Hens have the endearing habit of taking themselves off to bed, or ‘roost’ as it is commonly known. It’s a deeply engrained survival instinct; getting up high at night and out of the way of predators. Our four adopted hens, Hetty, Henna, Honey and Hope, have a ladder-like ramp in their coop, which leads to a raised area with plenty of perching space. When dusk sets in, one by one, they will carefully and deliberately climb the ramp with all the concentration of someone elderly negotiating a challenging set of stairs. It’s a behaviour I watched most clearly in a beautiful male Golden Pheasant in Norfolk some years ago; he cautiously climbed a bushy tree to roost, carefully negotiating each successful level until high enough to feel safe. With eyes set more to the side of their heads, rather than forward looking as in humans, and unaided by artificial light, the caution of birds ungainly in flight seems well placed.
Hetty would more often than not try roosting in the nest; a deep straw-lined compartment on the upper level of the coop adjacent to the roosting perch. This wasn’t something we wanted to encourage for fear of a fouled nest come daybreak. Consistent coaching has trained her that the perch is where she should rather be. In winter, it helps having them together so that they can benefit from their combined body heat.
When the new day dawns, our flock has a loosely identifiable routine; when released from the safety of their coop – all important protection at night from the foxes that now seem to camp out in the street – they run and flap, sometimes half flying, toward the ‘plain’, a flat raised area that used to be a flower bed. Here, they’ll scratch and peck; picking up scraps left for the wild birds, as well as spilt sunflower seeds, pieces of fat flung by squabbling Starlings, and any natural bounty they can uncover.
Next, they’ll explore under the thick cover of the Rhododendron scrub; their favourite haunt when it rains, as the broad leaves shelter the busy hens beneath them. They’ll then move to what we call ‘The Avenue’; a tunnel formed of arched hawthorns and viburnum. Log-stump stepping stones were once surrounded by bluebells here. When the hens arrived, the bluebells quickly disappeared. Now, they are criss-crossed by sprawling ivy and are often hid by soil and sediment scattered by enquiring hens’ feet.
Once the garden is scoured, it’s often time to dustbathe. Favourite venues for this essential activity are the half barrel that houses a splendid Bhutan pine; the other a wooden rectangular planter on the patio filled with soft compost and threatened plants. The hens will settle down into the soil or compost where they will lie on one side and use jerky, ecstatic shuffles to flick the ‘dust’ between their feathers. The purpose of this ritual is to help maintain their feathers in tip-top condition. Unlike human hair that continually grows, a bird’s feathers are replaced by a process of moulting, which usually takes place but once a year. Worn or damaged feathers are not usually replaced until the moult. Looking after them is therefore an important preoccupation for any bird.
Sunny days will often see the hens lying on their side in the sun, stretching a wing and taking on an ecstatically crazed expression with eyes bulging. I have watched Robins and Blackbirds too, sunbathing during lazy summer days. Watching it reminds me of a study visit I undertook to a new and innovative commercial hen-farm in the Netherlands. The system is designed to achieve high standards of bird welfare by encouraging natural behaviours, including dustbathing and sunbathing. Indeed, during the visit I saw quite a few sunbathing hens in this chicken city which housed 30,000 birds. I remember being somewhat surprised when our host told us that animal behaviour scientists had been out to evaluate this new housing system and that they hadn’t seen sunbathing hens before! They needed to go away and look up a reference for what they were observing! It made me think how far removed we’ve come from understanding basic animal behaviours, much as a result of farming’s quest for greater productivity and intensity. It also convinced me that anyone working in the field of animal science or animal welfare as an expert would most likely benefit from living and caring for hens. It would surely be a valuable real world complement to any long academic study. It would enable them to see the birds behaving in their more natural environment, rather than simply seeing the limited and institutionalised version so common on commercial farms.
What a lovely post! Wonderful to read about your girls. I love watching our ex-bat hens out in the sun. I adore the way they stretch their wings out to luxuriate in the warmth. Dust-bathing is great fun to watch too as long as you’re not too close and get a mouthful of dirt!
There is nothing nicer than seeing one’s chickens sunbathing and having their dustbath – a scene that evokes feelings of peace and joy as they so thoroughly enjoy it! My two older bantam hens are at least ten years old and going strong.
Don’t foxes prowl around in the afternoon as well?