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!
