazy, retirement days at the East Texas cabin in the woods.

Two days before his official retirement he learned he had cancer. Seven months later he was gone. 

Sad is not the default state at our house. As a family we have fun, we work hard, we try to look for the positive in things. But this year has been Confusing. Troubled. Worried. Fearful. Bitter. Angry. Sleepless. It has been Sad.  

*************

I stepped out on that patio where the neighbor dog from two doors down was attacking my chicken, and I Lost It. I screeched at the top of my lungs, which stunned the dog enough for me to kick it away from the chicken. Since the dog had squeezed through a small gap in the gate, there was nowhere for it to retreat. I chased it across the backyard and cornered it by the fence, where I kicked it and screamed at it. I just wanted it to go away, to leave my chicken and me alone. I fumbled with the chain on the gate and opened it. The dog ran out of the yard.

I hoped that somehow the other chicken had escaped to the coop, and opened the door to see that there was just an egg in the nesting box, that was it. 

I looked under the deck where our chickens hang out in the day, and I saw Ginger's dead body lying among a pile of feathers. Polly wedged herself between the shop and the deck, not seriously wounded but obviously traumatized.

I sat down on the deck and sobbed. I sobbed for my dead chicken. For my scared chicken. For my kids, who have experienced more death this year than any two small kids ever should. For my husband. For his sisters and mom. For all the years of retirement stolen from my father-in-law by that bitter thief, cancer. 

Then I gathered myself as best as I could. Called Zach and told him about the situation. Got a bag and a hoe and removed the dead bird from under my deck. 

The previous day Zach and I had discussed buying more chickens, since two eggs per day was not quite enough. We decided to go ahead and pick up four more chickens to smooth out what would be a rough conversation with the kids. While ordinarily this might be a chance to teach our kids a lesson about loss, we felt like it's a lesson they've learned many times over already this year. 

And so we move on, adjusting to new circumstances. Trying to find a new normal.

And then there were two

Rest in peace, Roxie. You were a good, fat chicken.

Several weeks ago I took a look at our last leghorn from our original flock and I told Zach, "There is no way that bird can live very long. She is So. Huge."

A week or so after that we made an appointment with "The Chicken Lady" in the town next to ours. "The Chicken Lady" is not a derogatory term; that's really what she calls herself. She's a lovely woman, actually. We made a pilgrimage out to her farm to see what we could learn from the expert on all things chicken (and goat, by the way). We told her we'd like to add to our flock, but knew that it needed to be handled delicately.

The Chicken Lady and her husband were very gracious and showed us around their very impressive chicken and goat farm. During our visit we learned several really important things, but the most important thing we learned is:

We really should have bought our chickens from The Chicken Lady seven months ago. 

As we wandered over to see their impressive flock of chicks, Zach and I told the Chicken Husband about the crazy leghorn we have that was positively HUGE despite not really seeming to eat much more than the others.

"What color are her eggs?" he asked.

"Light brown," I said.

"You don't have a leghorn," he said. "What you have is a broiler."

A broiler?

"That chicken was bred to be slaughtered for meat around 45 days of age. They are engineered to get very big, very fast. Soon she will stop laying eggs, and her body will overwhelm her legs so that she won't be able to walk anymore. Then she'll most likely get sick and die, if you don't take care of her first."

Oh dear. Once again, the kids' favorite chicken in peril. Should have been slaughtered five months ago. Dangit. 

"What other breeds do you have?" The Chicken Lady asked.

"Rhode Island Reds," Zach replied.

"Ugh. MEAN birds, those Rhode Island Reds. I refuse to carry them anymore," she said. "They are great layers, but they do not get along with any other breeds. If you want more chickens, you've either got to get more Rhode Island Reds, or get rid of the Reds."

GEEEEEEZ! Can I catch a break in the chicken department already? Now I've got one bird doomed by obesity (ironic, considering my job as a trainer and fitness coach), and two birds that are so nasty they can't be around any birds but each other. And I'm not even going to revisit the violent chicken events leading up to our current situation.

