R.I.P. Blanche

Blanche's need for independence caught up to her this week. Most evenings, I would find her roosting in the pine tree above the chicken run. But my husband heard a howling noise in the night and woke up to find a bunch of feathers blowing around near the dog's run, where I'd never seen her. When my husband let the dogs out, they immediately led him to a section of the fence where Blanche lay dead, her neck broken.

Of course I question myself on this.

I've reintroduced Blanche to the flock several times, only to see her relentlessly picked on. It's something I cannot tolerate. When I'd open the door to the coop to let her decide if she wanted to go in or not, 9 times out of 10 she wouldn't. On the rare occasion when she did go in, the flock ganged up on her. I'd find her in a nesting box, ducking blows, or trying to get food, but getting pecked for her efforts.

She had made a home in the loft above the flock last year and this year, in the compost pile, where she'd layed eggs this summer and tried to hatch them. She never left the yard. 

Was she better on her own or should I have forced her to live with the flock? If this were an obit, would it read, She lived life on her own terms, and died doing what she loved best?

She was a hen with issues and I did what I thought was best for her. At 5 years old, she was among the oldest in my flock. She was so tough, surviving through winters out in the run on her own, that I was surprised and saddened when my husband told me he'd found her.

R.I.P. Blanche. I'm sorry if I did you wrong.

This summer, Blanche disappeared for a day or two. I finally found her in living in the compost pile behind the run. sitting on some eggs she had layed. I will miss your crazy ways, Blanche.

It's minus 5

But friendship knows no temperature bounds. Ayd Mill Road keeps Blanche company and keeps her warm, even in subzero wind chills.

There have been a lot of posts on our Twin Cities Chickens google group lately regarding cold weather. Favorites include:

• Check under a hen's wing to determine if they are warm enough
• Add gallon jugs of hot water inside the coop to raise the temperature
• Wrap the run in plastic to encourage them to still go outside (essential for Blanche)

I have another to add: All that food in your freezer that is no longer identifiable? Bake it on a cookie sheet and serve it up warm to your hens. You get a clean freezer and the chickens get a little warmth in their bellies.

It warms my heart that Blanche has someone. We all need somebody, right?

Blanche and friend. If anyone has a name to suggest that is better than Ayd Mill Road, please let me know.

Blanche for President!

Blanche is my write-in vote next election.

It's 9 below here in Minnesota on Inauguration and Martin Luther King, Jr. day. Yet that doesn't deter Blanche from leading her solitary life outside. Yep, just taking this picture was, for me, like taking the Polar Bear Plunge. But there's Blanche, toughing it out. That's why I'd like to nominate her for President. She can not only make those unpopular, difficult decisions, she can also execute them.

Blanche does have a Vice President, too. In the very late fall, someone found a stray hen crossing Ayd Mill Road. No one claimed her, so I adopted her. My thinking was that when I reintroduced Blanche to the flock, who is allowed to be outside all summer away from the flock, I would introduce this new hen as well. They would then have each other.

It worked!

Ayd Mill Road, her temporary name, gets along with everyone. At first, her stray tendencies kicked in and she would wander far out of the yard, or try to escape. Now she is settled in, gets along with the whole flock, and sits on the perch with Blanche, no matter what the weather.

Jim wrapped the run in plastic, but ran out where the ugly blue tarp takes over. That has helped keep it warmer, allowing the hens to move in and out freely and may be the reason Blanche is able to endure this polar bear weather. It doesn't look good. I don't think there are many coops that look good in winter. But the hens are happy.

Blanche on the perch far right. It's minus 9 out there.

Blanche during the summer. She perches in the pine tree at night.

Blanche continues as usual

Hanging out just outside the run and sleeping in her loft, Blanche continues her lifelong mean streak, unfazed by the crows and unaffected by West Nile.

Observation: the meanest birds live the longest.

Now the hawks Blanche the crows

Three juvenile hawks and the gang of crows were going at it this morning. The crows, as usual, were doing their heckling thing. And the hawks were going all Blanche on them. (See Blanche attack post.) The hawks wanted to get some baby squirrels but the crows wouldn't let them. In any event, there was a lot of cawing and chasing, including talons out front, this morning. I don't know what these crows are up to but I can't blame Blanche for opening up a can of you-know-what of them.

Two of the three in the Hawks vs Crows show down this morning.

Blanche goes postal

Now that I look back on it, it seems inevitable. But the day before yesterday, my daughter came home to find Blanche straddling an injured crow, pecking its bleeding head. My nephew and Marcy brought the crow to the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center. It turns out the injured crow had West Nile Virus and crows are carriers of it. It ended up dying, poor thing. While the rehab center didn't draw blood to test for it, the crow exhibited all the symptoms of West Nile, so they dubbed it "a candidate." Given that its election cycle, I felt compelled to ask what that meant.

A small gang of crows has been coming by twice a day for months now. They would heckle the flock - cawing at them, tipping over water dishes and eating food outside the run.

Blanche, since she's allowed to free range, has been giving the gang what for. But I never thought she'd just go ballistic on them.

I worried that the virus would transfer to Blanche and then to the flock. But so far, so good. According to Wayne at the U of MN extension service, chickens don't really get West Nile.

So, chickens 1, crows 0.

And Blanche continues her mean streak.

The gang of crows discuss the Blanche attack.

The Polish Join the Flock

Schwinn and Smirnoff were in the holding zone for a week or so. At night, I'd find them roosting on the fencing. There was some hen pecking once they joined the flock, particularly from Blanche. But now, the flock seems to have achieved harmony. Even Jim noticed that they seem like a happy flock.

State Fair, Two Days in a Row

The weather was so great, we ended up going to the Fair Sunday and Monday. Of course, we checked out the Poultry Barn, where I finally figured out what Blanche is. She is a Red Pyle Modern Game Hen. All along, I thought she was a seagull.

