How can you be sure an egg is fresh? You can check your eggs for freshness by doing this easy Float Test.
I had to leave the flock in the care of Doctor Dolittle and Fireman Guy. Naturally, the chickens decided to become 100% productive. The kitchen counter had a mountain of eggs!
Float Test to the rescue!
How to Float Test Eggs
Fill a container with more than enough water to completely cover eggs.
Gently place eggs in the water and wait for them to mostly stop moving.
Look at the eggs.
Toss the Floaters!
Floating egg is stale
Save the Sinkers!
Fresh eggs sink
Why does this work? To answer this question you need to understand that eggs have an air cell in the large end and that the egg shell is porous. As an egg ages, the air carries away moisture which causes the fluid part to shrink and the air cell to get bigger. Eventually the egg contains so much air that it floats in water. When an egg reaches that stage, it is no longer good to eat.
Once upon a time, Psycho the feather-pecking pullet, was imprisoned in the newly constructed chicken run. There she lived in tragic isolation, waiting for her prince to arrive and sweep her off her feet.
Then one day, out of the blue, a brightly colored cockerel showed up at her gate. He danced his "Hey Baby" dance. He crowed his crackly Junior crow. He even graciously ran away from Mr. Big when he felt the fence might not be strong enough to hold him back.
As soon as Psycho's gate was opened, Junior made himself at home. He showed her where her food dish was. He scratched up bugs and held them up for her. He even verified the comfort and safety of her roost.
The one thing the happy couple lacked was a cozy chicken coop to call their own. Luckily the new farm hand, Fireman Guy Montag, knew how to drill and caulk.
Guy and I start construction on chickeny love shack
Doc just completed a horse fence project, so we had a lot of salvaged wood. I scrounged up hardware cloth, a 3x5 cement board, and some fence pales.
Guy caulked the gaps
I bought a pre-cut 2x2 treated plywood door from Lowes. Smart move! It is actually square!! This made installing hinges and hanging the door soooooo much easier.
Doc and Guy weatherproofed the coop after this pic
Alone at last!
We furnished the coop with a 2x6 roost, a dog bowl of layer crumbles, a water bottle, and a covered cat box for nesting. Junior liked the roost. Psycho liked the crumbles.
I need a new coop. The fancy brooder cage is getting really crowded. Packing the chicks into the cage makes me feel like a conductor.
Doc and I considered my construction skills, the Texas summer, and the urgent need for a new coop. We immediately hired a couple of likely youths to build a coop. They said, "Sure, we can do that in four hours". I told them I needed it done in two days. "No problem".
Off to a good start
I gave them the dimensions, helped them collect the scrap wood, and supplied them with tools. They assured me they knew what they were doing because their other job was building kitchen cabinets from scratch. I watched them carefully and learned a few carpenter tricks, like measuring.
Fancy tile backer cement board floor
After I came back from lunch, I checked on the young carpenters. Uh-oh! According to the plan the cement board should have fit perfectly with a single cut to add an extra strip. They had to cut the cement board in multiple places and nothing seemed to fit right. Did they check to make sure everything was square as they were building the base? Nah, that is the installer's job....
Next day, the plan was to put up the walls, roof, and doors. After much sweating and colorful language, they presented me with their "completed" work.
Looks pretty much like a coop
I paid them and we all went away wiser. *sigh*
Doc and I dismantled the most egregious errors and reconstructed the coop in fits and starts. We fastened the hardware cloth using screws and plumber's hanger tape.
Hardware cloth fastened over treated wood
We eventually enclosed the exterior with hardware cloth. Searching the barn, I found some ancient plywood that could be wrangled into a roof-like structure. Doc carefully guided me up the ladder and onto the roof. With much trepidation, I screwed the plywood to the rafter, actually making it into the wood, thanks to Doc's good eye.
A roof-like structure
By the time we stopped for the night, I was sunburned enough to have a slightly smoky smell. Doc's theory is that the "smoke" was actually my personal aroma made visible.
As a Texan, I take trespassing very seriously. Trespassers with two, four, or zero legs are not welcome at the ranch. But my chickens, being avian dinosaurs, apparently have other ideas when it comes to their legless cousins.
It would seem that the chickens do not mind so much when their cousins come to visit and help themselves to a few eggs. The last couple cousins consumed ceramic eggs, and by the power of Natural Selection, the remaining ones only seem to like the genuine article.