The kids were present for the entirety of our conversation with The Chicken Couple, and Drew immediately knew something was wrong with Roxie. We told him that most likely she wouldn't live much longer, but as long as she wasn't in pain we would keep her and enjoy her company. (Her eggs never have been up to snuff, as she continued to lay soft-shelled eggs that we don't eat every other day or so.)

Fast forward to this past weekend, and Roxie has developed an awful looking limp. She's extremely dirty from laying around all the time, and generally looks miserable. Zach and I decide that it's time to do something, and warn the kids that it won't be much longer.

I'll spare you the details of Roxie's departure and simply FADE TO BLACK on that good 'ol bird. I'm going to try to remember her cheerful, trusting nature, and that fantastic waddle.

Now we are down to two birds, but boy can they lay some beautiful eggs. We do want more chickens, though, so the plan is to create a temporary space where we can house five or so chicks that we buy from The Chicken Lady, and raise them while we keep the Reds for their laying skills. Once the new chicks are laying then we will find a home for the Reds, which shouldn't be too hard because people will crawl all over hens who are already laying, whether they're mean or not.

Oh...how did the kids take it, you ask? Well, today we learned another lesson about the delivery of bad news: do it when cartoons are on. It softens the blow considerably.

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Workout of the Day

Focus T25 Total Body Circuit

I've got to get off the subject of chickens and devote an entire blog to how FANTASTIC this workout is. Just 25 minutes a day of pure, hard work. The smartest, most efficient workout I've ever done. 

Polly, Rehabilitated

I am pleased to report that there is peace in the coop. Against all odds, Polly the Picker has been rehabilitated.

Everything I read said that if you've got a cannibalistic chicken in your flock, you will most likely have to cull her. We didn't know what we would do, so we separated her for two weeks, allowing only supervised visitation with Roxie and Ginger.

The Vicks on Roxie's behind kicked off the rehabilitation process, but you know what finished it? This:

One night we were out pitching the ball to Drew so he could hit it. I was the pitcher, and I looked over at the chickens only to see Polly pick at Roxie's behind.

I chunked that tennis ball as hard as I could and nailed that chicken.

She jumped in the air, squawked like crazy and ran for cover behind the coop. It was the last time we saw her pick.

I bet PETA would have some issues with me lobbing tennis balls at birds, but you know what? It was that, or ring her neck. I think even PETA would agree the tennis ball was a kinder option.

Roxie and Polly, peacefully co-existing.

Now the pecking order is clear: Roxie, Polly, Ginger. Although Polly and Ginger have been having little episodes where they bow up at each other and feathers get ruffled. Not sure what that is all about quite yet.

Roxie is giving us roughly an egg a day. Sometimes she skips a day, and sometimes the egg is huge and sometimes the egg is small. Zach cracked two huge Roxie eggs the other day and got six yolks. This morning I fixed Drew "Egg in a Hole" with two perfect little Roxie eggs, one yolk per egg. We're gettin' there!

I'm hopeful that Polly is nearly ready to lay, as her waddle and comb have gotten bigger and are bright red; that's a sign that they are close to laying, and that is what happened with Roxie.

Last week we had three chickens and three rabbits grazing in our backyard.
Sometimes the chickens chase the rabbits, which is entertaining.

The kids are still enamored with these chickens. They play with the chickens way more than they ever played with our dog, and the highlight of their day is to go feed the chickens a handful of corn. Well, actually that's the number two highlight behind checking for eggs.

I have to admit I'm pretty enamored with them, too, although I really can't figure out why. I still feel bad about Nadine and wish she was still around. We have thought about adding another hen but we don't want to rock the boat just yet. Polly's delicate mental state may not take too well to a new bird in the flock. I can't believe I'm considering a bird's mental state. That's life with chickens, I guess.

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Workout of the Day
P90X2 - Chest, Shoulders, and Triceps

The eggs of our labor

The poop. The picking. The chicken bathing.

