A long time ago I made a stupid decision. I decided that when possible we would use
natural options instead of chemicals and pesticides. Organic?
Yes! Reuse? Sure thing!
Upcycle? You bet! Use alternative methods to pest control? Yep, yep, yep!
This decision gives me the warm and fuzzies all the
time. Fact is, it’s the right thing to
do for all sorts of reasons that aren’t the purpose of this post. But as good a decision as it is … it’s also
really stupid.
Disclaimer: this post is long and rambling and has no real
point. Also, it’s late and I didn’t proofread. Continue only if you really don’t have anything
better to do. Or want to see pictures of
chickens. Because there’s that.
Our journey began when we purchased our new-to-us house, two
years ago. When we first moved we had
visions of a serene gentleman’s farm with everything we could ever want,
including room for a pony (any Keeping Up Appearances fans out there? No?
Just me?). It wasn’t until we had
unpacked our bags that we realized our mini farm came with unwelcomed guests:
ticks. Lots, and lots, and lots of
ticks.
Now, I’m a country girl.
Bugs don’t bother me. But this
was ridiculous. We pulled off 5-10 a day
… and that doesn’t even count the horses.
Something had to be done.
Our first thought was “GAS THOSE MOFOS BACK TO WHERE THEY
CAME FROM!” I searched the internets a
whole ten minutes for the most environmentally friendly death gas available. Unfortunately there isn’t such a thing. But the time was not wasted because I did
find my salvation at the bottom of a Google search. Guinea fowl. The short version of all the research that
followed is this: they eat ticks. Lots,
and lots, and lots of ticks.
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| Cute, aren't they? |
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| This one came back. Once. |
So we got six guineas.
I named them after the Weasley brothers (Potter pride!) and life was perfect. After a few weeks they were large enough to get moved out of our dining room and into the barn. Get ready ticks … here they come! Alas, it was not meant to be. Within a week three were gone. Within another week they rest flew the nest and we were guinealess.
This is the point where I insist that they did in fact fly
away, and were not eaten by something.
One even came back … once. So,
there.
Fast forward a year to three months ago.
This year we decided to do it right. I purchased a pre-made coup with covered run. It’s basically Alcatraz for birds. I ordered four guinea chicks AND – here’s the
brilliant part –would buy two chickens.
We didn’t really plan on chickens but the internets told me chickens are
friendlier and will help your guineas stay close to home. Because remember the others flew away
(weren’t eaten).
So, we put together The Rock and gazed at it in awe. Nothing was getting out of that bad boy! The next weekend we went out and got two
chickens. It was late in the year so we ended
up with pullets. Teenagers. This should have been a red flag …
We proudly brought them home and spent the afternoon fawning
over them and letting the kids pet them.
It was completely different than the guineas … they didn’t like us. But
the chickens – oh the chickens! They are
only one step away from dogs.
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| Gertrude and Frickin' in The Rock |
Everything was great until we took a step back and realized
they filled up nearly the whole coup and I hadn’t even added food and water
yet. Or the four guineas.
Damn.
Before we figured out what to do, the guineas came. So, after some frantic shuffling I had the guineas
set-up in an unused horse water trough.
It took ten or so tries to get the makeshift lid to work. The cats (that we use instead of rat poison
to control rodents at the barn … trend) would have too easy a dinner without a
lid. Also, it’s possible they could fly
out and we’d be back at square one.
This set-up sucked.
The chickens were getting very bored and the guineas still needed to be
kept warm so my days were full of turning lamps off and on, filling up two sets
of food and water, and cleaning out spaces that were too small and filled up
with poop. Fast.
Let me take a minute to ask this: why must ALL BIRDS poop in their own food and
water? Why?
I was wondering how much longer the water trough situation
was going to last when I found our first casualty. It probably had nothing to do with the trough
being small and dark … but I didn’t’ risk it.
Out they came.
An unused dog crate makes a remarkably sufficient guinea
pen. It was great because I could take
the tray out of the bottom and put them in the grass next to The Rock. In fact, I did that right away; they loved
being out in the open. And the girls – Frickin’
and Gertrude as they have been named – loved having company.
