Recently, Mr. Grassroofs and I had to move our chickens outside. Their prehistoric little selves were getting too big for the indoor brooder. And as much as Fitz loved trying to herd the little guys, we didn’t love cleaning chicken droppings off rugs, and bills, and socks, and pencils. So we decided they had to go. Outside that is.
We have a beautiful chicken tractor. Seriously, it is lovely. We got it last year for our first flock. However, we lost the first flock, so the coop fell into disuse and some pieces of it are broken.
Like these doors that are supposed to be held in place by some swing hinges. Instead, they set into a little groove, but are hardly predator proof. How do you know, Mrs. Grassroofs? Well, that is how we lost the first flock…
Nothing says, “You’ve got some structural integrity issues” like a door lying on the ground covered with a pile of feathers and trail of red spots.
Laugh it up now, Foxy Loxy, but I’ve got your number.
And the wheels at the bottom- the defining piece of having a chicken tractor, the more-grass-fertilizing, more-bug-destroying, better-chicken-adventuring piece, the raison d’être of a chicken tractor- had broken off.
The broken chicken coop was a good reminder to me. I love living simply, and I want to get off-grid, and I want to reduce our load on the environment. Yet even with all of that, I still wanted a new coop. For whatever deep-seeded, corporate driven, media sponsored reason, I just thought we needed a new coop. The world does a good job of making us forget that fixing what you’ve got is preferable to getting something new.
Luckily, Mr. Grassroofs is level headed and reminds me of our goals when I’ve forgotten them (he’s great like that). He set to work on fixing the coop. Those are his capable hands at the edge of the picture.
After coop was fixed and moved into the back yard, we needed all our girls to meet it. This lovely lady was so eager she waited on the top of the baby brooder for five whole minutes!
SIDEBAR: Chickens should be moved into their outdoor space when they are fully feathered. If they still have their downy chick feathers, that may not keep them warm enough on cold nights. We moved ours out a little early because we knew we’d have several warm nights for them to get used to being outdoors, and we quite simply didn’t have a larger box to brood them in for those last few days until they were fully-feathered.
So our ten sassy hens made their way into their new home and are doing quite swimmingly. Now they just need names. We don’t actually name them individually, because chickens aren’t pets. They’re a food source. But we’ll pick out ten different names to throw around when we’re out feeding them.
The one you saw about is Jane Austen.
This little gal below is, alas, Emily Dickinson. Because she’s down (on the bottom level). I just tried to make a poetry joke. Did it work?
We need 8 more notable female authors. You can help! Post Below!