Flock Party

Today I had the joyous task of integrating two flocks of chickens.  I've been dreading it for weeks.  In hopes of making the whole process less stressful on the birds, and myself, I decided not to bring the two extra roosters and I'm really glad I didn't.  There was enough stress and chaos without them being giant a-holes and making things a hundred times worse. 

The "recommended procedure" for joining flocks is to place the newcomers in a large dog kennel or other fenced enclosure within the existing chickens' run. This way everyone can safely meet each other and get used to one another's presence.  After a couple weeks, you let the newcomers out and presto one big happy flock. This, however, was not an option for us so we had to go the down and dirty route and just go for it. And by we I mean me by myself which I was not thrilled about.

It didn't go great, but it could have been worse. It was like a high school party with kids from rival schools attending. Some were standing nervously in the corner while others were trying to jump into the social mix. Everybody was interested in who the "other kids" were, but there was some animosity mixed with the curiosity. And it was a bit of a turf war. Fights were destined to break out (and they did), tentative friendships started to blossom. And the boys (those dirty roosters!) behaved so badly trying to mate with all the pretty new hens. It was embarrassing. That's not the proper way to welcome the ladies to their new home, jerks!

Predictably, there was blood. Bloody combs, bloody toes, bloody faces—but thankfully, no serious injuries. At one point, I thought I had completely lost one of the new hens. She just... disappeared. Nowhere to be found. But thankfully, after an exhaustive search which ended with me squirming on my belly in the mud to check just one more place, I found her squeezed beneath the coop, hiding out.  She must have been an introvert and just wanted some time alone. Honestly, same girl. I didn't blame her a bit.  

I love that I'm her "safe place"

Then there's this little gal, Stormie. She's a bantam—a miniature breed. She looks more like a bird you'd see in your backyard than an actual chicken. The established flock picked on her mercilessly. She was pecked, chased and jumped on way more than any of the other newcomers and finally decided the best place to find peace and safety was on my head for the duration of the day. Who was I to say no to that?  

So the overall good news? No one died, and they’re mostly figuring things out. The bad news? I still have two other roosters to join into the flock. But I'm feeling a little more confident about it now as I'm starting to get things figured out, too.