Another Day in the Country: Chicken run
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
It's a good thing that I have simple things to amuse in the country. In fact, it's one of the reasons that I moved back to Kansas in the year 2000 — a change of pace, a different lifestyle, simple things. All too often, however, I get caught up in normal, hum-drum things like meeting obligations, paying bills, showing up at the office for work. Then, I remind myself that there are other things of importance than these and I take a step sideways in search of simpler things. Like watching the chickens.
I don't know why my chickens fascinate me. I could be like my 100-year-old aunt who says, "I never cared for chickens!" What makes her statement amusing is that she so seldom admits to what she doesn't like — she's always positive, politically correct. But with chickens she draws the line. She doesn't like them. Never did. But, I still do!
There are two flocks of chickens at my house. Rather I should say, one flock is where I used to live — at the Ramona House. The other flock is across the street at Mom's house, where I now live.
The Ramona House flock was ordered to be girls only but Clifford, my rooster, sneaked into the brood. And Clifford is a sweetheart. He watches over the girls. He's gentle. He's alert. When I let 20 hens out in the evening, Clifford calls to them when he finds treats and makes sure they are all in when I come to shut the door. I like Clifford. If I forget to shut the door until it is dark outside, I call to Clifford when I close the doors. "All they all in?" I ask, peering into the pitch black of the hen house. And Clifford makes this sleepy chortling noise (at least I think it's him) so that I know all is well. You may think this is all a product of my imagination, but so far it works.
The other flock is smaller — it's a mini-flock. Four hens. Two roosters. They are all nest-mates. Their mother and another brother were "off'd" one day in broad daylight by our local fox. This little flock are the remnants of the raid.
I named the roosters, beautiful birds, Black Bart and Cockylock. Cockylock reached maturity first and he ruled the roost — it gives new meaning to the phrase. He was ruthless, relentless in his superiority and poor Black Bart almost froze his comb off that first winter. And then Bart got BIG! He's huge and now he's the head man. This means that Cockylock is refused entry to the chicken house during daylight hours, he's relentlessly pursued in the yard and he isn't allowed to crow. Poor guy! However, I do remember (and probably he doesn't) how it was in the beginning when the tables were turned.
Black Bart, like his name, is not particularly a nice guy. He's hard on the hens and in the morning, when the girls are busy laying eggs, he sits just outside the little entry door to the coop with his head stuck inside — just his head — checking on egg production. Every time an egg is laid, he crows and carries on like it was his first child! Woe be to Black Bart, none of the ladies in his care are inclined to broodiness.
There is a girl, Biddy, over in the other house that wanted to set this spring and after much deliberation, I allowed the folly — even though I don't need more chickens to watch. She's been setting seriously since somewhere around Mother's Day. And her 21 days is up, according to my calculations. She's still setting, I'm checking and nothing is happening.
Tooltime Tim says, "She'll get off when she's ready to get off!" in characteristic fashion when I asked his advice — he thinks I get too concerned and interfering with Mother Nature and in the move to Mom's house, I haven't located my Chicken Bible which according to TTT is a buncha bunk.
Yesterday, I came to check on chicks and there was another hen in Biddy's nest attempting to add an egg to her stash. (You see, I made this mistake of leaving Biddy in her favorite nest box instead of isolating her.) "Good grief," I told my sister. "You should see how many eggs poor Biddy is trying to set on, now! She may never get them hatched. She keeps hunkering down, spreading her wings wider, trying to encompass all of them."
My sister looked at me, with that certain glint in her eye, and said, "That's exactly the way I feel about Ramona! We've got more eggs than we can handle!" Ah, well, it's just another day in the country!
