So, Er, Where's The Winter Then?

As I gaze out of my kitchen window at the chooks sunbathing, I have to keep checking the calendar. It is November, right? Because it feels much more like early September to be honest. The weather is ridiculously mild. I'm sure that this time last year I was trudging through snow to the Palace and defrosting drinkers at 7am. Weird.

In a way, this is a good thing. The moulting masses are benefitting from the balmy conditions instead of snuggling down in to the nest boxes and shivering, for example. But it is confusing. My roses have bloomed again. My summer bedding plants are valiantly flowering on, and the girls are firing out the odd egg while looking puzzled. Generally, my pekins shut up shop for the winter come October. I imagine them sitting on their perches at night, using their talons and wing feathers to count up just how many months since their last egg break.

But it can't last. Every day that we have such mild and pleasant weather, I get more nervous. I will not be lulled in to a false sense of security. It is November. The temperature will plummet. Drinkers will freeze and chickens will shiver. To that end, I have bought in porridge supplies and poultry spice. I've made sure that there is enough woodshavings to see us through should we get hit by a snowy apocolypse. I am even eyeing up a snow shovel in the afternoon sunshine, safe in the knowledge that when the first flake lands I will be prepared.

Do not be fooled, fellow chicken keepers, winter will soon be upon us.

One Flew Over The Chicken's Nest

I've been keeping hens for two and a half years at this stage and consider myself to have a fairly good grasp as to what it involves. I have dealt with illnesses and deaths, injuries and bullying, and even the world famous ASBO Chicken's cowbag mood swings. On the whole, I thought I'd seen it all. So imagine my surprise when I looked out of the kitchen window earlier to see a chicken sitting on the roof of the greenhouse.

At first I thought I must be mistaken. Surely that vague chicken shape was merely melting snow inching its way down the glass? Erm, no. That would be Hilda the white pekin. Sitting on the greenhouse roof. Looking rather startled.

I barely paused to tug on my boots before legging it down the garden. As I left the house, I shrieked for the ever tolerant husband over my shoulder. The greenhouse is eight foot high at its peak, and Hilda was sitting on the glass roof very near the ridge. After my mad dash down the garden I found myself clueless as to how to proceed. Hilda peered down at me with interest while the ever tolerant husband stood in the door way hardly believeing his eyes.

Pekins can't fly. It's a basic fact of the breed. Their stubby wings and rotund bodies can at best manage a sort of flapping jump. I have never clipped a pekins wings for this reason. Yet here was Hilda, somehow having scaled at least seven feet. Now I may have mentioned that I didn't think that Hilda was the best example of a pekin. She has limited foot feathering and a rather pointed tail, none of which is desirable in the breed. However I have no intention of breeding or showing my birds, so I can happily overlook these things without any consequence. Or so I thought. Because apparently Hilda's non-Pekin-ness means that she can get some serious height in to her flight.

As I stood there, vaguely formulating a plan involving a broom, Hilda began to move. The snow that she had landed on was inching its way like a glacier towards the edge of the roof. At first she didn't seem to notice and carried on watching me in an interested sort of way. As momentum built she adopted that long necked, comically startled expression that chooks do so well. She began her squawk just as she slid in to grabbable distance, and I managed to rescue the errant hen before she ski jumped from the roof in to the roses. It wasn't the best save in the world, as Hilda ended up upside down and hanging on to my thumb by one claw, but at least she wasn't buried under the avalanche her descent had created.

I righted the adventurous chicken and she seemed no worse for wear from her ordeal. The ever tolerant husband tried unsuccessfully to suppress a guffaw and made a passing remark about 'You've Been Framed'. Hilda stalked back in to the coop with her head held high, clearly trying to preserve her dignity. As all of the other hens had watched proceedings from the run perches, I closed the door after her so that she wouldn't attempt to fly south for the winter. I can only assume that the covering of snow made her think that the greenhouse roof was a legitimate landing strip.

Hilda may need grounding.

Seriously Unimpressed

When I look out in to my garden, I see a six inch covering of snow. Everything is white and sparkly and beautiful. Icicles hang from the Palace's roof and frosted spiders webs decorate the fence. Where once there was water there is now ice. And where once there were eight chickens pootling about the garden there are now....well, no chickens pootling about the garden.

The chooks are refusing point blank to engage with the weather in any way, shape or form. They make brief excursions out in to the run to eat and drink, but that's it. The rest of the time they are holed up in the coop no doubt muttering darkly about the lack of sunshine and heat. I make frequent visits to break the ice in the drinker and check on my feathered friends. No amount of bribery will bring them out of the Palace. I even tried throwing an enticing handful of corn out on to the frozen tundra, but they watched the arc of the treat fly through the air like specatators at Wimbledon and then stared at me. The message was clear: you'll have to do better than that.

