The Chickens Have Come Home to Roost

The snow is upon us and the girls are huddling up in the rafters for warmth (and safety). That winter wind will take no speed-limit signs seriously when racing through the rotted, insulation-free walls of the Greater Northern 'Can Farms hen house. The chicken coop is also sans windows, or should I say sans glass. The windows are comprised of chicken wire, acting almost as a barrier to the drifts of snow that come blowing into the rickety fortress.

What's left of this rag-tag bunch of stragglers is the hardiest and most cunning of the Leghorn and Rhode Island Red breads. The Leghorns are the winter ninjas of the poultry world. Gifted with their camouflage, white coat of feathers; they are thin and nimble. Surviving on far less nourishment than their portly red cousins, the Leghorns could last for (what seems like) weeks on bugs-n-grubs found in the wilds of northern New Jersey. Their quick reflexes, lightweight frames, and zest for being alive just about gives them the power of flight. Majestic in these attempts at the impossible? Hardly. When under siege from their countless enemies [raccoons, foxes, dogs, weasels, rats (yes, rats)] it's like watching a bad horror movie.