Ten in the Bush.
With most of the babies now gone – Quick update on that, Bruce reports that the babies LOVE pork chops – Molly and Beulah are doing well. They are finding their way with the flock, but they do get a little bullied here and there. This is the same thing that Petunia and Lily went through when they were young and is all part of growing up with the flock but I still keep a close eye on the doings.
Yesterday, I had the flock out in the yard and settled in for some lunch and long weekend relax time. After a time, I heard Molly crying outside. I knew that sound … the heart wrenching sound of a lonely child. Normally when one of the chickens take to squawking over this or that and my wife wants me to check it out, I know straight from the sound that it is an egg song, or a slight political debate. Sometimes, when I hear a certain growl, I’ll go check to make sure there are no predators about. This time, I heard the sound first. The soft sob of a frightened child-chick.
I went outside and quickly discovered the two siblings were with each other, safe, and under a small bush and away from the rest of the flock. Part of the normal bullying is to chase them away when they get underfoot, and sometimes they are right there with the flock basking in their company. The cries were not of a serious sort as they had each other and were safe. A few meal worms and all was forgotten.
So where was everybody else?
A quick perusal of the property revealed that they were all parked in around a different bush.
My neighbor’s bush.
Again.
With rake in hand I marched over to find the entire rest of the flock buried as deeply as they could settle themselves under that bush enjoying the best dust bath they’ve had in days. Dammit, but there are PLENTY of dust bathing spots and PLENTY of good bushes right here in our own yard! Try as I might, I can not completely break their habit of invading the neighbors en masse and ruining their topiary! To their credit, Bob and Barbara delight in my flock nearly as much as I do and their dog, who hates all of humanity, is especially calm and patient with the chickens, but this isn’t fair to them!
Once again, I knelt down and upon seeing me and my rake, most of the flock reluctantly stepped out from underneath, shook off the dust, and sauntered off for more peaceful environs.
Except Hermione.
Ever encounter a ‘blank stare’ on a person? That ‘thousand yard stare’ of someone within whom there is absolutely nothing going on inside for that moment? It is the kind of staring that my wife and I engage in each dawn while the coffee starts to sink in. There is a different ‘blank stare’ sometimes, though. It is the stare you sometimes see on a person when there is a particularly tense situation going on. Their face is blank slate, yet underneath is an unwritten sense of vitriol, or defiance, or malice … depending on the situation.
Of these two types of ‘blank stare’, chickens EXCELL at the first type. No one can stare more blankly than a chicken. Hens are particularly good at this, roosters less so. Coq Au almost never gives me a ‘blank stare’. He is more inclined to have his anger written all over his face, all over the increasing tension of his body posture. But hens can stare blankly with true practiced professionalism.
Just to contrast this, cats for example, are seasoned ‘blank stare’ experts of the second variety. My cat Moonkie, like many other cats, will stare blankly with a cat-like malignancy WHILE they are slowly knocking something off of the table. You are actively yelling at the cat to get off of the table and also not to DARE to knock that thing off. Their stare is directly at you, acknowledging that they do indeed hear you, but world be damned, they are going to calmly sit on the table and knock that thing off anyway, thank you very much.
99% of the time, a chicken’s blank stare is of the first sort. That blank stare is bodily stating ‘there is absolutely nothing going on in this chicken’s head right now’.
Hermione, having scratched out a deep recess in the dust under the bush and having flattened herself into it in a moment of complete relaxation gave me a blank stare. But it was a blank stare with an underpinning of defiance that rivaled the depth of the ocean.
She was sitting closely to where I knelt. Closer even than any of the other hens who had now given up on the idea of the perfect dust bath and had already moved on.
“Hermione, you KNOW you’re not supposed to be under there!”
Hermione stared.
“You’re ruining Bob and Barbara’s bush, now MOVE IT!”
Hermione stared.
At this point I felt akin to a fool for reasoning with and even chiding a staring hen, so I moved the rake in gently. The rake, slid along the ground, touched her.
Hermione stared.
“You gotta be kidding me?” I nudged with rake.
Hermione stared.
I pushed a little more forcefully with the rake and she slowly arose and went in DEEPER under the bush! Her steps were slow and deliberate and STILL she stared.
I swept that rake deep under the bush and eventually ‘convinced’ her to move on. She took slow, deliberate strides across the yard staring the whole way until she eventually joined the flock.
Not sure which is more dangerous, a ‘smart’ hen, or a ‘defiant’ hen. I’m beginning to fear that Hermione may be a unique combination of both!