It's all led up to this moment:

Our first chicken egg! Laid by Roxie the Leghorn on Tuesday. I found it in the coop under the roosting bars on Tuesday afternoon, and from the way I whooped and danced a jig you'd have thought I laid an egg myself!

I brought it with me when I picked up the kids so I could show them, and then we took it to Zach's school so he could see, too. We were so darn excited about that egg!

You can see in the picture that it was slightly cracked. I don't know if it was laid while she was on the roosting bar and so it cracked when it hit the coop or if she stepped on it, but since it was cracked we elected not to eat it. I did crack it open and it looked like a perfect, tiny egg!

Then last night after dinner Kate was looking out the back window and declared that she thought there was an egg in the yard...and she was right! We all piled out to have a look, and there was a minutes-old egg that Roxie had laid! This one was bigger, but had a much thinner shell.

I made a video to show you just how thin the shell is and what the inside looks like.



Here are a few egg laying facts that I've learned over the past few weeks:

• Chickens will lay about one egg per day. The record is seven eggs in one day.
• It's common that the first eggs that a chicken lays are small with thin shells.
• It's common that the first eggs will have multiple yolks. The record is nine yolks in a single egg!
• Yes, the eggs do come out the same hole that poop comes out of, but they do not come down the same canal as poop -- so they aren't all yucky when they come out.
• You can teach a chicken to lay eggs in a coop by putting some golf balls there for a little while. (Looks like we're going to have to do that.)
• Fresh chicken eggs are still good for up to 21 days without having to be in a refrigerator. I'm not going to test that -- I plan to refrigerate.
• Since we don't have a rooster, these eggs will never become chicks, even if the hens lay on them.
• You have to be careful to collect eggs daily lest the hens become attached and want to sit on them, which is called getting "broody."

I did eat the double-yolked egg this morning. I had to add one store egg to make my usual two-eggs and kale breakfast, but the eggs were rich and creamy!

I have to admit that it was kind of weird to eat the egg, though. I know that the store eggs come from chickens, but there is something somewhat odd about going and collecting something that came out of an animal in your backyard and consuming it. I suppose it's not much different than harvesting the squash or tomatoes from the garden, but I'm just not quite wrapping my head around it yet. 

Meanwhile, I can't help but wonder what Roxie thinks about all this. She's the first one to lay eggs in the flock...is she the equivalent to the first girl in fifth grade to wear a bra or get her period? Are the Rhode Island Reds snickering behind her back about the eggs dropping out of her butt? Oh, to be a fly on the wall of the coop.

Changing chicken subjects, we do still have Polly the Picker. For the past two weeks she has been sentenced to solitary confinement, which really isn't confinement at all -- she gets free range of the yard while the others hang in the coop. If they are together, it has to be supervised to make sure she does not pick (or is dealt with accordingly if she does).

Zach read that spreading Vicks Vapor Rub on the picked chicken's behind would prevent picking, and as humiliating as it was to spread Vicks on a chicken butt, I'm pleased to report that it seems to have worked. Polly rubbed her beak on the ground something fierce when she got a beakful of that Vicks, and since then she has seemed to lay off a bit.

Last night before bed we knew that bad storms were on the way, and I knew that if Polly were to spend the night in her bin (her temporary coop) overnight, she'd be flung far and wide by the wind. So we made the tough decision to let her stay in the coop. I spread some extra Vicks on Roxie, and let her in.

Overnight I dreamed that when we let the chickens out of the coop the next day that Roxie stumbled out completely featherless.

Perhaps I'm a bit obsessed?

They were fine this morning. Seem to have weathered the storm just fine.

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Workout of the Day

P90X Yoga

Blood on their beaks

I promise that this will not turn from a fitness blog into a chicken blog, but I must share a rather traumatic story that I'm just now completely coming to terms with.