Keeping them clean and warm has been a bit of a challenge if I'm honest. The newspaper I use under the perch was frozen to the coop floor this morning and when it finally came loose, peeled off in a solid sheet. Thankfully the copious amount of poo was similairly frozen and adhered to said sheet. I found myself in the strange position of trying to fold this befouled tabloid in to the compost bin. It wasn't as brittle as you'd expect.  The girls watched all of this from the perches in the run and complained bitterly about being temporarily evicted from their quarters. Replacing the paper and perch, I threw in a few handfuls of woodshavings to help with the extra dung being produced by eight housebound hens.

Here's hoping that the arctic conditions let up soon.

Thank Heavens For The Palace

More snow has descended on us overnight. The girls have refused to leave the coop for the third day in a row and only venture out to grab food and water. This is my first winter with the Palace, and I have to say I am hugely grateful for it. Last winter I spent hours clearing the Convent's run and weighing down tarpaulin to keep the chooks dry and draught free. Now I don't have to do anything except defrost the drinker regularly. The Palace is worth every penny.

If you look carefully, you will see eight small hens scoffing porridge.

The snow has dared to breach the Palace run walls, but the hens are ignoring it.

Obviously bored of waiting for me to sort out some festive decorations, the Palace has provided its own. And very nice they are too.

I am not sponsored by Smiths Sectional Buildings, but I would highly recommend them if you're looking for good quality housing.

If anyone from Smiths is reading this, I am not adverse to being sponsored and being paid in chocolate. Ahem.

Some Winter Tips

With temperatures not rising above freezing for days, it's fair to say that it's a bit parky. The boiler is being put in to full time service and I for one am beginning to wish we had a fireplace. Bloody modern houses and their lack of chimneys. Still, I am keeping warm with various oh-so-stylish layers, many hot drinks and a hot water bottle. These options are not open to the hens, sadly.

So, I thought this might be a good time to make some husbandry suggestions. Chickens can tolerate cold, but they cannot cope with cold and damp. As long as their coop is dry and draught free they will be fine using each other for warmth. I always make sure that the nest boxes have extra bedding in at this time of year just in case the girls want to use them as bedrooms. So far they remain poo free, so I can deduce that all eight chooks are snuggling together on the roosting bars. I am still leaving the pop hole open at present, but it really depends on the design of your chook housing as to whether closing it would be of any benefit.

I cannot over emphasise the importance of making sure that your birds have access to fresh water in this weather. They will be drinking considerably less in the cold, but they still need to keep hydrated. My drinker is freezing over within three hours at the moment, so I am checking it regularly and defrosting it as required. I have a plastic drinker and my girls are just a short walk from the back door so this isn't a huge problem. However, if you keep your birds at a bit of a distance you will have to be a bit more cunning. If you have a galvanised drinker you could try placing a lit tealight under a upturned terracotta plant pot and standing your drinker on top of it. It should provide just enough heat to stop the water from freezing. Of course, this is best done outside of the henhouse. No one wants to call the fire brigade with the immortal words: 'My chickens have set fire to the house!'.

Your hens will be fine on their usual rations even in the depths of winter. However, if you're a softy like me you can make them warm porridge. I use one dessert spoon of basic porridge oats per bird, and mix it up with warm water. I generally add a teaspoon of poultry spice to this, and either a small handful of raisins or mixed corn. My girls go mad for this mixture, and I feel better knowing that they've had something warm. How beneficial this is to the birds is questionable, but it doesn't do any harm. If porridge is not on the cards for some reason, I do always throw some mixed corn in to the run for them to scratch at. My chooks are not laying now, so I'm happy enough to see them put on a little bit of weight (Little being the operative word. Fat chickens are not healthy chickens).

Lastly, even though it is bitterly cold and you'd rather be indoors (understandable) please don't neglect the weekly health checks. I certainly spend less time outside at this time of year than at others so actually handling the girls becomes more important. Spotting any problems early gives your chickens the best chance of making it safely through the winter.

Ok, lecture over. Back to writing the Christmas cards.

First Snow

We awoke to a slight covering of snow this morning. Despite having hideous woman-flu, I dragged myself out of my warm bed so that I could attend to the birds. Trudging across the frozen ground in my dressing gown and boots I'm sure I cut a very stylish figure. The hens were nowhere to be seen. I found them all huddled together on the perch block looking thoroughly unimpressed.

