I have eight chickens in a coop that was designed for six. Don’t ask – it’s a long story.
To accommodate my two newcomers, I added a second roost and a second egg laying box. However, they have eschewed the new roost all together, with seven of them crowding onto the old one at night and one silly bantam sleeping in one of the laying boxes below. The banty is broody most the time and spends much of the day in there as well.
That leaves one laying box for seven hens. So there is often a cue of uncomfortable ladies waiting their turn. It looks like the line for the ladies room at a rock concert. Every now and then one of them will lose her patience and peck the comb of the banty until she finally gives up her place and angrily scurries outside.
I have thought about building an addition to the coop, but it took me the better part of a week to construct what I have. I can’t imagine the torture I would go through to add a second room. Besides, knowing my fussy flock, they probably wouldn’t use it anyway.
Except for foul weather, they spend their days outside scratching for bugs. The coop is like a barracks. What soldier in their right mind would hang around in the barracks when they didn’t have to? The problem is when it is time for taps.
As the sun starts to set, the smarter chickens go in early to find a good spot. The dumber ones, especially one in particular, will wait outside until it is almost dark. One of the meaner ones will invariably wait by the door and peck her as she tries to get in. As they finally begin to sort things out, the dumb one will be allowed entry, but will have difficulty finding an open spot on the roost.
Have you ever heard a chicken growl? As Dumb Dora pumps up and down telegraphing her intent to jump up and join the others on the roost, the six who are already settled in growl at her, as if to tell her, “Don’t even think of it, sister!” But of course she does and eventually squeezes in between two annoyed old biddies, who give her a peck for good measure. Then, as if to reinforce the entire pecking order, there is a flurry of clucking as they all peck each other one last time before dozing off.
The little chicken in the egg box is oblivious to the turmoil above her. She has learned from experience that the sky is not falling. She is no dumb cluck, after all.
To accommodate my two newcomers, I added a second roost and a second egg laying box. However, they have eschewed the new roost all together, with seven of them crowding onto the old one at night and one silly bantam sleeping in one of the laying boxes below. The banty is broody most the time and spends much of the day in there as well.
That leaves one laying box for seven hens. So there is often a cue of uncomfortable ladies waiting their turn. It looks like the line for the ladies room at a rock concert. Every now and then one of them will lose her patience and peck the comb of the banty until she finally gives up her place and angrily scurries outside.
I have thought about building an addition to the coop, but it took me the better part of a week to construct what I have. I can’t imagine the torture I would go through to add a second room. Besides, knowing my fussy flock, they probably wouldn’t use it anyway.
Except for foul weather, they spend their days outside scratching for bugs. The coop is like a barracks. What soldier in their right mind would hang around in the barracks when they didn’t have to? The problem is when it is time for taps.
As the sun starts to set, the smarter chickens go in early to find a good spot. The dumber ones, especially one in particular, will wait outside until it is almost dark. One of the meaner ones will invariably wait by the door and peck her as she tries to get in. As they finally begin to sort things out, the dumb one will be allowed entry, but will have difficulty finding an open spot on the roost.
Have you ever heard a chicken growl? As Dumb Dora pumps up and down telegraphing her intent to jump up and join the others on the roost, the six who are already settled in growl at her, as if to tell her, “Don’t even think of it, sister!” But of course she does and eventually squeezes in between two annoyed old biddies, who give her a peck for good measure. Then, as if to reinforce the entire pecking order, there is a flurry of clucking as they all peck each other one last time before dozing off.
The little chicken in the egg box is oblivious to the turmoil above her. She has learned from experience that the sky is not falling. She is no dumb cluck, after all.
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