When we left the story last week, the Leghorn biddies, Nadine and Roxie, were ruling the roost over the Rhode Island Red newbies, Ginger and Polly. I was deeply ingrained in the Reds' corner, as they were being persecuted and bullied by the Leghorns.

Oh my, how the tables turned!

Early last week I noticed that Nadine's behind was not only featherless, but also had a giant patch of raw, irritated skin.

It is here where I must apologize to the Googling public, because I am responsible for what will be a shocking and grievous autofilled search option the next time someone Googles:

"Why does my..."

and the words

"chicken have a bloody butt?"

are displayed as a selection choice.

It was me. I Googled that question to find out why my chicken had a bloody butt. What ELSE are you supposed to do when your chicken has a bloody butt?

To say the least, the children and I were alarmed. Hindsight is 20/20 (and in this case I really wish it wasn't, as you can't un-see the hind of wounded chicken), but at that point I should have put Nadine in quarantine. But I didn't know! I didn't know.

It was late in the evening, so I put the birds up in their coop and checked Nadine in the morning. She looked...okay, I guess. Not good. Not better. But not really worse and again -- what are you supposed to do about something like this? I briefly considered bathing her to clean the wound, but I knew the weather was scheduled to dip down to the 40s, and I read that chickens aren't supposed to be wet and cold. So I put them back in the coop. (Misguided new chicken owner!)

The next morning I got the kids off to school, and went out to check on the chickens.

When I peeked in the coop, I saw one of the Reds with blood on her beak.

Nadine was trapped in the corner of the coop with her hind end sticking out, and it was torn open and bloody. She was dripping blood everywhere. I panicked. Why was she bleeding so bad? Why was there blood on the Red's beak?

I ran inside and called Zach, my voice reaching screeching decibels usually reserved for children doing something very wrong. It just so happened that Sprint was working on a very annoying outage in our area, and so my husband heard only about every fifth word that I screeched. In so many words he told me that he had eight things going on right now, he's not at the house and cannot help me, and do whatever I wanted with the bleeding chicken. I forced a DROPPED CALL.

WHAT WAS I GOING TO DO ABOUT THIS?????

I went out to the coop and surveyed the situation. Nadine was trapped in the corner and was either too scared or too wounded to get out. I ran inside and grabbed some rags to cover her head (I didn't want to get  pecked) and pulled her out. She walked around, got some food and water, and acted...fine. Sort of fine. I went inside and donned an old flannel shirt, latex gloves, and my poop boots. (As a chicken owner, I now have a designated pair of "poop boots." We all do!)

I gathered a basin, filled it with warm water and Epsom salts, and set up the basin inside the shop. I also prepared a box with some shavings, food, and water so Nadine could rest after her bath.

I went outside and gathered up that enormous bird (I would wager she weighed 7 or 8 pounds), and brought her in for her bath.

How do you suppose giving a chicken a bath would go? I imagined it would be squawky, with feathers flying and hijinks to be had. Not so much. Nadine sat very quietly while I soaked her nether regions in the bath. I held her there gently and talked to her softly and she was a really good girl. After a few minutes I wrapped her up in the rags, dried her as best as I could, and put her in the box.

Now that she was secure, I scoured the Internet to see what I should do next.

Naturally, my first stop was to register myself on the message boards of mybackyardchicken.com and post an urgent message on the Chicken Emergency boards. There were all manor of crises going on on this page; chicks smashed by doors, chickens partially eaten by dogs, chickens with bumblefoot, chickens with Marek's, chickens that had been...nearly pecked to death by other chickens. WHAT?????

Apparently some chickens, referred to as "Pickers", will peck other chickens to death if they sense weakness in another bird.

This is Polly The Picker. If you see her, steer clear. She has issues.

So THAT'S why my Red had a bloody beak. She wasn't an innocent bystander...she was an attempted murderer!!! Oh man, that's rich. Here I thought the poor little Reds were being bullied by the Leghorns, when it turns out that the new girls were picking on the fat girls!