So today, while opening the gate for Doctor Dolittle, I encountered a zero-legged trespasser. At first I thought it was a stick, so to be sure I gave a neighborly "Hi there" while reaching for the board that holds the gate open. As my face got closer to the object, I could see that it was organic and scaly.
Experiencedwarrior that I am, I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes, and aimed the board at the snake's head. I missed. I missed because it lunged at me while I was swinging at it's head. I stuck a blow to the snake's tail, causing it to snap like a scaly little whip, right in front of my face. The board shattered with the force of my mighty blow and half of it sailed over the snake's head toward mine. I danced away as my digestive exit blinked out an S-O-S.
Screwing up my courage, I returned to the fray. Keeping my eyes open this time, I managed to share a blunt opinion with the trespasser. Accepting my irrefutable logic, the snake departed this plane.
Water Moccasins shouldn't mess with Texans
Ever the professional, Doc suggested I wash my hands. My hands are not the only things that need washing....
I previously wrote about trimming Mr. Big's spurs. We did not trim enough, because today Doc noticed that De has started looking raw like Vo. We immediately began waiting for nightfall when the chickens would be snoozing on their roost.
We crept into the coop and snatched Mr. Big from the roost. He was not pleased and communicated his displeasure. The girls argued for his immediate release, but their pleas fell on deaf ears.
Here are the steps used to remove the rooster's spurs:
1. Hold the rooster by the feet, upside down.
Spurs are still too pointy
2. Grasp a spur with pliers, then rotate along the axis of the spurs while bracing the leg.
Grab spur and turn one way
3. Then rotate the pliers in the opposite direction.
Turn the other way
4. Pull the spur off. Note that it may bleed.
Pull straight off
5. Blot the bloody spurs with cornstarch.
Put a little cornstarch on bloody spurs
Doc and I restored Mr. Big to his roost. Oh the chickeny joy! Well, joyful enough. We collected our stink eyes and left.
Mr. Big has come a long way from the days when he did not know which end of a hen to mount. Now he does his "Hey Baby" dance whenever I am out of sight and the hens are looking good. And they look good to him all the time....
Mr. Big, being a healthy Texas rooster, has a sharp set of spurs. Last year, when his they were small and blunt, it was no problem when he developed a favorite girlfriend. Now that his spurs are pointy, "Ride 'em cowboy" carries a high price.
Vo has been his very special friend for some time now and is starting to look the part. When you compare De and Vo, you can see that De lacks the oh-so-attractive bald spots that Vo is sporting.
De, Vo. Feathers, Bald.
Spur damage on Vo
I guess you could say we were spurred to act.
Dr. Dolittle and I waited until nightfall and collected Mr. Big from his roost. He complained about being caught at first. Then he saw the clipper and became very still, as if he were preparing himself for his journey to the freezer. Sparing his life, we clipped 1/8 inch off the tips of his spurs. Mr. Big was not very impressed with this treatment and fluffed his feathers discreetly when returned to the roost. I pretended not to notice the stink eye he sent our way.
Mr. Big in an undignified position, showing spurs
Making the spurs less sharp
I hope blunting the spurs was enough. If this does not work, then I will have to take the spurs off entirely with pliers. This creeps me out because it seems to me like pulling out fingernails. Eeeeeew!
The spice must flow! As worms threatened production, Doc suggested worming the chickens with red pepper flakes. It was such a big hit that we used up the entire bottle of pepper flakes in just a couple days.
To make sure the chicks got their fair share, I have started keeping Buffy outside the chick tractor during the day. She orbits the tractor, eating adult food. They stay inside consuming chick starter and treats.
To each their own
Ever frugal, I noticed that I could get a lot of fresh jalapeños for only a few cents. I gleefully purchased a bag of jalapeños and Doc chopped some up for the chicks. Naturally, they ran in abject terror upon first sighting the horrible invading veggie. But soon, they were demanding their daily delicious green treat. Oh the chickeny joy!
Doc and I have been taking Buffy and the chicks out of the brooder and placing them in a tractor we moved inside the pen. This gives everybody a chance to stretch out.
Oreo demonstrates flexibility
I use this time to clean the brooder cage. The sand is great at drying out the poo. All I have to do is sift it with a wire sieve. Doc changes their feed and water.
De and the other watch these proceedings with great interest. Especially since they can score some chick crumbles every so often.
Passing through the yard, I maimed a big grasshopper. I raced to the tractor and handed it to Buffy.
She made sure the grasshopper was sufficiently dead and dropped it among the chicks. Oh the chickeny joy! One took off with the bug peeping furiously, followed by the other six. A chick managed to pick off a morsel and took off in another direction. She consumed it under Buffy's watchful gaze while the rest ran around.