They seem to remember the white stuff from earlier this year and are having nothing to do with it. In fact, the insolent weather has had the sheer cheek of encroaching in to the Palace's run. It has even dared to cover the bottom half of the ramp. When I replaced the thawed out drinker I watched in great amusement as eight grumbling hens made their way gingerly down the ramp to the very edge of the snow. The lead hen, in this case Mabel, refused to step on the cold crunchy stuff and her sudden stop led to a squawking pile up. Much muttering and craning of necks occurred as everyone tried to work out what the hold up was. Maeve was bringing up the rear and still stuck in the coop. Everyone stayed still for a moment wondering what would happen next. What happened next is that Maeve pecked Celia hard on the bum, causing her to scarper from the ramp on to the run perch. Finding this method successful, Maeve continued dispatching her flockmates as she mooched determinedly towards breakfast. When the only obstacle in her way became the mighty Mabel she seriously considered more of the same tactics. However, a low bok from outr illustrious leader seemed to remind the younger hen of who was actually in charge around here. Wisely, Maeve backed up a little and broke eye contact. The other hens were by now stuffing their crops, and Mabel seemed to be quite deliberately keeping Maeve on the naughty step. I admired her technique. In fact, I took notes.

Eventually, everyone was fed and watered. The six older girls then immediately made their way back inside. The newbies however had never seen snow before and spent a happy ten minutes exploring it like inquisitive toddlers. Once it had been walked on, pecked at and eaten though the novelty wore off. Unfortunately the troublesome twosome were now in the border and scared to cross the white expanse to get back home. With some human assistance, they also legged it back in to the coop.

Pekins do not like snow.

Darth Doris And The Onset Of Winter Proper

Now that winter is in full swing the hens and I see each other mostly divided by double glazing. Much as I love my chooks, sitting outside in the freezing cold does not appeal. I sit at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. Occassionally, Gladys will wander up to the back door and tap haughtily, demanding a treat. I perform the necessary husbandry quickly so that I can get back to the central heating. Therefore, the girls have to work a bit harder to get my attention.

Doris has hit upon a novel way of getting me to linger. She breathes heavily through her nostrils. The sound is hard to describe, and saying that she sounds like a chicken doing an impression of Darth Vader probably won't help. Yet that is what she sounds like. She perches in the Palace run, happily deep breathing apparently at will. If I grab her for a closer examination, all nostril music abruptly ceases. I go through the necessary health checks and come up blank. We stare at each other for a bit. Sometimes Doris tries to engage me in conversation 'Bok bok bok?'. The second I place her back down and turn to come inside, the Sith impersonation starts up again. Sometimes she stops if I give her a hard look.

Maude has taken an interest in this phenomenon, and cranes her neck around to peer up her flockmates nose. She mutters interestedly to Doris while carrying out these examinations. Doris randomly Darth's, and then stops when bored. Occassionally, Maude pecks at Doris's nostrils in a spirit of helping. This is rarely appreciated, but does stop the droning. As Doris is showing no signs of illness or lack of condition, I am for now going to put this behaviour down to attention seeking.

Luckily, the hens have no access to the weather forecast. I do, and am bracing myself for possible snow in the next few days. Whether or not the white stuff shows up is debatable, but the freezing conditions at night are not. I will be adding a deep layer of woodshavings to all nest boxes so that the girls can make themselves comfortable. Sleeping in the nest boxes is deeply undesirable when the hens are laying, but as none are I am quite happy for them to be used as bedrooms.

Although I pity whoever ends up sharing with the still arsey Maeve.

Winter: The Sequel

As we blearily pulled back the curtains this morning, we were greeted by an alarming sight. It had snowed during the night, and two inches of the white stuff covered everything. I couldn't believe it. Usually, snow is greeted with excitement and joy, but this winter there has been so much of the stuff it made me want to weep. We are on solid clay here, and the ground is still water logged from all the snow and rain back in January. This will not help.

Even the children have lost their enthusiasm for snow. Neither of them ran about in it on the way to school, preferring to keep their feet warm and dry. Everyone looks vaguely crestfallen at this step backwards. I was planning on getting outside to pot up some seedlings today, but have had to shelve those plans. Oh, to feel the warmth from the sun!

The chooks took it badly, too. Hearing me undo the door to the run, they excitedly bowled down the ramp from the coop, scrabbling over each other in their eagerness to get out and destroy the garden. With marvellous comic timing, they all screeched to a halt at the threshold of the Convent, and muttered about the cold stuff. Margot stretched her ostrich-like neck out and pecked at it, then reeled her head in again to report on the fact that, yes, it really was that cold, wet stuff again. Much chuntering amongst themselves ensued. Kiki bravely stepped out of the door way, and hopped about a bit. The others watched with interest. Kiki stepped from one spindly leg to the other, alternately holding her foot up to her body. This quickly turned in to a hopping dance, and she legged it back on to the warm and dry aubiose.

Mabel considered all the evidence, and then regally turned and glided back up the ramp for the safety of the coop. The others watched their illustrious leader, and then followed her lead. Celia and Purdy stood on the doorstep to the garage, craning their necks down at the unfamiliar ground covering. They watched Kiki's war dance, and then the retreat of the big girls. With some pathetic bokking, they re-perched on the side of the brooder.

No one is coming out to play.