They looked
innocent enough, like fuzzy giant skittles bouncing around the tub.
My friend had
purchased colored Easter chicks for her daughters and had assumed that
I would be thrilled to take them after Easter. Why not? We DO live in
the country.
Thirteen
brightly colored chicklets arrived at our place in a large cage. They
were cute, they were fluffy, they were hungry. They made endearing
little noises when we fed them. We loved our chickens...
Before long,
they had molted out of their Easter feathers and looked like real
chickens. They were turned loose to free range and be the cherry on
our country yard sundae.
The coyotes in
the woods also loved our chicks. In no time we were down to 8. Our
only Rhode Island Red in the bunch wandered into the dog pen and we
were down to 7. One started to terrorize the cats and went to live
with a friend. One chased our little boy and went to live with a
neighbor. Five chickens - 4 White Leghorn roosters and (we thought)
a big Barred Rock hen.
The Barred Rock
foraged into the goat pen and the Great Pyrenees decided she needed a
bath. By the time I got out there she was gasping and dripping with
dog drool. I turned her back into the yard, and she didn't join up
with the other chickens right away, she just stalked up and down,
mumbling chicken curses. From that point on, she couldn't/wouldn't
roost up in the tree with the others, but chose a low spot right next
to the goat pen (go figure) to sleep in. We rested a piece of
sheet-metal against the fence to make a chicken-tent.
About that time
they entered poultry puberty. The roosters crowed roughly every 5
minutes all day long and most of the night. They started making
little fighting runs at each other and I worried that they would kill
each other. That would be bad, because we loved our chickens.
I needn't have
worried. Before too long they stopped quarreling amongst themselves
and turned all their energy on a common enemy - me, and by
association, my son.
They were a
Chicken Gang. All they needed were little leather jackets,
sunglasses, and packs of Camels (filter-less of course) rolled up into
their wings. They'd stand at the edge of the woods, daring the
coyotes to come out.
They cruised
the neighborhood, lookin' for trouble, mean and restless. I now know
what the Raptors in the Jurrasic Park movies are based on - roosters.
They have the same moves, calls and hunting tactics. They would sneak
up behind me to attack, barking strategy to each other. If I turned
around, they'd freeze and look off into the distance, casually.
I started
carrying a broom.
They recognized
my car and would come running at the sound of it.
I tucked the
broom under the car seat.
They would come
onto the porch and stare at me through the glass door, growling.
I was beginning
to dislike our chickens.