I read all manner of tricks to heal the wounded chicken and cure the picker. I jotted down some medicine to pick up at Tractor Supply. Before I left to get the kids from school I checked on Nadine. She still sat in the box quietly.

When I picked up the kids, I told them the whole dramatic story, and said we'd need to doctor Nadine when we got home. After snack time, I grabbed the medicine and the kids and I went to the shop to see what we could do.

When we opened the door, Nadine was laying down dead with her head in the water (later my husband would ask if I thought she drowned. Uhhh...no). I tried to back out before the kids came in, but they scrambled in beside me to have a look.

Man, the memories we're making for the kids with these chickens! I can hardly wait to pay for therapy hear about it 10 years down the road.

We filed out of the shop and had a moment. "I'm sorry, you guys," I said. "She didn't make it." They were sad for a beat and then it turned to annoyance. "Now we only have three chickens!" Drew said. "Does this mean Nadine has to go back to the wild?" Kate asked.

It was a dramatic end to a dramatic day. In the end, I'm glad she went quickly. My guess is she either bled out or died from the shock of being pecked within an inch of her life by a fellow bird and then given a bath by an insane human.

The days since Nadine's death have been spent being protective of Roxie, the lone Leghorn and only chicken left from our original flock. We have discovered that Polly is The Picker, and we have caught her nipping at Roxie's behind in the same area where Nadine's wound appeared. Most of the time they seem to live in harmony, but there are times when we have to fly out of the house to shoo Polly away from Nadine.

I tell you what, I was not prepared to be a chicken owner.

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Workout of the Day

P90X Back and Biceps

As the Coop Turns

Like sands through the hourglass, these are the chickens of our lives.

When we last left our saga, five chickens had joined the household. They were small and adorable. They pooped a lot and we had no idea if they were hens or roosters.

As weeks went by the chickens doubled, then tripled in size. All, that is, but one. Ginger, the beloved runt of the litter, never gained the size or strength of the rest of the brood. She was beloved by the children because she was the most accessible and loving, allowing them to pet her while she made crazy crowing noises.

But one fated day, Ginger started limping, and seemed to lack control of her extremities. The other chickens knocked her over and she couldn't get up. Things looked bad. The children were worried.

Removed from the coop, Ginger took a turn for the worse. After some research on the chicken version of WebMD, a diagnosis was guessed: Chicken Polio. Ginger was not long for the world. Goodbyes were said, and a dramatic conclusion to poor Ginger's life was avoided by allowing her to go "back to nature" (AKA becoming coyote bait) at our land.

Tears were shed by the children, and the small girl wondered if we could get a new Ginger. No, that was not to be. But can we just re-name one of the other chickens Ginger? Yes, sounds good.

Back at the coop, it was becoming clear that 50% of the flock were roosters.

No bueno. There can be no crowing in the neighborhood! Although we were personally sad to see them go because the roosters had the most spunk and were hilarious to watch when they run-waddled after whomever was getting them food or water, they had to find a new home. A quick Craigslist search found a man willing to take "unwanted farm animals," and he swooped through and took them off of our hands.

Meanwhile, a man in Terrell had some Rhode Island Red hens of approximately the same age as our Leghorn hens, and so two new hens joined the flock, securing our position as the Warner Brothers cartoon of the neighborhood:

These new chickens were a different breed, and ruffled the feathers of the Leghorns. While the Leghorn hens were true biddies -- lazy, nosy, and averse to change -- these Reds were athletic and graceful. They evaded capture by racing around the yard a full 30 minutes before we were able to finally get them in the coop. While the Leghorn hens struggle to get up the ramp into the coop (causing the ramp to buckle under their weight), the Reds fly effortlessly up to the coop door and stroll in.

Like true "mean girls," the Leghorns are nasty to the Reds. They give them the business whenever the Reds (now christened Ginger #3 and Polly) try to get water or food. When they stroll outside the coop the Reds take a wide berth around the Leghorns (now christened Nadine and Roxie).

See the Leghorns playing defense of the food and water?

