Cold Feet

     It was very quiet in the chicken run yesterday at nine a.m.  Usually by that time there is a lot of clucking and carrying on.  The girls expect me out there with some treats and they are clamoring for me to open the gate and let them out to ‘range free’ for the day.  But yesterday, ’nary a peep.
     Their coop is a sturdy 4×8 structure built about three feet off the ground so that they can get underneath and out of the rain if they want to.  They never want to.  Rain or shine, it matters not.  We keep their feeder underneath the coop so that their food won’t get wet, and they do go there periodically during the day to eat, but not to just hang out.  They’re all business, those girls.
     Attached to the coop and extending for about twenty feet beyond it is a completely enclosed yard or run.  Originally it was a grassy area, but it wasn’t long before it was one long, bare dirt surface which, at this time of year, gets pretty muddy.  Chickens don’t mind mud.  Getting from the door of the coop to the ground level run requires a walk down a ramp or, a big flapping hop – usually a little of each.
     Yesterday, however, they were having none of that.  They huddled in the coop in silent protest against the strange white blanket that covered ramp and run.  I opened the doorway to the run shaking the scratch can and calling my usual “Here chick chick chick.”  A little rustling in the coop.  A few tentative looks outside.  But no one ventured forth.
     I shook out some scratch onto the snow in plain view.  Nothing.  I shook out some scratch onto the snow-covered ramp.  Nothing again.  I shook out some scratch onto the dirt just under the edge of the coop.  Nothing some more.  Chickens are stubborn.
     About three o’clock I went out and gathered the eggs.  There were five in the nest boxes which are, of course, safely located inside the coop.  There were no chicken tracks in the snow, and the scratch remained where I had tossed it hours before.  I coaxed and cajoled and finally resorted to calling them “chicken” – all to no avail.
     Finally, I cleared the snow off the top half of the ramp and managed to convince five of the seven to go down to the feeder.   Two of the red hens, however, would not budge from the coop.  “They will if they get hungry enough,” said Farmer Nyel.  I’m not so sure.  Especially if it keeps snowing.  Chickens definitely do not like snow.