The Upward Spiral

Nov. 3, 2009– The Upward Spiral

     While I confess to being irked by a poultry vet stalking me in the presses and sending letters to editors all over the place denying the truth about battery hens, I have let my anger slide.  When I began the battery hen/farm therapy program, I had no intention of being the centre of a debate over the battery cage system, nor did I foresee that happening.  One website dubbed it the “Cobble Hills Controversy.”  When the first article appeared, I don’t think anyone predicted it would spread to other papers and websites across Canada, and even leak down to the Dakotas and the LA Times website.  I am perplexed at how it happened.

     While I’m being painted as anti-egg farmer, I am most definitely not.  I grew up in an agricultural community, and I spent a huge amount of time on farms growing up. My own grandparents farmed.  I am not, and have never been anti-farmer.  They are good people, feeding their families like the rest of us.  I’ve been told by many farmers through the years that they didn’t like certain aspects of raising livestock, but you simply do what you do because it’s considered proper agricultural protocol.  When the standards change, so does the operation.  There are many farmers out there already keeping egg-laying hens a better way.  There are massive scale commercial free-run operations who are capable of stocking President’s Choice with eggs, and smaller local operations like one I just found out about in Regina, where the hens actually run free outdoors. 

     As the backlash continues I don’t think I can back out of the argument now.  If someone wants to ask me about battery hens, I’ll tell them what I know, and point them onwards to others who have a deeper knowledge than I do.  There are piles of scientific literature out there on the subject, in addition to numerous anti-cruelty campaigns.  Since the subject of confining hens wants to take on a life of its own, spiraling outwards like rings in the water, I will ride along with it.  Dian Fossey wouldn’t back down.  Heck, Oprah already proved freedom of speech was alive and well back in the 90’s in Texas.  

       In addition to the spiral of media attention on battery hens, the spiral of the farm therapy program is broadening too.  There is so much goodness happening here at the farm that I refuse to focus on one person trying desperately to promote the whole battery cage system.  Instead, I am very excited about an upcoming meeting this weekend with a great woman who has already done so much for the arts.  We can really dig in and get to work on crafting a program which will rescue more animals and help more children, weaving the arts into the mix so that the children can explore their love of animals through artistic pursuits too.

 

Eating Out of Their Hands

Oct. 26, 2009–Eating Out of Their Hands

     The Pet Network day of filming was a great success and we will be featured on the show Pet Central at some point. The host, Candice Batista is an enormous animal lover, as is the producer.  Candice had the feral kittens soaking up her attention, purring every time she held them.  The filming was quick and easy and lots of fun, and the crew even brought a vegan lunch for us all to share!  My kind of guests!  It was a great way to balance out the irksome letter someone sent into our local paper.  It was apparently a response to the article that ran in the Star.  Why it wasn’t sent into the Star is beyond me, athough perhaps the writer didn’t want the Star to call them out on their ‘facts’. 

     Although the letter was published, it was full of asinine, ludicrous statements.  The writer purports that the large combs that block the ex battery hens’ vision is “genetic,” and not the result of over-crowded, hot barns.  It must be a miracle then, that two years in a row we’ve been able to cure this so-called genetic defect in a matter of weeks, with the combs returning to a healthy colour and size!  Furthermore, he insisted the hens being entirely bald was due to natural moulting!  Our free-range hens do lose feathers naturally in the fall, but never have I seen a hen (let alone 43 at once) go entirely bald as a result of moulting. 

      The writer also made mention that only egg farmers know the proper nutrition a hen needs. As far as I know, farmers with battery hens feed nothing but commercial lay mash, which is far from the only thing a hen ought to be eating.  The writer insinuated we feed nothing other than watermelon and treats, which is ridiculous. 

      What bothered me most was his statement was that farmers who keep hens in battery cages lovingly care for these creatures in a way I couldn’t possibly.  I do not call stuffing a sentient life into a cramped cage where they cannot even turn around a show of affection!  The entire letter was  beyond ridiculous.

     Despite my first taste of irate mail, I will not be dissuaded from our farm therapy program.  Although a few hens are still fairly bald, the majority have beautiful, small brown feathers. They are running outside and stretching in the sunshine.  Best of all, they are trusting the boys who work with them.  They are literally eating out of their hands!  Last Tuesday the boys lay on the floor of the coop, and filled their cupped hands with scratch grains, lay mash and corn.  The hens gathered around each boy, pecking away and eating from the boys’ palms.  It was a great show of trust.  With each achievement I am more encouraged to expand our program.  A wonderful person I have just met is arranging to have trained artists conduct an art therapy for the kids as well, helping them to explore their connection to the animals, and giving them something to keep at home with them when they cannot be here in the barn.