The fair hen:

Blanche:

Blanche and I Come to an Understanding

Growing up in a big family, I understand the need for alone time. So when I see that being a flock member is too much for her, I let Blanche out the coop door. At the end of the day, I open the door and she walks back in.

She mostly hangs out in the tree above the run, or outside the fence that is the run. But still. She's alone. Kind of. I get it. It's like being alone in your room in a big house full of noisy people. Crank the Journey and tune out for a while.

Catching up on two or three weeks

A lot has happened in the flock this June. Blanche has finally - finally! - found a direction in life and decided to sit on some hatching eggs. She was so excited about it she stole some of the nonfertile eggs and sat on those, too. She took this job very seriously, bristling up like a linebacker when I'd enter the coop.

In the end, she hatched out 4 of the 7 eggs. She was very protective and patient.

Then Stretchie came along. She apparently got jealous and decided to try to kill the chicks. Luckily, my daughter had been checking on the hatching on an hourly basis. She found two of the four chicks with their eyes pecked at and bleeding. They were in really bad shape, especially being hours old.

I put Stetchie in solitary confinement, outside of the run. I've never been so mad at an animal in all my life. She has a long neck that I really thought about wringing.

It's been about 8 days since the attempted chickicide, and I am happy to report, the chicks are alive and well. Squirt, the one who had both eyes attacked, is healing up nicely. Wink is healing up even better. They were pretty jumpy those first few days and I felt they could use a few more chicks to hang out with. I added a few more from Mary's hatch: Penguin, whom I had renamed Jackie Chan, and a pretty yellow one I decided to name Madeline Albright.

My buddy Blanche

I had a realization on the way home from work today. I just could not stay at my desk the full 8 hours today. I was driving home a whopping 15 minutes early, feeling the freedom, when I realized that I am Blanche.

Why else would I put up with her going on walkabout, sitting sullen alone in the corner and flying up in people's faces? Not that I am a loner, or mean like her. But I understand that need to do what you want to do once in a while, with no one telling you to do it. Put me on a budget, I'll go shopping. Put me on a diet, I'll eat chocolate. Tell me I must sit 40 hours a week in a cube, I'll leave early even if it is only a few minutes and of course I would deduct it from my timesheet. (I was raised Catholic; it's not in me to lie.)

Who can blame a person for wanting a little freedom in life? Who can blame Blanche?

Don't fence me in must be Blanche's motto, even if it means simply spending the day on the other side of the fence or in the pine tree above it.

The chickens know

Last night, in light of having three dogs, too many vet bills (Fetch, the Jack Russell had pancreatitis), two parents working full time and a kid who doesn't help out, we discussed the fate of the flock.

There are certain chickens I would have a hard time parting with. Hedwig, Coco, Legs. Maybe even Blanche, because you just can't replace her weirdness factor.

But this winter has meant only chores and frozen open doors and fences. No time to enjoy, no temperatures allowing anything more than running out with food and water then running back in.

They must have overheard us, because today, there was a record 10 eggs in the nesting boxes. "Let's get to work, girls!" Hedwig must have told them. And they did.

Blanche finally settles in

Last week, Blanche stayed out for 4 days or so. As usual, she never went anywhere. I usually found her in the pine tree directly above the run. I think she finally figured out that it's warmer in the run, with other chickens. She doesn't fly up in my face to try to escape now. She does look the worse for wear - disheveled and unkempt as far as chicken appearances go. But at least she's with the rest of the flock and is trying to blend.

Blanche gets weirder

Every time I open any sort of door or gate, Blanche flies up into my face and escapes. She has made many enemies in this flock, and I think she needs a respite. It's really hard to get one chicken back into the run, though, because all the others try to sneak out, too.

We figured out that the our mixed-breed, 10-month-old puppy named Doodles is probably a Border Collie. So we have been letting her round up Blanche. We figured we would let Doodles test out her Boarder Collie-ness on a few chickens that aren't our favorites. Unfortunately, Blanche qualifies. But fortunately, it works.

Blanche completely weirds out

Blanche has always been a loner - one of those that, if human, would be on the news for committing some strange crime. Sure, she's the cute, fuzzy yellow chick that insists on being in all photos. But you can just see the neighbors being interviewed: Well, she kept to herself, pretty much.

She is now all grown up and doesn't lay eggs very often. We tried calling her Peaches or Peachy, but Blanche is the name that stuck. She has taken up permanent residence in one of the nesting boxes and hisses at me when I open the door. She puffs up and is ready to strike if I put my hand anywhere near her.

For a long time, she just sits, but after a while, discovers that she could be sitting on eggs. It must give her a sense of purpose. I fool her by giving her a plastic Easter egg, or a golf ball. She then stands up and rolls it under with her beak, settling it in with the rest of the brood. I can then see how many eggs she's sitting on. Then she catches on.

So now, I come at her from behind. Since my husband designed the coop with a jutted-out area for the nesting boxes, it has its own flip-up door. (It's really heavy and we have a low-tech way to keep it open: a stick.) I pick Blanche up by the butt, and grab the eggs with the other hand. She can't beak me from that distance.

OK, so Blanche goes broody, you say. But the thing that's so weird is that she also recruits Legs to be part of it. She sits on Legs like she's still an egg. And Legs puts up with it! Why? Warmth? Two outcasts bonding together? Nothin' else to do?

On the occasion where Blanche does leave the nesting box, she heads out into the run for some scratch grains. But she stays puffed up, walking around like a pumped-up body builder on Venice Beach.

I begin to really dislike Blanche. But when she does go into the run, the other chickens pick on her and I feel bad. So for now, I am putting up with her weirdness and hostility. And Legs does, too.