My day was going along fine, just another day in the "Land of Oz" doing chores around the property. Today’s activity was to finish constructing the new chicken coop. We converted an old horse barn/stall in a chicken condo complete with nesting boxes and a special trap door that allows us to replenish feed and water without having to actually step into the coop. This is important if you don’t want to export (on your shoes) the chicken’s #1 product; chicken poop.

The main living space has been complete for a couple of weeks. Today was all about fencing in a “range yard” for the hens to scratch around in. Turns out chickens like to scratch in dirt as well as eat bugs and small bits of gravel to help with their digestion (since they don’t chew their food – no teeth). Plus the cardio exercise is good for their overall health.

In anticipation of the grand opening of the fully finished chicken resort, (we have family coming to visit next week) I decided it was a good time to clean out two week’s worth of hay litter from the floor of the coop. So I popped inside the coop with my trusty (now dedicated to the coop) broom. You might be thinking, why didn’t she use a rake to “muck out” the coop? Here’s why, when we were working on phase 1 of the coop condo we tried to be as green as possible using materials we had laying about including a 4x8 piece of paneling we had salvaged from our office remodel. Frankly, the paneling had never looked better than under the feet of our chickens.  Plus it made for a very easy to clean surface.

This was my first time cleaning out the coop since the chickens moved in but I expected it would take me no more than a minute or two to sweep the muck into a pile by the door that I could gather up for our compost pile. Steve was heading up to the house for some lunch and I said I would be up soon after I finished a few chores. The house and coop are about a football field from each other. Even on a good day, with the prevailing wind in the trees it would be hard to raise my voice loud enough to reach the house. In addition, it was a hot day and we had closed up the house to keep it cool so I had little hope that Steve would hear me if I began yelling.

I felt like yelling, for sure, when I realized that once I had stepped into the coop, the gate latch on the outside had closed and I was locked inside the coop. A few curse words, that matched the task I had entered into the coop to address, came flying out of my mouth. There I was, locked in the coop with no escape. Steve was long gone; off to have lunch and watch a bit of soccer “til his lunch gets down” (a hold over expression from being born in England).

On the one hand, I was pleased that the coop was so escape proof. However, I could immediately see the need to Kaizen the latch so it could be released from the inside; a simple string put through a hole to the inside of the coop was implemented immediately upon my release. But release did not come any time soon. I guess I could have started tearing out the poultry netting I had installed two weeks prior and then climb out through what amounts to a second story window. However, my broom did not seem like the right tool for the job. Nor was I keen to hoist myself up and out. So I reconciled myself to the situation.

All through this flurry of sweeping, swearing, tugging at the door trying to release the latch, and sighing in reconciled exasperation the chickens were huddled up in the corners as far from me as they could get. However, a 4x8 stall doesn’t allow for a lot of personal space, I discovered, especially with 13 chickens wondering if I had brought any of that good “corn scratch” in with me. Which up to this point had been my primary resource for endearing me to the team? It reminded me of the “got milk” commercial with the lady in a house of cats. Trying to substitute powdered milk for the real thing instantly reversed the power base in the house.

I was surrounded, with no corn scratch to hold them at bay. On top of that, Susie, my supervisor who had shown so much potential for warmth in the weeks since her arrival, had been removed from the coop just that morning after she/he cock-a-doodle-do’d for the first time. Susie, now known as Harold, was outside the primary coop in the temporary coop I had devised when we first got the chickens. Any hope I had for a positive interaction with the team was dashed without Susie/Harold.

Susie/Harold had always been my liaison and leader with the rest of the team. More than any of the others, she had allowed me to pet her/him. Maybe now I know why.

I decided I would take a rather bold approach, since my release wasn’t likely any time soon, I would facilitate a team building and bonding experience. I bent down and grabbed one of the birds from their safe corner. This created quite a commotion, during which I rose up too quickly and bumped my head on the perch ramp we had built. Head hurting, birds scurrying, I held onto Buffy. Buffy is a golden example of the Buffington chicken breed. I held her tight to my chest so as to protect her wings from damage in her panic. Her heart was racing and I could feel her breathing fast. I applied my best “chicken whisperer” voice to sooth her. I clucked softly and pet her head and neck. She was calming. I could feel her beginning to relax in my arms. After a few moments of peaceful interface she began to chirp softly. I chirped back. This went on for several minutes. As Buffy and I were having our bonding time, the rest of the team was looking on; reserved, but curious.

A particularly scrawny Rhode Island Red, named Ruby, kept moving closer. I returned Buffy to the ledge nearest me. I don’t think she appreciated being woken up from her warm and cozy embrace. Ruby was my next conquest. She didn’t exactly jump on my hand when I came near, but she didn’t put up much of fuss when I picked her up. She is a bit scrawny right now because she is losing all her downy feathers in favor of her adult fashion style. I think she had also been bullied a bit by some of the older birds, that may have been jealous of her flashy coat. None-the-less, what she lacked in fashion at this point, she made up for in personality. She immediately took to the snug embrace and began cooing. I cooed back. It was a very positive exchange.

I continued this effort with each of member of the team. The younger birds were soon positioned on the ledge next to where I was standing and the older birds in a corner on the further ledge. The impact was on behavior was almost immediate. I began to see some of the older birds responding more kindly to the younger birds. Up until now, there had been a bit too much pecking from the older birds wanting to establish the proper pecking order. Who knew 3 weeks age difference would create such a multi-generational gap in or organization?

Over an hour had passed since my incarceration began, but I hardly noticed the time. It seemed to fly by. It was gratifying to have the team vying for my attention, allowing me to pet them, and stroke under their chin/beak. There were a few that remained somewhat reserved and shy even after our bonding experience, but I trust they will open up in time.

I realized that spending time in the team’s world, seeing it from their perspective, removing the management employee barriers, even just for a few minutes had opened up a whole new world of possibilities. Steve and I had entered into the chicken business with the plan to export eggs and manure. I had always heard urban myths about amazing chicken organizations with teams of birds that would go above and beyond the expected output to provide extraordinary service. Myth or reality? With continued investment of time and energy on my part, the team might, one day, help me with my gardening chores and pest control. They might even be friendly ambassadors with my grandchildren.

Once again, I believe the team had this capability all along. It was my lack of management experience that had created such a chasm between us. I think the new coop and work surroundings may have had an impact on their morale. Steve thinks pulling Harold the rooster from their midst had an impact from both a gender and downsizing perspective.  More than anything, I think they just wanted to be seen and heard by management; to be seen as friends, not fowl.

Speaking of being seen and heard, the dogs were first on the scene when they realized I had not returned to the house. They looked in the chicken coop as they always do, hopeful that our now proven, fool-proof latch had failed. This time, instead of seeing the chickens inside, it caused them a moment of ‘paws” to realize the scenario had changed.  I felt like little Timmy on Lassie, “go get dad – tell him I am locked in the coop and need to be rescued.” We have very smart dogs. They ran back toward the house, but only to bring me a toy they thought I could throw for them while I was waiting for release. Okay, not so smart.

Eventually, Steve began to wonder where I was.  As I saw him walking toward the coop, I gave each of the team one last pet and coo. After some laughter (on his part) and negotiations (can you believe it?), Steve let me out of the coop. I finished the job I had started by filling the coop with new straw. I made the layer extra thick and cushy. Just before I headed up to the house for my overdue lunch, I peeked inside the coop to find 13 very content birds napping on their new bed of straw. A nap sounded really good right about then.

Another day in the “Land of Oz”  - another lesson from nature. . . Take the time to bond with your team. They will reward you with loyalty, productivity, and expanded capabilities.