My chicken death record had been flawless up until Saturday. Since May I've had the same chickens and one studly rooster. Dad, on the other hand, seems to run a hospice house for chickens who have lost hope. Hawks view his property as a KFC buffet, minus the instant spuds and mushy green beans. Some of his birds must have a Japanese bloodline by the way they fly kamikaze-style into the beagles' lot. And others have met their demise by way of (gulp) hatchet.
So in comparison, my chicken setup looks like a bird sanctuary at the Ritz Carlton. They have it that good.
Saturday I call Dad to report that Ginger was AWOL / MIA. After my debriefing it was decided that more than likely the dog was the enemy.
I was more than thrilled when dear ol' Dad said I could have one of his chickens to replace Ginger. His description did not glamorize her.
Dad: "I've got a bird you can have. She's a little crazy though. She's wild."
Me: "Why is she wild?"
Dad: "She's good at laying eggs. She's big and fat, too."
Me: "Why is she wild?"
Dad: "Well, she's had the pops. [That would be 'pox' to those of you who don't understand backwoods country talk]
Me: "The pox made her wild?"
Dad: "Well no. Her eye swelled up when she had the pops so she can only see with one eye. Heck, you can sneak up on her right side and tap her on the head and scare her."
Me: "Well no wonder she's half crazy. I'll take her if you throw in another bird from the same flock. You know, so she'll have a friend."
So I bring Popeye and Babs home, along with two Cochin's (a rooster and hen) that I named Bonnie and Clyde. Henny and Penny, my two originals, are quite the biddies. Babs is trying to fit in. The Colonel has taken to her, ahem, if you know what I mean. But Popeye...not so much.
Bless'er. I know chickens don't have feelings but to quote Rodney King: "Can't we all just get along?!?" Can birds of a feather really flock together? I'm sure the hawk won't discriminate. And after seeing some of the carcasses the dog has brought into the yard, I know he could care less about looks.
Popeye may need private room and board at the Ritz. Sometimes getting away from the crowd and the biddies around us is good for the soul. When we feel ostracized and judged by the way we look maybe we need to find rest and peace. There will always be those who run the roost, who perch higher than the others so they look down at those beneath them, who have the say on who can join their group. Don't be a biddy.
Today it may be a crazy one-eyed chicken who is left out. Tomorrow it could very well be me or you.
