That is the the name for the bringing together of our two groups of pullets, formerly the new chicks we bought, and then the other new chicks we bought a month later. By the way, "pullet" is the official term for those chicks you bought four or five months ago, who nobody wants to see pictures of anymore.
The babies are all growed up now and need to go live with the adult hens. Only thing is, chickens aren't the most welcoming to newcomers. A new bird introduced into an existing flock is definitely going to be challenged, will have to be assertive in order to get any food, and faces risk of being attacked to death by the other hens. We have our tricks for that get-to-know you phase, but this time around, we have an additional peace treaty to eggotiate. We need to get our two sets of three pullets to think of themselves as one set of six pullets before they all move in together with the older girls.
Only, again with the hostility toward newcomers. The first coming together quickly became a coop d' etat. There is a month age difference between the two sets of birds, and the older, bigger, black and white ones knew it. When we checked the birds after their initial fighting died down, all of the younger golden pullets were huddled in the corner, their heads sticking through the bars of their cage, out of pecking reach.
So, the two separate groups went back into two separate cages, but those cages were scooted right up against each other in the hoop house. For a month, they lived side by side, face to face, with only an inch of space and some lines obscuring their view of each other.
Time passed, as it does, and that became normal to their little chicken brains, to look into each other's eyes, hear each other's breath, view one another through lines that almost seemed not to be there at times. The sameness of their experience came to dominate their other thoughts. Together, they wondered when those distracted primates would return to refresh their water? Or, what was that barking sound? Isn't this hoop house too warm today? Someone should come and open the door. Oh, here's that cat who can crawl under the door again. Say, those radish leaves are getting so big, I think I can reach one through the cage!
Chaucer once said, "Familiarity breeds contempt," but chickens don't read, so they don't know that. To them, familiarity breeds, "I will not try to end you." A month of adjacent captivity made them nice and familiar, so the stage was set. For BirdMerge, take two.
Factors I've noticed that make a difference when trying to broker a peace treaty:
Abundance: Trying to convince opposing parties to be peaceful and generous cannot happen in a deprivation situation. There needs to be plenty. Plenty of space, plenty of water, plenty of food, in this case.
Neutral Ground: Neither side wants to feel like it gave up its space to the other, even if they end up actually doing that. This cage set up is open, and includes a neutral space that neither set of birds considers its territory. They both ended up in each other's cages eventually, but not one group exclusively taking over the other's space.
Conflict Processing Space: Instincts matter here. When new flockmates meet each other for the first time, they're probably going to have to fight it out a bit. Usually it's mostly fluffed-up feathers, hopping, wing-beating, and a minimum of pecking. Concerns would be excessive pecking and denying the newbies access to food and water.
To a degree, it has to play itself out, so that the more vulnerable one can prove itself. Those more vulnerable ones will stand a better chance if they are old enough, have numbers on their side, and are given enough overhead space to show how high they can hop.
Last Saturday saw the great merging. I put their cages on a seriously neglected part of our backyard, facing each other, doors open, with pieces of an old baby crib creating a connecting tunnel.
Slowly, each set of birds left their respective residences and ventured into that unknown patch of jungle between them.
Once again, they saw each other, faces only slightly obscured by lines; but these lines could be trampled and eaten.
This was normal, only better! The two trios grazed and ambled into each other's spaces (mostly) peacefully, and have been a content sextet ever since.
Happily Feather After. The End.
