Chicken Thoughts and Other Mysteries of the Universe

Bossy Pants ca. Nine Weeks Old

The rooster next door is crowing, which tells me it's around 3:30 a.m. The sun is not up yet, but the sky will begin to lighten in another hour or so. I imagine there is a wave of call and response crowing moving from East to West across the country at the speed of the sun rise. A distant cock crows and then a closer one responds, until the sound circles the globe and starts over again.

My chickens have been a real joy for me.  They're not life altering, like children. Nor are they a source of hilarious adventure stories, like the dogs. Nonetheless, chickens have individual personalities and they are naturally curious.  It has been fun to see them explore and adapt as they've grown up.  Whether they are chasing grasshoppers or trying to taste the flower patterns printed on my shoes, they can be highly diverting.

The Reds Foraging Under the Porch Steps

My Rhode Island Reds and Black Australorps are adolescents now and are figuring out who is going to rule the roost. From the time they were fluffy chicks Bossy Pants was the one in charge of the Reds. He was such a steadfast little guard, cocking his head to the side and craning his neck to get a good look at me as I approached the brooder.  He ended up being handled the most and became the one who would follow me around the garden when they were allowed to range out there. He's gotten over this infantile crush as he has reached adolescence, and he has also lost control of the flock.

"The girls" -- my Black Australorps -- are the enforcers of the coop and can spot any chicken messing up from across the yard. I don't know what constitutes messing up, but one moment there is peace and the next moment one of the girls is flapping furiously across the yard with her hackles high to correct the errant chicken. Even my poor one-eyed Olive plays enforcer, though she is usually off doing her own thing a little separate from the others.

Because I was afraid she might be sick when she lost the eye, Olive was raised in a separate brooder. By the time she was finally allowed to live full time among the other chickens she was both eager to be near them and independent minded. On the evening they were introduced to the chicken coop for the first time Olive's three sisters climbed into a single nesting box leaving Olive on the outside looking worried. By morning, Olive had wiggled her way into the back of the packed nest. Though she still sleeps among the girls, she tends to forage on her own. I wonder what place she'll find for herself among the flock, though she may be the sort who makes a place for herself.

Adolescents (ca. Sixteen Weeks Old), Olive in the Foreground

Foraging has been a bit of a challenge for us just starting. When they were in brooders, the chickens were allowed to roam the garden once a week, while I cleaned their pens.  They have a lot of space in the coop, but do not yet have an enclosed yard, so they are allowed to scratch and dust themselves inside the adjacent barn once a day. For those of you who are unfamiliar with chickens, dusting is how they clean themselves with loose dirt. It involves scratching out a hole, wallowing in the pit, throwing dirt onto themselves and rolling in the luxuriousness of soft soil. The chickens look forward to this little excursion with such anticipation that I find them waiting for me at the coop door every evening. I let them into the barn for their daily fun while I check the food, change the water and close their window for the night.

While they look forward to my evening visit, I enjoy the morning routine more for reasons that have little to do with the chickens. Indeed one of the best parts of my day is the walk between the house and the chicken coop before the sun rises.  On a clear morning I can look up at the black sky and see an ocean of stars.  On a rainy day, the neighbors' yard lights are softened by the diffuse mist of the low clouds. It's peaceful and quiet and mostly dark as I amble out to the barn with my flashlight in  hand to check on the chickens and open the coop for the day. This combination of solitude and sense of purpose makes me feel like I must be farming. Rolling my eyes at myself, I realize I only have eight chickens; but I proudly enjoy my farming moment anyway. I'm up before the dawn with a job to get done. It's cool and dark. There is a rooster crowing in the distance.