Now that the coop is rooster-free, the food and water consumption has gone way down, and the poop production seems to have abated. (Typical males!) Life in the coop seems to be normalizing as a pecking order is established. It seems that if only in their minds the Leghorns will be at the top of the order, but all the Reds have to do is fly three feet to get out of their way. Ginger #3 and Polly seem to be growing and thriving, and successfully ignoring Nadine and Roxie.

The next chapter: egg production. When will it happen? Will the hens share the nesting boxes? Will the eggs be brown or white? Will they be possessive and broody hens, or will they let us take the eggs with no problems? I, for one, will not miss an episode.

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Workout of the Day

P90X Chest, Shoulders, and Triceps

Crazy Chicken Lady

Two weeks ago we adopted five chickens, and now I am officially a Crazy Chicken Lady.

We eat a ton of eggs and have talked about getting chickens for awhile now, but got serious about it this winter. Turns out the Ag department (that's Agriculture for all you Yankees...it's an actual high school course that you can take for a grade and everything. I was shocked too!) at Zach's school was purchasing chicks in bulk so that a student could raise a few for the stock show. He really only needed about five, but they had to order 30 or so, and so we were able to take five Leghorn chicks for our own.

Yup, Leghorn. As in Foghorn Leghorn:

During winter break Zach started working on the coop. If you know Zach at all, you know that he doesn't do things half way. This coop was thoroughly researched and had architectural plans. It's less a chicken coop and more a chicken mansion, complete with a watering system with small nipples both in and outside the coop for the chickens to peck at when they want water.

Here are a few pictures of the coop while it was being built.

Jazz hands!

Nesting boxes. Apparently the chickens don't need their
own individual box -- they tend to all use one or two of the same boxes.

The mostly finished product, compete with door that slides up and down
for them to walk down the plank into the yard. 

The coop has wheels so we can move it around the yard. Right now it's in the shop because it's still pretty cold at night, but in a week or so they will be able to go outside full time.

Before the chicks got here I was all, "I do not want pets. I want eggs. These chickens are not pets, they are egg layers."

And then they arrived.

And I was all, "They're so CUUUUUTE! Listen to their little chirping! Look at their little feathers!"

And then I crossed over to Crazy Chicken Lady territory and began fretting, doting, and spoiling these chickens rotten. I gladly clean their coop, check their water, check their food, and the kids and I wheel them out to get some sun most afternoons and watch them. They are not terribly interesting, mind you...we just like to watch them.

And talk about eating, drinking, pooping, growing machines! It's only been two weeks, and look how much they've grown:

I'll keep you posted on how things go with the chickens, but here are a few things you're probably wondering about:

Do you have any roosters? We don't know yet. It's hard to tell what you have until they are a few months old. I suspect that we have at least one rooster, which we do not want to have because our neighbors will think bad things about us. If he does turn out to be a rooster, we are sending him back to school so he can go to a farm. 

Do chickens lay eggs if there are no roosters? Yes. They lay eggs, but they aren't fertilized so they do not become baby chicks.

When will they start laying eggs? At about 20-24 weeks old, so we are hoping to have eggs around the start of summertime. 

How many eggs will five chickens lay? They say about one per chicken per day. In the heat of summer and dead of winter production slows down, as well as when they "molt" (lose their feathers and grow them back in).

Are they hard to take care of? So far it's been really easy. They poop a lot, so I've been cleaning out the coop every few days or so, but other than that you just make sure they have food and water. Other than that they are pretty happy.

Did you name them? We had (and have) full intention of naming them, but we really can't tell them apart right now; they all look similar. The names we chose are: Ginger, Polly, Francine, Nadine, and Roxy. 

What other questions do you have? Post 'em on Facebook or as a comment below and I'll do my best to answer, despite my inexperience as a Crazy Chicken Lady.

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Workout of the Day

Asylum 2: Championship

My bottom is SORE right now because of the speed skater drills. This has been a great first week of Asylum. I really like this program so far!