I do a garden check every morning as I head out to the chicken coop. I was thinking today of nature’s seasonal cycle when I opened the door to the coop and suddenly realized just how large this year’s spring chicks have become. Like the produce in the garden, these birds have spent the spring and summer growing and maturing. It really won’t be long until school buses will show up on the roads again, leaves will begin to color, and I will have to make some decisions about winter housing for my girls.

Our chicken coop has 96 square feet of floor space. Any building in our township must first receive a building permit. Because we were replacing an old coop with a new one, we were permitted this amount of space. Any larger, and we would have needed an architect’s plan submitted with the permit application. The coop is divided into two sections—one 8’ x 8’ section with nesting boxes and yard access, and what is now called the Teenagers’ Apartment—32 square feet that I keep for storage of feed, or turn into a hospital wing or, as now, house chicks too young to be in with the layers.

Depending upon what you read or to whom you speak, a chicken coop should have 2 to 10 square feet of room per bird. I suppose part of the discrepancy is related to size of bird and access to the outside. My birds are shut in at night, and except for the very coldest, snowiest winter days, allowed out into their spacious run. One winter, I kept 20 hens in the larger coop section. There was plenty of roosting space, and because I don’t heat this coop, the body heat from the hens kept it quite cozy. There were only a few mornings that water was frozen. I wouldn’t want to keep many more than that number of chickens together for any length of time. I’m a firm believer in plenty of space—that’s one reason I live so far out in the country! Crowded coops have to be cleaned more often, and even though this may sound a bit anthropomorphic, I think chickens crammed into too small an area tend to get themselves in trouble.

I have 17 older hens and 12 pullets. Too many to overwinter in 64 square feet of coop. I have to make some decisions. Soon. The teenagers are nearly big enough to join the others; they spend days in the summerhouse next to the hen yard and they are all becoming used seeing each other. In addition, the teenagers are outgrowing their apartment. For now, taking half of them outside every day reduces the crowding.

For some chicken keepers, the solution is simple. Chicks arrive in the spring and begin laying eggs in the early fall. These layers will produce quite well for a year or so, until they begin their first molt. By then the next “crop” of chicks will be starting to lay—the old hens are invited to dinner, and the cycle is repeated.

“Stew” the Rooster

I probably should have followed this schedule from the beginning of my chicken keeping days. My first chicks were straight run—they were just about equally divided between pullets and roosters. We gave the pullets names like “Mabel” and “Mavis”; we gave the roosters names like “Stew” and “Biscuits” and knew from the beginning they were headed to the freezer. It’s been almost four years now, and some of those original chicks are still living with us—Mavis has laid many an egg for us during those years. We know these birds, and aside from the fact that old hens on a plate tend to be so tough a fork bounces off them—I can’t do it. Not even for soup.

Also, we’ve been adding a few hens each year—some we’ve hatched, some we’ve adopted. However we’ve arrived at the number, 29 hens are too many for our winter coop. The average life span for a laying hen is about five years, and I suspect I’ve thought there wouldn’t be an issue with crowding.

I am narrowing down choices from which to make a final decision on The Fate of the Chickens. I know that these old girls are not particularly good layers any more. Some of the eggs, while very large, have wrinkled or odd shells. I’m only getting about five eggs a day, and I’ve been trying to figure out which are the best layers. I know that two of the younger birds are excellent layers—I can tell by color which eggs are theirs. Two of the older Rhode Island Reds seem to be laying very steadily, too. At least, I see them in the nest boxes and when they leave there’s an egg—so I think that’s a fair deduction. Older hens sometimes only lay two or three eggs a month, and that could account for the fifth egg in the nest box. Mrs. Feathers doesn’t lay eggs at all; she just sits on them.

Nice red comb, but is she laying eggs?

My research has given me some insight in how to tell a good layer. Combs and wattles should be large, soft, red and waxy. The vent on a good layer should be large, moist and colorless. Pigment is bleached from a hen as she produces eggs, so the beak and legs may have lost their color, too. A laying hen’s abdomen should be full and pliable as well, and the pubic bones should be flexible.

My farmer dad gave me a lesson in checking a chicken for laying, too. Right over the vent are the two public bones. In a large hen that’s laying well, there should be quite a space between the bones, perhaps enough room to place three fingers, and again, the vent should be large and moist. Hens that are not laying will have narrow pubic bones. As you can see in the photos, the Buff Orpington has very little space between her pubic bones (less than two fingers) and a small vent. The Rhode Island Red, while not as hygienically neat, has a much larger vent and quite a wide space between her pubic bones. The Rhodie is a layer, and after checking all of our Buffs, it seems that if any of them are laying eggs, it isn’t happening often.

Buff Orpington, narrow pubic bones and small vent

 

But, they’re my friends, and as much I love to have friends for dinner—I prefer them to be sitting at the table, not on the table as the main course. And culling hens just to make room for more isn’t something I want to do.

Lots more room if the door is removed!

Another consideration would be to open up the two sections of the coop. There’s a door between the sections now, and if that were removed, the floor space of the coop would be a third larger. That could make all the difference. I would have to rethink my winter feed storage plans, but the small shed that holds straw for bedding could be used to store the covered aluminum feed cans, too.

As you can tell, I’m leaning toward the remodeling solution, rather than culling. I’ll fill my freezer and pantry shelves with produce from the gardens. Soup made with vegetable stock can be just as nutritious and yummy as chicken soup anyhow!