Thwarted by Sparrows

The local gang of sparrows has been eating me out of house and home.  In through the little chicken coop doors they fly in order to feed themselves silly on chicken food.  I buy organic pellets for the girls which ups the price so the sparrows are not welcome.  Plus they could be bringing unwanted disease onto my little flock.  What to do...

I tried to go the cheap route with some netting through Amazon.  The plan was to cover all sides and the top of the chicken run to stop the buggers from getting in.  Bad move.  Rick struggled and struggled and the darn stuff would not stretch to the advertised dimensions.  Back it went. (gosh I sure do appreciate being able to return Amazon items to Kohl's) 

Tractor Supply to the rescue.  This version of the netting did what it was supposed to do.  In spite of the fact installation time was far greater than anticipated, we were pleased.  Until I saw sparrows in the run trying to get out.  The marauders have found some tiny opening and cannot resist the allure of that tasty chicken food.  Apparently getting back out is a dilemma.  I've come to the rescue a couple of times, opening coop doors to shoo them out, but I can't always do that.  So I'm leaving them to their own devices.  And no, we can't determine the whereabouts of the tiny opening(s).

Since losing Jo this week I've been assessing everybody with my eagle eye.  If a chicken makes the smallest odd move, I zoom in to observe.  I did give everyone, even the little girls, a concoction of oatmeal with lots of garlic and cayenne pepper.  Many articles praise garlic for its antibiotic properties.  Since I don't know the cause of Jo's death, a natural proactive intervention can't do any harm. 
I licked the spoon after fixing the oatmeal with herbs and was a little overwhelmed by the garlic, but the girls ate every bit gone.

Cross your fingers...

Another Difficult Post

I lost Jo this morning.  She died in less than 24 hours of me noticing something was off.  You know I just can't bring myself to write about what I thought it was and what, after more reading, I'm suspecting it was.  Maybe later. 

Losing a hen continues to be heart-wrenching. 

Gruel Isn't Cruel

This morning's Sunday breakfast included steel cut oats simmered with blueberries and walnuts.  Rick, always the Sunday morning chef, made a bit too much.  So we shared with the chickens.

Much to my surprise, all birds were enthusiastic.  Usually the big girls are a tad fussy.  And the little girls are partial to greens.  But everyone (except Buffy) dove in.

Don't tell anyone, but I haven't named these cuties yet.  They're just so little and wary, I'm having a problem fitting their names.  It will come.