Chicken Whisperer

Tuesday was touchdown in Minneapolis after ten days in Colorado to partake of artisan cheesemaking classes, as well as needle felting, pottery throwing, shop browsing, nature romping, and checking out the local music scene.

During this adventuresome endeavor that included getting nearly blown away at Estes Park and visiting our future wild-rescue guard donkey-in-training, we had the great fortune to stay at the home of a couple who have a cabin on Spider Lake. They are frequent visitors at Farmstead Creamery in the summer months, enjoying our ancient grains offerings and fresh veggies. Many a delicious meal ensued in their ample Colorado kitchen, yarn projects took over their living room, and lots of storytelling filled the air.

What I was not expecting as part of the trip was to be struck with altitude sickness during the first four days of our stay. I had all the symptoms short of needing to go to the hospital—dizziness, nausea, loss of appetite, exhaustion, inability to sleep, rapid heart rate, and headache.

At first I supposed it to be motion sickness from the flight, since we’d been in the middle of United’s computer update glitch—sitting on the runway an extra hour before takeoff, then waiting on the runway again with the engines still running for another hour after landing because no planes could leave any gates, which meant there was no gate for us to use to get off the plane! But as the symptoms persisted, it became apparent that something more than the flight was affecting my condition. I drank what felt like barrels of water to better hydrate and laid fairly low until my energy returned. Enforced time for reading and writing!

One activity that didn’t push the envelope too far was taking a short walk to Chris’ chicken coop. Funny, I get away from the farm for a few days, and I want to go hang out with the chickens! But these ladies had a unique story. In the terrible flood of 2013, the coop was 4 feet under water, and all the hens had to be saved, along with the horses and their four dogs and evacuated to higher ground.

Then after the cleanup, when the animals could return, a coyote came up the riverbank (waiting for their Great Pyrenees guard dog Maggie to go inside for a nap) and attacked, killing nine hens. Then the owls moved in, taking as much as a hen a day. Now they were down to five birds, with a completely caged-in run (including top) and no more free-range privileges due to the predator load of the area.

Upon entering the heated coop (those five hens have a real palace), the girls rushed the door, hoping to escape out into the year to find something interesting to peck and scratch. At first, I hoped that kitchen scraps could help them be happier, but the poor things were bored stiff and still wanted to be let out. But to let them back out into the yard would mean risking the owl and coyote problem all over again. Poor girls, no-win solution for the chickens!

I also learned from Chris that the ladies had stopped laying eggs recently, though they didn’t appear to be molting or unhealthy in any way. So I endeavored to put to work my chicken whisperer ways to help these ladies reduce their stress load and find interest in their surroundings again. I started with bringing fresh hay in for their nesting boxes, spreading the fines out in their yard for scratching and pecking enjoyment. We gave them bird suet blocks to peck and hauled in fallen branches for them to climb up and hide under in their little yard.

Then each morning, I would pick up one of the hens, wrap her in a towel (the snug squeeze is calming) and take her on a little walk about the yard and a short visit in the house. This gave each of them time to look all around at new sights, sounds, and smells. And they got some personal petting attention and chicken whisperer talk, “Bruuuuk, bruuuk,” soft and gentle.

The golden-laced Wyandotte was especially shy and afraid, having lost all of her kin to the predators. Catching her was tricky, and I thought her terrified little golden eyes were going to bug right out of her head! We sat on a porch chair for a while, as I held her in the towel, talking gently in chicken talk. She was just frozen, staring. “Bruuuk, bruuuk,” I tried again. Then all of a sudden, she perked up and stared right at my mouth. I thought for a moment she was going to peck me! But then she settled, much more relaxed, and began talking back.

More goodies, more morning towel time, and after a few days there were eggs to collect from the coop again! It was working! The hens were happier, and I was feeling better in the high and dry lands outside Boulder. I gave them some goodbye treats Tuesday morning and loaded the suitcases into Chris’ Subaru. Then the other day, she texted to say that the hens hadn’t laid an egg since I’d left! Guess they miss their chicken whisperer too.

The feathered crew at home seems happy to have me back…especially when I get around to cleaning their coop again. Did you hug a chicken today? See you down on the farm sometime.