Mealworms and cracked corn mixed are tossed in and the hens stand stone still watching where the treats land and then scurry off, toppling over one another in order to be first to the choicest bits.
The other day I found myself in the unenviable position of being OUT of both mealworms AND cracked corn! Uh oh. This might be trouble.
Undaunted, I thought to 'trick' them by tossing in a handful of feed.
I tossed the feed into the air just like with the cracked corn/mealworms and eight chicken bodies stood still as eight little chicken heads rotated in perfect synch, tracking the trajectory. Eight little chicken heads followed the path all the way until the feed hit the ground, and then eight little chicken snapped back to my direction with complete understanding of just what I had done.
They stood still once again. They glared at me with absolutely no expression in the way that only judgmental hens can and the growing feeling in the pit of my stomach brought to mind the words of Quint from the film Jaws.
"Y'know the thing about a shark, he's got... lifeless eyes, black eyes, like a doll's eyes."
Beaten down with guilt, I trod with slumped shoulders into the house. Chickens will eat almost anything, so I scanned our larders for something to sacrifice to our little contemptuous egg goddesses.
The following is a list of leftovers I came up with. Please note that A) NO leftovers given to chickens should be rotten or moldy! And B) These treats are fine, but not everyday ... only on rare occasions.
Left over corn.
Left over bread.
An odd tomato that wasn't enough for a proper salad.
Left over sliced deli ham that was only just enough for a sandwich.
It's been a great while since they had a ham sandwich, even if it is in a broken apart form, so I tore the bread into crumbles, sliced the tomato into largish pieces, and tore the slices of ham into four or six largish pieces each.
Back to the run and I laid out the fare, but QUICKLY turned away to check their regular feed and water rather than face their judgmental gaze in case they disapproved of the substitute.
A long time reader of this blog who is possessed of attention to minutia may remember Myrtle, with the bent toe. As a BRIEF reminder to the rest of everyone, Myrtles toe became bent when she was just a week old and herself and I fretted whether or not she might be debilitated. Quickly we discovered that she could stand, perch, walk, and run just fine! In time, we also discovered that she was the queen of the fast-dash grab-and-go with treats. She would be first in with a surgical strike, and off again with her prize to enjoy in peace.
Thus ... and remember, this was in an instant ... as I turned to regard the feed and water, Myrtle DASHED between my legs as quick as a flash, the largest piece of ham clenched in her beak, flapping and dragging behind her.
The substitute treats were accepted, the Layers' Union mollified, and peace was restored once again.
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