There was a time when there was only one house. The Red House It stood red against the yard, trimmed in black, solid and unapologetic. Larger than necessary. Older. Strong in its lines. It held everyone then — the bold, the careful, the relentless, the observant. It worked. Until the air inside it began to feel tight. Not fractured. Not hostile. Dense. Feathers pressed closer along the roost at dusk. Corrections came quicker. A shoulder shift meant something. A pause at the f

Red House vs. White House at Cedar Paddock Hobby Farm Red House vs. White House Every autumn, the Cedar Paddock flock takes part in one of our favorite seasonal traditions — the Chicken Pumpkin Carving Contest. It’s the ultimate showdown between the Red House and the White House, and as always, the results were equal parts hilarious and heartwarming. This year’s competition began with two bright orange pumpkins placed in each coop yard — one for the Red House hens, home to Tr

In the red house of Cedar Paddock, peace is never truly quiet — not with Gertie around. While Travis recovers indoors from his injured leg — a lingering reminder of the fierce fight with Ricky — the hens have settled into a rhythm all their own. But the rhythm has a voice: a low, throaty, unmistakable moooaaaaan that rolls across the run like a farmyard foghorn. That’s Gertie. She doesn’t cluck like the others. She moans — loudly, constantly, and unapologetically. It’s the so

Ricky demanding to be the Alpha The morning after the battle, the paddock felt hollow. Feathers still clung to the grass like fallen banners. The hens moved quietly, unsure which silence to honor — the silence of fear, or the silence of relief. Ricky was gone.Taken from the kingdom he had tried to claim, he now brooded in another coop beyond the red house, his crow echoing faintly across the pasture like a ghost of his own ambition. The walls that held him were not just wire

Episode 1: The Wounded Protector Every kingdom must face the rise of challengers, and in our paddock, the throne has long belonged to Travis . With his burnished feathers and commanding crow, Travis was more than a rooster — he was a legend. The hens knew his discipline: he kept order, he guarded fiercely, and when danger lurked at the edges of the farm, he was first to strike. But in the shadows of his reign, a younger rival stirred. Ricky , still in the fiery throes of roob