That day it rained.
Guess what a dog crate doesn’t have?
Yep – a roof.
After running out, dragging the guinea crate onto the porch
and putting a heat lamp back up (guineas were soaked) I realized this wouldn’t
work long either. My days now included
all the old feeding and watering and cleaning annoyance, but now I also had to
drag the guineas off and on the porch whenever it was raining or nighttime.
My love for this idea of natural tick control started to
wane right about this time. But I
convinced myself “It’s just a rough patch.
Once everyone gets settled there will only be one set of things to water
and feed and they’ll have enough space I won’t need to clean as often. It will be fine.”
Lies.
The new plan was to build the chickens a new coup, using our
considerable building scrap heap. Also, I would divide a 30 ft x 20 ft area of the
dog’s run and line it with chicken wire.
It was a good plan and should only take one weekend.
Three weekends later – it’s today. I have invested well over $100 in the new
set-up, which is $100 more than intended (cost of The Rock NOT included). But, the coup was mostly done and the run
was near complete. Everything was
looking like they’d move into their new digs tonight, and not a moment too
soon. I was debating a nice roasted
chicken dinner when … wait for it … we GOT OUR FIRST EGG THIS MORNING! These girls, they knew I needed some
encouragement.
As a reward for OUR FIRST EGG I moved the girls right into
their new run. I still didn’t have the
coup moved in yet because it needed a door made. Plus there was one spot on the fence that
needed a second row of fencing but it was small and in the corner so I figured
if they were going to try and fly out, it wouldn’t be there. But to heck with that … those princesses gave
me an egg and they’d get their new run by golly.
They were as grateful as I expected and spent hours combing
their new space. The guineas were
equally excited by The Rock. Which for
them, isn’t nearly as confining.
I cleaned out the abandoned dog crate, scrubbed everyone’s
food and water dishes and took a break.
Then it poured. But it was ok
because the guineas finally had a real coup!
(at this point I hadn’t remembered that the chickens didn’t, in fact,
have a coup in their run yet. Luckily,
they had the garage overhang)
Not one to rest on my laurels I went back at it after lunch. I hauled the (heavier than expected) coup
around the garage, up a hill and into the new chicken run. Looking back, I should have moved the coup
into the run before I divided it off from the dog run so I could have just
walked it right in … or just added a second gate.
Lessons learned.
The coup was in.
Everything was right with the world.
Only one last thing to do, which was build the door for the new
coup. The girls would be fine for now,
but they should eventually be locked up so might as well build it and be done. I was feeling a high. The end is close!
I am going to take a minute to laugh at the naivety of my
earlier self.
I’m not going to go into the details of the coup door …
suffice it to say, it wasn’t easy, it took way too long, I was tired, and all I
wanted to do was be done. Another storm
came through as the sun set, bringing more rain. Which was fine, because I was on the covered
porch. With the chickens …
Wait, what?
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| See that little spot on the right where the fence is lower? Yea ... |
Yes. After all that work, after me being so close to the finish line, another wrench in the plan. My dear girls were tired of their new run and had joined me on the porch (through that one corner space without a second run of fence. Of course). I will say, their tameness came in handy since they could have disappeared into the dark and stormy night to live forever with the Weasleys.
After a short confinement in the garage (where they pooped
on EVERYTHING) they are now in the coup, locked up with its new, poorly fitting
door (Don’t. Ask). I have no idea what
we’ll do tomorrow since it’s Monday and I have to go to work. The girls might just have to stay in the coup
all day until I can get home and fix the fence.
That will make them happy and they totally won’t poop on
their food and water in retaliation.
So there you have it.
I have rearranged our living arrangements, or theirs I should say, four
times and each time it’s gotten worse. I
am one step away from releasing the birds into the wild and purchasing a
commercial grade pesticide sprayer.
This, my friends, is why being environmentally conscious is
stupid. Also, chickens are stupid. And rain.
And measuring when building things.
And poop. Mostly, poop.
