Holy Coldiculous!

That's right, there's a new adjective in town and I'm registering it: coldiculous.

It's the word that describes perfectly the frigid night air that is so crystal clear it could slice the tip of your nose, the kind of temperature in which your eyes go on overtime to keep them watered to prevent them from freezing up in their sockets, that wicked little chill that turns your digits into icicles even when wearing thermal lined gloves.

This happened fast.  Just last evening it was delightfully pleasant out there.  Is this what they call a snap?

The thermometer on my porch read 20 degrees.  Aside from the horse water which is heated, all other water buckets are already frozen, and I don't mean just a layer of thin ice, I mean break the ice and bring them all into the garage to thaw out so I can refill them in the morning.  It's so cold already at 8:30pm that scooping horse poop was more like scooping poop cubes, scraping across what felt like concrete rather than loose dirt.

The time has come to pull out the official cold weather wear.  Liners under jeans are laughed at by that below 32 wizard.  It's time to get serious and face these coldiculous nights like a true super shero.

A flight to Hawaii anyone?

Silly Hen

It's a bit after 11pm and the poodles and I just got back in from a late evening feed and then a 15 minute forensic search for one of my hens.

I went down late to lock them in and only counted 11.  One of my black and white Barred Rock hens, either Alice or Baby, was missing.  It's never a good feeling.

My headlamp wasn't strong enough to do a thorough search on a winter's night of the new moon.  The stars are magnificent but still not enough wattage for a hen search.  So, back to the house to get my mag light and back down to continue looking.

Oh, the temperature is about 9 degrees.  I wasn't so cold but I was concerned that if I couldn't find her that my hen was in a safe place where she alone could keep herself warm.  They have quite a suit of downy feathers these days, but at night they nuggle together on their roosting bar.  I'm not sure if it's for warmth or safety.

Going through my list of previous experiences with missing hens, I felt optimistic that she had not been snatched by a predator but for some reason did not return the hen house when everyone else did.  This is when I wish my dogs were trained to flush out a bird.  There is a lot of sage bush around and plenty of trees where she could hide.

After coming around for the second time, I started to look up.  Maybe instead of digging in to the dirt as they do during the day, she went up to roost.  Whew!  Big sigh.  There she was perched on a branch of their favorite Juniper tree.  It's so big and full with very low hanging branches and plenty of loose dirt around the bottom that there is where they spend a lot of their time.

Thankfully I could push through the branches enough to pick up my hen and bring her back home.  Red the rooster had much to say about her clucklings; perhaps a welcoming back home, perhaps a disciplinary comment.  It was a  satisfying feeling to close up that door knowing all 12 of my chickens are safe and sound and settling down for a long winter's nap.