No Foxes (or Hawks) in This Hen House

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The girls have been with us for a month. Our four Cinnamon Queen hens — Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, June Carter Cash, and Patsy Cline — seem quite content in their new abode, now covered in poultry netting so they can safely wander about their fenced enclosure during the day. Around dusk, I go inside the coop. They immediately follow me inside since I am the Food Guy. Truth be told, they are better at coming to me than the pups.

Putting up the poultry netting was a challenge. My Beautiful Mystery Companion and I spent the better part of two days cutting and attaching it with cable ties between the coop and the chain link fence. On the back and the sides, the netting is only the height of the fence and the bottom edge of the coop’s roof, meaning I have to duck walk underneath it.

The front of the coop posed a dilemma. I had to figure out a way to get the netting high enough that we could walk under it to get inside the coop. After considerable discussion, I hammered four t-posts into the ground, two on either side of the coop’s door and two more just outside the fence gate, about 6 feet apart. This requires using a t-post driver, a heavy pipe with handles. It’s noisy and teeth-chattering, but it does the job. My BMC was not a fan of holding the t-post steady while I stood on a ladder driving the post into the ground. I kept assuring her it was impossible for me to somehow slip and shatter her arms, but I don’t think she was buying it.

There were no casualties in this process. Next, I constructed a pair of U-shaped, upside-down goalposts out of two-inch PVC pipes and slid them onto the t-posts. (I’m thinking about patenting this contraption.)

I spent a couple of hours spray painting the PVC black to match the chain-link fence and netting, as the white pipes clashed with my aesthetic sensibilities. I was then able to attach the final pieces of netting. (Check out the photo accompanying this piece. That’s Dolly standing in front of the gate.)

Several times, we have spotted a red-tailed hawk perched in a tree close by, no doubt eyeing a chicken dinner. It is doubtful that a hawk or other winged predator would actually swoop down into the girls’ yard and even be able to pick up one of these hefty beauties. I am taking no chances. In a short time, we have become quite attached to these queens of country music. They cluck constantly and have done a masterful job cleaning out the rose bush beds inside their enclosure.

By late morning, the girls present us with their gifts — perfectly formed eggs, often with a piece of a feather attached, three or four every day. I accidentally walked in one morning while one of them was seated on an egg in the corner of the coop. She gave me a look like, “Really? Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

The father-and-son team that built the coop installed four fancy metal nesting boxes, which I dutifully lined with straw. The girls are having none of that, preferring to settle into the pine shavings to lay their eggs. I even bought four ceramic eggs at Horaney’s Feed that are so realistic I had to put a red dot on them with a Sharpie to make sure they didn’t end up in the egg carton. That was one trick suggested by a veteran chicken owner. So far, the only use I have found for the ceramic eggs is tossing one to a coop visitor and yelling, “Think quick!” (I take my small pleasures where I can.)

Our two granddogs are here for the summer, so there is a quartet of canines. While they at first barked furiously at the girls, now these ankle-biters either ignore the hens clucking on the other side of the fence, or they lie down in the backyard and watch the hens pecking the dirt.

Our girls eat organic feed and table scraps, such as lettuce, celery, and other human food. There are only a few forbidden morsels: avocado, raw potato peelings, and chocolate (same with dogs and cats) are all verboten. Oh, and no caffeine or alcohol. Our girls are teetotalers.

The eggs are delicious. Store-bought eggs pale in comparison. I was even treated the other day to a double-yolk egg. We are rapidly approaching the point where we will start giving them away, as the pantry gets stacked with filled egg cartons. Fun fact: Fresh eggs don’t have to be refrigerated as long as they are not washed. They pop out with a protective coating called the “bloom” or cuticle. The bloom seals the pores of the shell, which stops bacteria from infiltrating. They can last as long as 40 days, according to the fellow who sold us the girls. That’s a good thing, since otherwise I might have to buy another refrigerator just to store eggs.

A final fun fact: The easiest way to tell if a farm-fresh egg is safe to eat is to use the float test. Place the egg in a bowl of cool water. If it sinks to the bottom, it is safe to eat. If the egg floats, it is likely bad. I use a mnemonic to remember this: If it sinks, it’s safe; if it floats, it’s foul. Pun intended.

That is all the chicken news from Three Geese Farm. Until next time.

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