The Past Week

Oct. 20, 2009–The Past Week

     It has been busy around here to be sure, but productive as well.  Last Thursday the boys came out to care for their chickens.  I had planned on letting them help trim a few of the hens’ nails, and then I would finish the job at another time.  It is tedious and time-consuming and most adults would find the job lengthy, but these boys continue to amaze me.  Once the boys were shown what to do, they kept at it until every single hen had her long, over-grown nails trimmed.  The boys were so calm, so incredibly focused as they gently held the hens and steadily cut the nails.  Not a single hen bled, not a nail cut too short, which would be a feat for an adult.  These boys are capable of big surprises.  The hens look like they walk much better.

     We also had planned on a small tidy of the coop, but again, with shouts of “I love this job!” they filled wheel barrow after wheelbarrow of dirty straw, ran it to the manure pile in a frenzy, and had the hens bedded down on clean straw in no time–the entire coop cleaned out.

    On Sunday I was called about two small kittens who were abandoned outside. They look about 5 weeks old and feral.  In two days they have gone from hissing and scratching to purring.  The boys are back out again tonight and I look forward to greeting them at the barn door with yet more tiny creatures for them to love.

Hens & Media

Oct. 12, 2009– Hens & Media

     Just a week ago the Toronto Star came out to spend the afternoon with the hens.  Both the writer and videographer were wonderful guys and we had a really nice time. One hen, now dubbed J-Lo, really loved having her photograph taken and ended up making the front page. Driving home from town, I kept glancing down at the newspaper in disbelief.  This hen was hours away from slaughter, had spent her entire life in a wire cage with the personal space amounting to the size of a mousepad, yet here she was on the front page of the Star.  What an unexpected journey for a little hen.   You just never know what awaits you in life, and this chicken surely couldn’t have predicted this.

     Nor was I able to predict what would follow the article running in the paper.  I’ve been swamped by emails, some swearing off caged-eggs, some offering homes for hens, some offering much needed funding to keep the animals fed, and also some kind letters of encouragement.  We’ve also had a few offers of help as we move forward and expand our therapy program. 

     There have been requests for radio interviews (had a really great chat with Mary Ito on CBC Radio One on Saturday morning — she’s a fantastic lady!) and more newspaper stories. The Pet Network is booked to come out and do some taping here. 

     Last year I toiled alone in the cold barn, just dreaming of beginning a small therapy program, letting animals and children heal each other.  In my mind I could see it developing but didn’t know how.  Even during my business meetings with Pierre, I sometimes wondered if we could realize our goals. But like the hen who had no idea what was in store, I didn’t realize that our little story would resonate with people, that people might care and want to help.

      Now I truly believe that by tapping into the expertise that is being offered we will be able to expand the program and help more children and more animals.  It is so heartening to know that support is out there.  The boys are proud of their work and they will be thrilled to hear how much people have cared about them, and about their chickens. 

Chickens

Oct. 2, 2009–Chickens

     What progress the ex-battery hens have made!  Within three days small tufts of white downy feathers were appearing on some of the birds.  The yolk of their eggs had turned from pale yellow to vibrant saffron, thanks to the corn introduced to their diet.  The hens began to run around their coop on sturdy legs.

    For several days they seemed unsure of how to rest. In battery cages if you lie down you are stepped on, pecked, and possibly killed.  The hens tended to stand up to sleep, eyes closed, keeping one leg in mid air to rest.  Slowly, one by one, the hens are learning to nestle down and relax in the straw.  They are no longer dropping their eggs wherever they walk, but instead, are going to quiet corners and nesting, laying their eggs the way nature intended. 

   It is wonderful to watch the hens move about and slowly, luxuriously stretch out their wings, or stretch out their legs and hold their appendages there, as though they savour the ecstasy of what had been denied them for so long… space.

     Last night the boys came out from the group home and after tidying up the coop and feeding the hens, they helped put sweaters on some of the hens who remain painfully bald. Cold, damp fall weather has arrived and copying the lead of UK battery hen rescues, we took donated sweaters and put them on the birds.  Each boy so quietly and gently slipped a sweater over each of the chicken’s head, fastening the straps beneath wings and legs, always taking the time to pet their hens and speak to them.  By the end of the evening one of the purple-vested hens was already gaining trust in humans, allowing herself to be touched by the boys, rather than running away in a flurry of chicken squawks and feathers.  I continue to be amazed, that despite the dark histories of the children, they are utterly benevolent towards their fragile hens.

