Earlier I called attention to the two adolescent Buff Brahma hens that have been living sequestered since arriving at Taproot Garden June 22. The separation is intended to prevent new arrivals from introducing diseases to the resident flock and, in this case, to allow the then-6-week-old chicks to gain enough girth to hold their own among the older/larger girls. Determining that both objectives had been satisfied, and blessed with the fortuitous visit of my brother-in-law who is generally game for any adventure, I divined that last night would be the night the new girls became full members of the sorority.
“Night” I say because there is more than one way to join a flock. I read about these things and the strategies are many -- from the callous to the careful. Having no strong conviction on the subject -- I've accomplished the move several different ways in my short history of flock keeping -- I was drawn this time to a nocturnal approach. Here is the general idea: since pecking order can be a sometimes violent hurdle to overcome, and since the girls become quite docile at night, take hold of the sleepy girls and manually insert them into their new destination while the already-resident girls are similarly tranquil. When the sun comes up, the older girls supposedly look over at the new arrivals and conclude, “I don't really recognize you, but you slept here so you must belong.”
I don't know if anyone has actually interviewed chickens and transcribed this morning-after conclusion, but that is the general psychology.
So, under cover of darkness we made our move. After securing the other chickens, Steve and I laid down a section of the fence for easy passage. Following now well-established and previously reported protocols I approached the young girls who were perched outside their coop on top of the wire run. One at a time I gently picked them up; but instead of settling them inside the Annex hatch I walked them the short distance to their new home and reached them through the door that Steve was holding open, and placed them next to their sleepy new neighbors.
And then, closing the door and resetting the fence, went to bed for an anxiously restless night’s sleep of our own.
Morning welcomed a scene of benign domesticity. The relocated pair were fine if a little disoriented, while the four seasoned residents seemed nonplussed by the new arrivals. The big girls from the neighboring coop all trundled over and inside to check out the new arrivals, but they were ladylike in their curiosity, cordial while maintaining respectful space; introducing themselves as it were and then quickly losing interest. It took a few hours before the younger girls mustered their courage to descend the ramp and explore this vast new world, but they stuck together, bolstered one another's courage, and generally kept out of harm’s way. We checked in on them from time to time, but we needn't have worried. Chickens, after all, have been doing this sort of thing for millennia.
But as night approached I wondered about this next phase of the transition. Would they look for some outside perch as they have every night for the past few weeks, or would they get in line like the other girls and troop up the ramp to bed?
Grabbing my shoes and flashlight after dinner for the usual bedtime rituals, I headed out back to secure first the Varsity coop and then the JV. Approaching at last the latter I shined the beam around the perimeter, the wide area of the run at the foot of the ramp, and finally the space below the coop.
Nothing.Latching the front door and the hatch and raising the ramp, I made my way around to the back door and peeked inside.
And smiled with delight and relief.
And then made my own way to bed -- contentedly, as had they.
Welcome home girls.
Feel free to unpack.
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