With most of the babies now gone – Quick update on that, Bruce reports that the babies LOVE pork chops – Molly and Beulah are doing well. They are finding their way with the flock, but they do get a little bullied here and there. This is the same thing that Petunia and Lily went through when they were young and is all part of growing up with the flock but I still keep a close eye on the doings.
Yesterday, I had the flock out in the yard and settled in for some lunch and long weekend relax time. After a time, I heard Molly crying outside. I knew that sound … the heart wrenching sound of a lonely child. Normally when one of the chickens take to squawking over this or that and my wife wants me to check it out, I know straight from the sound that it is an egg song, or a slight political debate. Sometimes, when I hear a certain growl, I’ll go check to make sure there are no predators about. This time, I heard the sound first. The soft sob of a frightened child-chick.
I went outside and quickly discovered the two siblings were with each other, safe, and under a small bush and away from the rest of the flock. Part of the normal bullying is to chase them away when they get underfoot, and sometimes they are right there with the flock basking in their company. The cries were not of a serious sort as they had each other and were safe. A few meal worms and all was forgotten.
So where was everybody else?
A quick perusal of the property revealed that they were all parked in around a different bush.
My neighbor’s bush.
Again.
With rake in hand I marched over to find the entire rest of the flock buried as deeply as they could settle themselves under that bush enjoying the best dust bath they’ve had in days. Dammit, but there are PLENTY of dust bathing spots and PLENTY of good bushes right here in our own yard! Try as I might, I can not completely break their habit of invading the neighbors en masse and ruining their topiary! To their credit, Bob and Barbara delight in my flock nearly as much as I do and their dog, who hates all of humanity, is especially calm and patient with the chickens, but this isn’t fair to them!
Once again, I knelt down and upon seeing me and my rake, most of the flock reluctantly stepped out from underneath, shook off the dust, and sauntered off for more peaceful environs.
Except Hermione.
Ever encounter a ‘blank stare’ on a person? That ‘thousand yard stare’ of someone within whom there is absolutely nothing going on inside for that moment? It is the kind of staring that my wife and I engage in each dawn while the coffee starts to sink in. There is a different ‘blank stare’ sometimes, though. It is the stare you sometimes see on a person when there is a particularly tense situation going on. Their face is blank slate, yet underneath is an unwritten sense of vitriol, or defiance, or malice … depending on the situation.
Of these two types of ‘blank stare’, chickens EXCELL at the first type. No one can stare more blankly than a chicken. Hens are particularly good at this, roosters less so. Coq Au almost never gives me a ‘blank stare’. He is more inclined to have his anger written all over his face, all over the increasing tension of his body posture. But hens can stare blankly with true practiced professionalism.
Just to contrast this, cats for example, are seasoned ‘blank stare’ experts of the second variety. My cat Moonkie, like many other cats, will stare blankly with a cat-like malignancy WHILE they are slowly knocking something off of the table. You are actively yelling at the cat to get off of the table and also not to DARE to knock that thing off. Their stare is directly at you, acknowledging that they do indeed hear you, but world be damned, they are going to calmly sit on the table and knock that thing off anyway, thank you very much.
99% of the time, a chicken’s blank stare is of the first sort. That blank stare is bodily stating ‘there is absolutely nothing going on in this chicken’s head right now’.
Hermione, having scratched out a deep recess in the dust under the bush and having flattened herself into it in a moment of complete relaxation gave me a blank stare. But it was a blank stare with an underpinning of defiance that rivaled the depth of the ocean.
She was sitting closely to where I knelt. Closer even than any of the other hens who had now given up on the idea of the perfect dust bath and had already moved on.
“Hermione, you KNOW you’re not supposed to be under there!”
Hermione stared.
“You’re ruining Bob and Barbara’s bush, now MOVE IT!”
Hermione stared.
At this point I felt akin to a fool for reasoning with and even chiding a staring hen, so I moved the rake in gently. The rake, slid along the ground, touched her.
Hermione stared.
“You gotta be kidding me?” I nudged with rake.
Hermione stared.
I pushed a little more forcefully with the rake and she slowly arose and went in DEEPER under the bush! Her steps were slow and deliberate and STILL she stared.
I swept that rake deep under the bush and eventually ‘convinced’ her to move on. She took slow, deliberate strides across the yard staring the whole way until she eventually joined the flock.
Not sure which is more dangerous, a ‘smart’ hen, or a ‘defiant’ hen. I’m beginning to fear that Hermione may be a unique combination of both!
No comments:
Post a Comment