Horror Show

Sept. 26, 2009–Horror Show

     The forty rescued battery hens are finally here!  On Wednesday, Iwent to a friend’s sanctuary (a friend who had arranged for a middleman to provide the hens), and filled my car with crates of frightened birds.  Before driving home I called and asked one neighbour to help unload, and then swung into another neighbour’s driveway to pick them up on the way home.  The one thing I appreciate about my neighbourhood is that everyone is always at the ready to help, and everyone loves some excitement in the middle of their day!

     We lifted the heavy crates into the barn and began releasing the frightened birds. They flapped their featherless wings, their remnants of feathers scratching our skin, as they shrieked and ran to corners of the pen.  Their was blood from long nails which had been torn, and skin that had been cut during their removal from the egg barns.  Despite the injuries, these are the lucky birds.  Tens of thousands of other hens were heading to the slaughterhouse trucks.

     Finally the chickens walked free.  The hens had been kept in battery cages their only year of life, crammed into small spaces with so many other birds, unable to stretch a wing or even walk.   When the barn was quiet I stood and watched the birds as they pecked at the ground for the first time, and tentatively walked on wobbly legs.  Did they wonder where the bars of their confinement had gone? 

    Although I’d been warned they may cannibalize each other, they did not.  They huddled in corners, blinking, and watched their new world.  They pecked at the walls repeatedly, peck, peck, peck at the same spot on the wall, though it achieved nothing, like animals gone mad.  Yet by the end of the day the hens were already scratching the straw with their pale, skinny legs, and it strikes me as amazing, that a creature who has never done this before, has never watched another hen do this before, suddenly knows to perform this task.  It shows just how natural a behaviour it is, an inherent behaviour that is curbed by battery cages.

     It is an exciting day and I cannot wait for the boys to meet their hens, and to watch these creatures begin the healing process!

    

    

The Gang

Sept. 20, 2009–The Gang

     On Thursday evening our gang of boys came out to get the coop ready for the battery hens, as they will be in school on the day the hens actually show up.  

     It is a fine balance trying to explain to the children where the hens are coming from and why they are going to look the way they do.  I don’t want them being shocked when bald, sickly hens arrive, especially if the kids are expecting plump brown hens like we have on the farm.  I didn’t want to terrify the kids with PETA photographs, especially as most of them have known trauma and tragedy beyond words and we don’t need to add to that so I found the least upsetting photos of caged hens I could (black and white no less) and tried to convey to the kids that although the hens will look bad at first we will make them better! 

     As well, the point of the program is not for me to spread vegan propaganda (although I wish I could!) so I have to be somewhat matter-of-fact in explaining why the hens are kept in cages.  “And this is just how eggs are produced in Canada,” I try to say in an even voice, while telling the kids where their chickens will come from.  But out of the mouths of babes… “Isn’t that animal cruelty?” one boy shouts?  How to answer that one?  I did tell them that Europe has started producing eggs a different way, and that segued into a geography lesson.

     The boys filled the coop with straw, and began naming the hens who are not even here yet, with creative names like Tulip, Fly and Gandolph.  Crawling on their hands and knees the boys made beds and nests for the chickens with such loving care.  One of the sweet boys wanted to paint his hen’s name on her bed. Another boy told him “chickens don’t read.”

     We had so many laughs on Thursday evening.  We took a walk at dusk to the creek to watch dragonflies.  We ate freezies.  We saw the sun set a fiery red through the antique barn windows.

       I wish everyone could see these beautiful boys.  Despite being  in foster care they are clever and wise (also full of wise-cracks).  They are hilarious and witty and inquisitive and full of ideas.  As I watched them tenderly making soft beds for chickens no one else sees worth in, chickens the boys haven’t even met yet, I wonder what this program is really going to teach them. They are already compassionate and kind.

 

Frost Beats the Bucket

Sept. 15, 2009–Frost Beats the Bucket

     We have a new resident at the farm–a hen to preceed the fourty lay hens arriving next week.  Frost is a beautiful white broiler hen, who apparently fell off a slaughterhouse truck somewhere in the vicinity of farms who supply chicken to a certain fastfood chain.   A compassionate soul took Frost the local Humane Society where she sat for fifteen days, waiting to be claimed.  A wonderful volunteer spent time with this hen, keeping her company, and even made the two hour trek to bring Frost to her new home.

     What people purchasing buckets of  deep-fried wings and legs don’t see is the vital life lost in that bucket.  Frost has a ton of personality!  She is lively and curious.  As soon as she hears human voices she clucks away in response.  When you sit next to her and talk to her she tilts and swivels her head and blinks her eyes, her body still, listening to every incoherent sound people utter.   She loves to have her smooth white feathers stroked.  She can fall asleep next to you if you rub her beak.  Tomorrow we will let her run free on the farm with the other hens.

