Milestones in Chicken History

We are pleased to announce the arrival, at 1:45 p.m. on September 13, 2009, of our first egg. Collected by Joe Dolde, it weighed in at 1 3/8 oz, which would make it Grade TSFS--too small for sale. Each of us has since checked the nest about 5 times each, but egg number two has not arrived yet. It is pure speculation, but we believe one of the New Hampshires was the proud mama of Egg Number One, since shortly after its discovery we found her sprawled out in the yard nearly on her side, feet splayed out with seeming exhaustion.

Unfortunately, it would seem that Randy the Rooster was not so pleased with the theft of his potential future offspring. Poor Cleo opened the nesting box door to check for another treasure and he jumped out, neck ruffled intimidatingly, and flew up at her with spurs unsheathed. From the sound of her screams, I thought she had broken her hand under the heavy nesting box door. She was rightfully terrified, although I think Randy was just as frightened. We chased him in circles for about a half an hour and finally left the coop door open with the hens locked safely outside. Randy tried desperately to get back to his hens through the fence, then finally found his way into the coop and didn't protest when we closed the door quickly behind him. Now, whenever Cleo peers inside, he gives his best manly crow and flies at the door. I guess she's his arch-nemesis now.

Who knows why one hen picked this particular day to lay, but her timing was excellent. I had just arrived home exhausted from a camping trip. Joe went out to check for eggs about 1 p.m., and came back with his hands behind his back. "Guess what, Mom?" I felt a little invigorated, until he showed me his empty hand and I snapped at him in disappointment. Did one of the hens rise to the occasion to redeem her dear Joe, who feeds them tasty tomatoes and other treats? Or perhaps she got wind of my threat to cook one of them up if they didn't start laying soon. Do chickens read blogs? (*Thanks to Joe, who came up with the title for this post.)

My Rooster's Name is Randy

This September we are anxiously awaiting our first egg on the Dolde Chicken Farm. All my sources say that chickens are supposed to lay their first egg at 4 to 5 months. The laying hens will be 20 weeks old this Monday and by my calculations that is 5 months and I want to see results! A couple of weeks ago I switched them over to Purina "Layena" which has higher levels of calcium for laying hens. The hens appear to be fully mature; their combs and wattles have grown and reached a nice coloration.

In fact, the laying hens are huge, especially compared to my "broiler" hens in the moveable pen. At 14 weeks (6-7 weeks older than commercial broilers), I took a half a dozen hens to Locust Point Farm, where I buy my milk and where they raise and process their own chickens. I haven't given up on my desire/interest/determination to learn how to dress my own chickens, but in the heat of the summer without any sophisticated equipment the prospect of splattering myself in blood and boiling feathers was not attractive. The Amish family at Locust Point dressed my birds for $2.60 each and vacuum sealed them in a lovely wrapper that said "Dolde - Pastured Chicken." I almost leapt for joy.

So one Sunday (Monday is butchering day), I placed the borrowed dog cage next to the moveable pen, asked my husband to act as doorman, and tried to catch some birds. Of course I didn't want to CLIMB inside; anywhere chickens live is poopy and the pen is only 24 inches high. Eventually, though I had to lean inside and grab them with my gloved hand. This is not a job for the timid. You go for the feet and bring them out upside down while they squawk like you are murdering them. It seems rather cruel until I right them, gently fold down their feathers and hold them in both hands for a second. Within seconds they calm down and settle into a purr-like clucking. Then it was into the dog cage quickly and back to find one of her sisters.

My daughter rode with me to the farm and anxiously peered back at the excited chickens in the back of the open truck, their feathers flying. "I don't think I can eat them," she worried. "You'll be fine," I assured her. I was surprised to see a whole row of cat cages, milk crates and chicken coops when I arrive at the farm. Apparently I'm not the only one experimenting with my own free-range chickens. They asked if I wanted my birds whole (yes) and if I wanted to keep the giblets (no). They would process them that morning, chill them down and they would be ready for pickup on Thursday. When I returned, the Amish girl looked apologetic. "They looked as big as ours," she said, "but I guess they just have longer legs. They are a little small." My biggest hen topped out at 2 1/2 pounds. No matter, this was an experiment and I'll just have to keep the rest of them a little longer.

We had chicken for dinner that night and everyone ate it with no trouble. We opted for butterflying the small bird and grilling it with barbecue seasoning. It was pretty tasty, and probably the best method of cooking we've found so far. I cooked another in an infrared oven someone gave me (cooks without giving off heat), and another one in the crock pot--it was 100 degrees in my kitchen most of August so I didn't relish turning on the oven and was looking for other methods. Both of those were disappointing. All in all, I am still reserving judgment. The hens are small--one barely feeds my family of four and two of us have small appetites--and I did find the texture a little stringy, but perhaps that was the cooking methods.

I am anxious to see how heavy the final six will be and how they taste. But I swear they have gone on a hunger strike. They seem to be two-thirds the size of the laying hens and although I purposely tried to pick the smallest birds when I separated them at 8 weeks, I don't think I was that successful. They just don't seem to be growing as fast. You'd think they would be happier with fresh grass every other day. Maybe it's the low roof or the exposure to the occasional thunderstorm. Perhaps I'm overthinking this whole thing? In any case, we will see what the next few weeks bring and I'll decide whether to try Delaware broilers again or switch to a faster-growing Cornish cross. I really want to experiment with brooding my own chicks at least once.

But if those hens don't start laying, I just might grab one of them and see how she cooks up. Or it just may be the rooster, if he doesn't stop crowing at 5:30 a.m. and tormenting the hens. Yes, our rooster friend Randy has found his mojo. Over the last month, I have run excitedly out to the coop several times when I heard what sounded like productive squawking, only to find Randy cornering some poor hen in the corner. Gone are the days when they would chase him away from a tasty lettuce leaf or tomato. So far, he has not inflicted any damage and he is acting naturally after all, but I can't help but regard him with a little disgust when he struts off after terrorizing half the flock. Roosters have their place, I suppose, as we learned when my sister-in-law's dog took a polite peek at them last weekend. Randy sounded a cry of alarm so terrifying that poor Rio jumped back and would have run away if he wasn't on a leash. So we'll let Randy rule the roost--for now.