It's Not You, It's Me.

Our chickens have been outside in their coop and pen for a week now. It was a toss-up as to whether or not it was too early to put them outside without a heat lamp. Sean and I erred on the side of safety and would tuck them in every night with their heat lamp on, and then put tarps over the coop just to make sure they were toasty enough. Hey, it gets cool in Northwestern Vermont, even in June, and they are only a month old.

We decided yesterday during the day that they now have enough feathers and the overnight temperatures would be mild enough that they would be okay without the heat lamp. After all, we don't want to roast our girls.

As dusk was falling last night they were in their pen showing no signs of wanting to go into the coop for bedtime. They were happily scratching around their enclosure as we puttered inside the house. Suddenly, Mairead said "Dad, something is wrong with the chickens!". Sure enough, we could hear them squawking excitedly. We all thought "PREDATOR!" and ran outside full steam.

We didn't see anything amiss, which doesn't mean there wasn't something that hid when the clumsy bipeds came barging out of the house en masse. The chickens were really squawking though, not at all like their standard melodic chirping. Sean and I decided to put them in their coop for the night, just in case something was out there after all.

We opened the coop door and called for them. They squawked and squawked: really unusual. One jumped in my arms and sat there for a few minutes, chirping at me. It was very odd. They usually go right to bed when we open the door and turn on the

...heat lamp.

The heat lamp. Could it be the red light tells them it's bedtime? Sean trudged off to go get the electrical cord and lamp that had just been stored away. Meanwhile, chickens were doing everything they could but semaphore to tell me how unhappy they were.

Sean and Mairead stretched out the cord, reattached the light, and BAM! near silence. The hens all began their soft happy chirping and cooing, filed into the coop in an orderly procession, then arranged themselves for bed.

Seriously? They wanted their lamp? How could we raise the only chickens in the world who need reassurance at night? Can anything live in our house that doesn't have some sort of nighttime issue?? Do we attract needy, anxiety-laden creatures, or do we create them?

Nature vs. nurture, baby. No clean answers.