As seasons have changed, we've been a little late getting our lights in the coop, and it has really thrown the hens for a loop (hey, a bonus rhyme!).
Is it day or is it night? |
I liked having that heat lamp up in the coop
for really cold days, though most poultry people will tell you that your
chickens don’t need the heat. In fact, there is the chance that they won’t be
acclimated as well to the cold when you have a heat lamp in the coop, and a
power outage during frigid weather could be disastrous for your flock.
So I hemmed and hawed over what kind of light to hang in the
coop.
The hens have not been laying much lately. Thelma and Pip
have been pretty regular, but one to two eggs a day from seven hens just seemed
a bit on the skimpy side. I really hate buying eggs at the store when I’m feeding
my own suppliers.
This year we decided to try just putting a white light in
the coop, on a timer that would extend the day a few more hours. But we should
have hung it earlier in the fall for a more gradual adjustment. For the last month or so, the hens have been
heading for the coop early – sometimes at 3:00 or 4:00 in the afternoon – even
though it was light a little longer.
Last week, K tacked up the light and set the timer for it
to come on from 5:30 to 9:00 pm. It’s a very bright light. It’s like someone is
going to be interrogated.
I went out to shut the coop the first night the light was on,
and realized that the hens were confused. Inside their coop, it was daylight.
So they went out into the yard, expecting daylight there as well, but it was
dark. They saw me, and crowded around, tentatively looking for treats. But I
could sense bewilderment clouding their feathered features. If they had
dialogue balloons above their heads, they’d have looked like this:
? or ?!
“Silly hens,” I said to them. “It’s bedtime.” I shooed them
into the coop and they looked uncertain.
The next morning I found eggs scattered around the coop as
if they were surprised by this sudden development—“OH my! An egg!” The rest of the week, I found myself feeling like the grand
manipulator, because instead of one or two eggs each day, we were suddenly
getting five a day. The light was definitely making a difference.
But evenings were still confusing to them. They’d head into
the coop as normal, get all roosty and ready for bed, then the light would come
on and out they’d go, bleary eyed as if the night had passed really quickly and
they hurried out to meet the day. Poor things didn't know what to think.
I’d see them milling around in front of the gate. I could
almost hear the conversations:
“I thought you said it was morning?”
“It was—you saw how bright it was.”
“But now it’s dark.”
“I know. It’s the darnedest thing. It’s like someone keeps turning the sun on and off.”
“I know. It’s the darnedest thing. It’s like someone keeps turning the sun on and off.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I know, I know! Right?!”
And so I go out and shoo their confused and disgruntled
selves into the coop, again. Note to self for next year: Be more gradual with
our sudden substitute sunshine.
This totally tickled my funny bone this morning! Thanks!
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