Dental Plan.

Dental Plan.

With the situation still unresolved over Coq Au, winter broke and spring came gently to the land. The flock was fast approaching one year old and everything (except what to do about the angry rooster!) was running smoothly.

Then … one day … the eggs stopped. The feed was right, they had treats, forage, oyster shells … but the daily egg count dwindled off from about five eggs a day to one egg every other day.

I marched into that run, rooster be damned, and demanded an explanation from Matilda (the flock’s union rep). Among the hens, Hermione is the alpha, a fiery little girl that would remind you of many of Joe Pesci’s characters. Although recognized as their de facto leader after Coq Au, the flock thought she was a little too hot headed herself to enter into negotiations of a high level and yet manage to keep her cool, so they elected Matilda to be the union’s liaison with upper management.

Anyway, I marched in there and demanded an explanation about the egg situation.

“We’re on strike.” She plainly explained.

“On STRIKE??!!” I quipped, “Why on EARTH would you go on strike?”

“We want a dental plan.” Matilda calmly intoned.

“You understand that you don’t even have teeth, right?” I tried to rationalize to her.

“No matter, we work pretty hard and feel we deserve some benefits.” She stated.

“Do you even know what a dental plan is?” I asked

“Don’t you oppress me, I’m a respected member of the flock and it’s high time we sorted out some worker’s rights around here.” She calmly demanded.

She was without threat and without malice, so I entered into tough negotiations with her. After several hours of hard fought compromise it was decided that they would get a gold level premium dental plan and that the mealworms to cracked corn ratio would be improved. Naturally, chickens don’t have teeth, so I only TOLD them I was getting a dental plan for them. Nor can they read, so when I showed Matilda the ‘policy’ I had obtained, she peered at it with pretend intensity … said ‘hmmm’ several times and finally ended with ‘Very good, everything looks in order.’

Turns out, that when chickens are molting, not only will they stop laying eggs during their molt, they will also get some pretty strange ideas in their heads.

“Dental plan” indeed. I figure the neighbor’s Australian Shepherd put that idea into their heads to sow discord. Bastard.

After some time, whether it was the end of their molt, or the fact that they did notice an improvement in the mealworms ratio, they started laying again. Coq Au and I had continued our mutual stance of armed neutrality through the whole crisis, each of us realizing that bigger things were at stake than our petty squabble.

Come tax time, in an effort to mitigate the increased cost of treats due to a higher percentage of mealworms, I asked my accountant if I could declare the flock as dependents. He blithely replied “Get me their social security numbers and we’ll talk.”

On a side note …

Today, as I was in the kitchen, window open on a rare day of temps in the 60’s in Feb. I heard a ruckus on the porch. I went outside quickly and hens went fleeing off of the porch. “What was that ruckus?” I demanded. “What ruckus?” They said. “I distinctly heard a ruckus!” I replied. “Can you describe the Ruckus?” they asked. At this point, I felt a fool for arguing with chickens who apparently had been raised up with the same level of sarcasm as every other NJ resident. I don’t know what they were up to, but I suspect they were trying to get to the mealworms can on the potting table. Also … I must remember to cut the cable to their TV … no more old movies for them. Take THAT chicken union!