From this...


To this...


And finally, this...

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These little guys may look cute, they may even act playful, but they are chicken chasers beneath those puppy dog eyes.

I was working on the computer the other day and I heard the tinkle of one of the cat's bells. I reached down to pet her and felt rough fur -- it wasn't a cat. A dog had wandered into our kitchen! I dragged her outside just in time to see her mate chasing Norrin through the yard at top speed. Norrin had a good lead and zig-zagged through the field to keep the dog away. He finally sprinted high up into a tree with the dog jumping at him down below.

While Norrin was running, Trevor and I grabbed garden stakes and the hose to separate the two in case the dog caught up with him. We set up Miss Chicken's wire cage and grabbed the slower, female dog and put her inside. By this time, the male dog was chasing chickens around the yard with much flapping and screeching.

We grabbed the second dog and put him in as well. Once in the cage, both dogs just sat quietly. We moved them into the shade, gave them a dish of water, then set about finding all of our terrified animals. Norrin wouldn't come down out of the tree, until he was absolutely sure the dogs were gone. Ten of the chickens were cowering in their coop, but three were nowhere to be found. While we were searching the yard, one snuck back into the coop. Who knows where he was? We found one under the house and the third, Pam, was hidden so well between the barns that I didn't even find her when I searched there. I saw her timidly sneak back out a couple of hours later.

On our way to St. Albans, (and with all of the animals put away), we decided to let the dogs out so they could wander homeon their own. After all, they wandered here alone. Bad move. These dogs were clearly not used to living near a road. They immediately ran full-speed into Main Street, toward biking tourists and oncoming cars. People who saw them leave our yard were yelling at us to get our dogs. I don't think anyone believed it when we said they weren't ours, so we gave up and penned them again.

At St. Albans we bought them a small bag of food. And when we got back they ate up the huge plate I poured out, then scoured the grass for dropped pieces. We emailed our neighborhood and managed to find the owner in about 30 minutes. They live down the driveway that's so long you need a car to wait at the bus stop in the morning -- no wonder they were clueless about traffic.

Dogs, chickens and cats clearly do not mix.

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I must admit that despite this post's title, Miss Chicken has laid eggs before. Just not with us. You see, she's an adopted hen who comes from a neighbor's house. She used to fly up into the loft of their barn to stay out of the way of an overzealous family dog until it burned down this summer. Without a place to hide, the dog came after her one too many times. Now she's been moved a few houses down to our place to mingle with our flock of twelve.

The photo is blurry because Miss Chicken doesn't sit still much, and unlike the chickens we've had from babies, she's flat-out against being picked up at all. She's a different coloring than the dominiques and the reds; I'm venturing a guess that she's a Delaware Blue Hen. She has the black head with gold stripes that I've seen of that breed in photos.

It was a trick getting her introduced to the existing flock of pullets (non-laying hens). She stayed in a cage in the yard while the other birds got a good look, but every time one ventured near the bars, she'd give them a swift hard peck. One tenacious dominique got herself a bloody beak from a particularly bad attack. And once, I saw a smug Miss Chicken with a mouthful of feathers as another pullet ran away squawking and flapping.

Miss Chicken (her name from before we adopted her) was out of sorts and hostile for the last week, but she was finally docile enough to be let out with the other birds a couple of days ago. She found the highest nest box and made herself comfortable. Clearly, the spot meets with her approval because she's begun to lay eggs again.



They're tiny compared to supermarket jumbo eggs. The yolks are bright and thick, and the shells are a pretty tan/salmon color. Just a couple more months and the dominiques will start laying as well, then the reds after that. With a baker's dozen eggs coming in a day, we'll be looking for people to take them off our hands. I'm going to need that extra fridge I keep putting off.

Anyone remember when I originally said I wanted two chickens?

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One thing you quickly learn about chickens is that they do everything together. One comes out of the henhouse and all of them run out after her. Another decides to go back in for a drink and they all frantically scramble back inside.



The eight big Dominiques follow me around while I'm outside puttering. Between the cats and the chickens vying for my attention, there's barely an animal-free place to set my foot.



The little guys, four in all, tend to follow Trevor. You can watch him take the trash out with a little line of four baby chicks trailing behind him.

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There are eight black chicks locked in my downstairs bathroom and I'm not letting them out for two months.



The cats are making sure that none of them get out.

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It's time to order our baby chicks, but their new home isn't quite ready yet. We've torn off the old, rotting particleboard and removed the old, rotting hay insulation, and taken out the old, rotting trash piles, but it still needs walls and a good power-washing.

We're getting six dominiques for eggs, which are a hardy New England breed that apparently don't wander very far on the open range. Our hope is to let them roam the field instead of fencing in a run, but I have a chicken run spot in mind in case we need to pen them.

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