The chick with the bug wore out the others and hid in a corner trying to figure out how to eat it. She eventually picked it apart. Buffy supervised and clucked her approval.
Doc and I rounded up Buffy and the chicks, placing them in the brooder cage. Well, mostly. One independent chick made a run for it. She ran out through the 2x4 farm fence into the yard, then perplexed, circled back and returned to the pen. She ran between my legs and bypassed Doc. The chick triumphantly raced up the chicken ladder and hopped into the coop through the pop door.
Nine days old! Can you imagine what they will be like next week?
Two days ago we discovered an amazing smell in the coop. I tearfully checked under the hen and found three eggs. The fourth egg was nowhere to be seen. Choking, I retreated upwind and sat down to think like a stuffed bear with very little brain. Oh bother! But the sensible Doctor Dolittle suggested that Buffy had consumed one of the eggs because it was rotten, setting my overworked brain at ease.
Today Buffy was particularly violent in her objection to being forced off the nest. I pulled away my hand, with her beak firmly attached, and saw a glimpse of black. I squawked. Buffy squawked in response, falling back onto the nest.
I got my camera and came back for more opportunities to lose fingers.
Two eggs left
First chick to hatch
Chick from Mr. Big and De
Realizing that I was out of time to prepare for chicks, I raced to Tractor Supply. My list included chick starter, chick feeder, chick waterer, and chick electrolytes. It would have been so easy to just run in and run out with my purchases, right? But nooooooooo.
Doctor Dolittle saw it first. There was a tub with a brooder lamp over it. "What is that?" Doc asked. Foolishly, I turned to look. TSC had one last batch of healthy-looking Production Red pullets.
Production Red Pullets from TSC
Now, by the power of Chicken Math I have six more chicks.
Update: One of the Production Reds is very aggressive and keeps pecking her sisters. I think she just volunteered to become the first foreigner placed under Buffy tomorrow. If she is agreeable, then I will put the rest under her. If she attacks the chick, the little bugger could probably hold her own.
My flock brings all the predators to the yard. One made off with a clutch of eggs. One left footprints in the dirt. Another had a staring contest with me late one night.
I have left my traps unbaited for too long. So today, after Doctor Dolittle prepared an amazing steak dinner, I took some trimmings out to the coop.
The birds saw me coming with a bowl. Oh the chickeny joy! They paced back and forth and clucked and hopped and collided like a handful of stooges. Their joy turned to fury as I kept walking past the coop. They squawked and grumbled and paced and hopped and ... well you know.
I stopped at the old TSC varmint trap stationed in the old chicken run. It has seen better days, but has done the job. It has captured squirrels, cats, a chicken, opossums, raccoons, and a fox. I baited it with delicious steak trimmings, carefully stuffed into an attached cat food tin.
Old trap from TSC, with DIY bait can
Did likewise with the Havahart trap.
I went back to the coop with the beefiest trimmings. Oh the chickeny joy! They paced back and forth and clucked and hopped and ... well you know.
Racing to the coop, I dropped the bowl inside and ran for cover. The ravenous birds put themselves up for the night as I stealthily closed the pop door. With the sound of violent feasting in my ears I slipped away.
Hopefully I will have a good catch tomorrow.
Update: Yikes! Saw an armadillo in the creek bed. Doc warned it to stay away from the trap.
I have a gift for inserting my foot into my mouth.
I spent the morning bragging to Doctor Dolittle about my chicken-keeping prowess and grandiose plans. After a few gentle comments about "chicken math" I was too irritated to continue bragging.
Cranky, I went outside to put the chickens up from their late afternoon free range pasture crawl. They had worked over the whole yard and were waiting on the porch. That really chafes me because they leave poo where I do not want it.
The birds refused all suggestions, orders, commands, inducements, bribes and threats. They simply looked at me as if I were an interesting, but distasteful, insect. That really bugged me!
So I called the Doctor.
Doctor Dolittle listened patiently to the symptoms and then prescribed two slices of bread and advised I should call in the morning. Impervious to my eye roll, Doc serenely walked off the porch with the bread, calling the chickens.
They were spellbound! Every few feet Doc would drop a single small bread crumb and the five hens would simultaneously dive for the awesome delicious flying fleck of food. Oh the chickeny joy!
On Doc's command, Mr. Big performed his "crazy chicken head" and then marched into the coop like a conquering hero with his adoring harem close behind.