     A week Thursday our “first fourty” battery hens will be arriving, ready to begin their recovery and start their new lives.  Truly, this is when they actually gain some semblance of a life, let alone start a second one!   The wonderful boys from the group home will be arriving here this Thursday evening to get the coop area ready for the hens, with deep straw, nesting boxes, hanging feeders.  Then we will be ready for the big rescue!

 

Willow’s Water

Aug. 25, 2009–Willow’s Water

     Despite the sanity and general pleasant demeanor of the other two pigs, Willow, our silly sow, really does not want to behave herself and would rather continually test my patience.  For some bizarre reason, she loves to dump pails of water.  She has no remorse about it, even though her pal Wilma has an unquenchable thirst and cannot make it through a meal without drinking 5 times.  She doesn’t care if  Rusty hasn’t had a drop of moisture in days.  No, Willow loves to splash water around and does it the moment I fill their bucket.

     We have spent months trying to out-smart her with regards to her water pail.  Twice now the pail has been set into large wooden boxes, but she manages to break them in time, ripping away and sending screws and nails flying.  The outdoor water-bucket-box lasted for several months but she’s destroyed that too.  We have fastened a bucket to their stall wall with a myriad of screws, hooks and other gadgets but she can rip anything free if given a bit of time. 

     We finally bought an expensive and supposed pig-proof plate for the wall, with a lip the buckets hangs on and a pin that holds the pail handle to the bracket and wall.   Willow has pulled the plate from the wall. Twice.  She has managed to pull a u-hook from the wall which was fixing the ring and pin in place, and then she lost the pin.  When we put another long pin in place she ate the metal head off it and then pulled it out.  Someone brought me a ‘nipple’ for her– essentially a long pipe, connected to a hose, with a nipple on the bottom.   I was excited about this solution, but then realized two things: 

 # 1 Willow can stand on her hind legs and may pull off the hose, causing a flood.  Although a flood would render her blissful, it would be a disaster for the other animals.

# 2  Our winters are wretched and cold.  A hose would freeze in no time.  The nipple is only a solution for farms with 80 degree barns.

   It is now time to acquiesce.  I simply cannot out-smart her.  My husband with a PhD cannot out-smart her.  Extra time outdoors doesn’t stop her. Mud pits personally dug by myself aren’t enough to placate her.  Decoy buckets dangling from walls aren’t enough fun for her.  Bowling balls, rocks, branches, extra food–nothing brings Willow joy but dumping pails of water. 

     Jim, one of my ever-so-handy men on hire has now fixed the bucket plate to the wall with screws no creature on earth can pry from wood.  Although the bucket is still tipped constantly, at least it is against the wall and I don’t have to run all over the stall trying to find it anymore.  Willow wins.

Steamer’s Summer Home

Aug. 8, 2009–Steamer’s Summer Home

     It has been a productive summer.  One of the people who adopted our Boer goats is a handy-man and has been fixing some of the problems in the barn which have been bothering me for ages.  In addition to smaller tasks, Jim has been able to finally make a pig proof door, so I know longer have to fight off 1000 lbs of pigs every time I want to bring them indoors.  That has been the single greatest achievement in the barn to date!  This door could withstand the aggression of 50 linebackers or one rhino at this point. (Incidentally, I’ve been out to visit my old Boer goats a few times, and they absolutely love their new proud parents and their new home.)

     Hopefully, with Jim’s help, I will have the barn running like a ship before a large sum of battery hens descends upon us next month.  In the meantime, the farm carries on with the shifted summer schedule.  Three of the ducks, Ridley, South & Quack have a secret escape route and are out of the barn at dawn to get the best bugs and worms before the hens go out.  We rarely see them indoors.  Doodle the rooster and his hen Delilah continue to stick to themselves.  I’ve started calling them the Beckhams as they seem to be above the other working class hens and roosters around here and won’t mingle.  You can’t help but wonder if they just consider themselves that much better looking (which they are) to lower themselves and mix with the riff raff.

     My sons and I have finally rigged up a run-in shelter for the goats and Pot Bellied pigs.  There is an ancient barn at the back, well over one hundred years old, with dove-tailed logs, plenty of wood rot and charm.  We moved a partition away from the door that it blocked, moved it to the far end, reinforced a few things, and voila, now the goats can get out of the rain without me running them in and out of the barn a zillion times a day.

     Oddly enough, this barn has also become our little cat Steamer’s summer home.  This is our third summer here, and she has never done this before, but she has taken to sleeping and lounging her days and nights away in this little cottage of hers. She comes up to the lodge (aka the barn) for meals a couple times a day, now expecting to have a small bowl of her own away from the other barn cats.  She hangs out for a bit, receives some petting, and then off she goes again to her cottage.  I wonder if the Beckham chickens will want summer home of their own when they find out.