Last Wednesday I learned the power of the wind.
My chicks roam the pasture near their hoop house with very little disturbance. Their first day or so they had the protection of a mocking bird. That sounds silly, perhaps, but a pair of mocking birds nest in a pine tree near the driveway on one side of the pasture and one almost always sits vigilant on the power line running over that length of pasture. Mocking birds make a great fuss whenever a threat approaches, and I believe this warning protects my flock from raptors. The red blinking lights Hal recommended seem to keep out owls at night and the electric fence, and I suspect, the horses keep out unwanted canines and varmints. However, none of these protections stood against the wind or the stupidity of the chickens on Wednesday.
I arrived that afternoon to find the hoop house a few yards away from the pen. I also noticed something else, which I tried to ignore driving in, opening the gates: silence and stillness. As I walked up the hill I caught the faint smell of death.
The wind pushed the hoop house over the fence, but the birds did not follow their home. No, instead they remained in the full sun of a very hot afternoon. Their waterers had been smashed by the hoop house, their feeder knocked over. The toppled feeder seemed like a good, shady place to some chickens. Chickens, being worse than sheep at thoughtlessly following each other to death, piled into the feeder.
Several died in the feeder. Some apparently died from being run over by the hoop house, and others remained near death's door due to heat exhaustion from what I could tell. Panicking, I decided to water them first, and then retrieve the grove tent. After what felt like an eternity of fumbling with the tent in the wind, I gave up and went back to the barn to get a box. I called Nicholas and began sobbing. The challenge of trying to save the rest seemed overwhelming. I felt the worst sense of helplessness and guilt. Nicholas left his office and headed for the barn, a trip that would take at least forty minutes.
Feeling some relief that reinforcement was on the way, I collected my wits and grabbed our chicken crate (very large Amazon.com box) and went to gather survivors. By this point, those relatively healthy drank water and rested. I began gathering the ones not strong enough to stand. I chose a couple very bad off ones, and after delivering the first load to the hoop house, I made the decision to only gather birds I thought might recover.
At this point a few thoughts went through my mind. First, if the hoop house looked like a covered wagon and those were compared with ships on the prairie, then this seemed like a ship wreck without a lifeboat. Watching the ones barely alive made me wonder what shepherds carry to quickly kill suffering sheep. Did they carry something like the ax of the Royal Cavalry's farrier? I wished I had a sharp thing like that to quickly end their pain.
When Nicholas arrived (still in a tie, btw) I stood in the doorway of the hoop house, keeping the wind from blowing it anymore with all but about six of the surviving birds. Six left out had water and some shade, but were well enough to evade me. Instead of chasing them and making them more hot, I decided to leave them and round them up later.
We modified the house (cut a door on the other end) and weighted it down with a bag of gravel at each entrance. We also hung the feeder so that if the wind does move the hoop house again, the feeder will not topple over giving a false sense of security to any hot chicks. Then we set about gathering and counting the dead. One bird seemed about to die for over an hour, and Nicholas suspected the hoop house ran over it. Nicholas did what I'd cowardly avoided, and finished the bird with a knife. We lost nearly 40 birds out of about 98. To avoid attracting vultures, we buried them in the compost pile.
I am relieved to report that despite the very weak state of some chicks that made it to the hoop house that afternoon, no more died that night. We did not lose another bird from those that initially survived.
The lesson here, dear readers, is to take the extra time and think about how your design will function, even in the wind. Honestly, we thought the structure too heavy to move like that, but the plastic provided enough area for the wind to exert force and move the house several feet. Another lesson may be to show humbleness. I felt punished for my hubris thinking myself clever for not losing any chicks to varmints after so many people talked about coyotes and owls and skunks. Only one person warned of wind, but very subtly.
My chicks roam the pasture near their hoop house with very little disturbance. Their first day or so they had the protection of a mocking bird. That sounds silly, perhaps, but a pair of mocking birds nest in a pine tree near the driveway on one side of the pasture and one almost always sits vigilant on the power line running over that length of pasture. Mocking birds make a great fuss whenever a threat approaches, and I believe this warning protects my flock from raptors. The red blinking lights Hal recommended seem to keep out owls at night and the electric fence, and I suspect, the horses keep out unwanted canines and varmints. However, none of these protections stood against the wind or the stupidity of the chickens on Wednesday.
I arrived that afternoon to find the hoop house a few yards away from the pen. I also noticed something else, which I tried to ignore driving in, opening the gates: silence and stillness. As I walked up the hill I caught the faint smell of death.
The wind pushed the hoop house over the fence, but the birds did not follow their home. No, instead they remained in the full sun of a very hot afternoon. Their waterers had been smashed by the hoop house, their feeder knocked over. The toppled feeder seemed like a good, shady place to some chickens. Chickens, being worse than sheep at thoughtlessly following each other to death, piled into the feeder.
Several died in the feeder. Some apparently died from being run over by the hoop house, and others remained near death's door due to heat exhaustion from what I could tell. Panicking, I decided to water them first, and then retrieve the grove tent. After what felt like an eternity of fumbling with the tent in the wind, I gave up and went back to the barn to get a box. I called Nicholas and began sobbing. The challenge of trying to save the rest seemed overwhelming. I felt the worst sense of helplessness and guilt. Nicholas left his office and headed for the barn, a trip that would take at least forty minutes.
Feeling some relief that reinforcement was on the way, I collected my wits and grabbed our chicken crate (very large Amazon.com box) and went to gather survivors. By this point, those relatively healthy drank water and rested. I began gathering the ones not strong enough to stand. I chose a couple very bad off ones, and after delivering the first load to the hoop house, I made the decision to only gather birds I thought might recover.
At this point a few thoughts went through my mind. First, if the hoop house looked like a covered wagon and those were compared with ships on the prairie, then this seemed like a ship wreck without a lifeboat. Watching the ones barely alive made me wonder what shepherds carry to quickly kill suffering sheep. Did they carry something like the ax of the Royal Cavalry's farrier? I wished I had a sharp thing like that to quickly end their pain.
When Nicholas arrived (still in a tie, btw) I stood in the doorway of the hoop house, keeping the wind from blowing it anymore with all but about six of the surviving birds. Six left out had water and some shade, but were well enough to evade me. Instead of chasing them and making them more hot, I decided to leave them and round them up later.
We modified the house (cut a door on the other end) and weighted it down with a bag of gravel at each entrance. We also hung the feeder so that if the wind does move the hoop house again, the feeder will not topple over giving a false sense of security to any hot chicks. Then we set about gathering and counting the dead. One bird seemed about to die for over an hour, and Nicholas suspected the hoop house ran over it. Nicholas did what I'd cowardly avoided, and finished the bird with a knife. We lost nearly 40 birds out of about 98. To avoid attracting vultures, we buried them in the compost pile.
I am relieved to report that despite the very weak state of some chicks that made it to the hoop house that afternoon, no more died that night. We did not lose another bird from those that initially survived.
The lesson here, dear readers, is to take the extra time and think about how your design will function, even in the wind. Honestly, we thought the structure too heavy to move like that, but the plastic provided enough area for the wind to exert force and move the house several feet. Another lesson may be to show humbleness. I felt punished for my hubris thinking myself clever for not losing any chicks to varmints after so many people talked about coyotes and owls and skunks. Only one person warned of wind, but very subtly.
