The Three Little Chicken (Stories)

Ugh.

There.

Foreshadowing…

1. I admit, I like seeing my chickens wander around the place. They’re out in the field and scratching piles of poo and bathing themselves in their favorite dust wallows… but it comes at a price. And, once again, something has discovered my chickens. It could be eagles or fox or weasel or coyote or skunk or coon or mountain lion, for that matter… but I’m down to nine hens and a rooster. Nine. About half what I’d like to have. That gives me an average of five eggs a day… plenty for me and Vernon, but I like to share, and I might not get to be as generous as I’d like. I shut them in their chicken run for a few days, hoping whatever it was would move along. I had even decided I’d buy what chicks were left at the farm store today when I went to town… which I halfway dread because it’s six months of feeding and hovering (as mother hens are wont to do). Maybe, kind of, luckily… they no longer had chicks. So nine will be it… fingers crossed they don’t get chick-napped!

2. A month ago, my hen that goes broody started to act that peculiar way… refusing to get off eggs, “growling” or “rumbling”, whatever you call it when hens are being protective of their nests. Fine. I’ll raise more of my own eggs and hope they aren’t all roosters! So into the dog kennel she went, to set on those eggs and be waited on daily with her own food and water. I gave her seven eggs… She was due to hatch July 3 for our own little celebration. She’d stand and get a drink sometimes and I could see the eggs… and I was quite proud, having figured out what it took to keep her on her nest and broody. The first of July, I made her stand just so I could double check the eggs to see if I could hear or see any pipping. There were NO EGGS. Stupid chicken had sat on them for 3.5 weeks and cannibalized them at the end. I was so mad at her! I could have wrung her neck…

3. Speaking of dispatching chickens… my egg bound hen improved at first, but then got worse again and I put her down. Then… amongst all this chaos of losing chickens and doctoring chickens and having a socially irresponsible mother hen… there was Tuck. Sweet little Tuck who I’d saved from certain death (again from her socially irresponsible mother). Tuck, who peeped when she saw me and liked to balance on my arm and be stroked on her colorful chicken breast and would have been thrilled to be my version of a pirate’s parrot… disappeared. Poof. No feathers. No sign at all. She had been running with the big girls at night, but I was sure she had a safe space to run to if they started bullying her. Then when I locked them all up for anti-fox/coyote/weasel/eagle/etc. protection, she was there with them. For two days. Then, poof! I thought maybe the other hens had run her somewhere and she was hiding under the dog house or ramp, but she never reappeared. She couldn’t escape through the dog kennel wires (unless pulled) and I have netting over half of the kennel roof. I don’t know what got her, but she’s gone. I always tell myself not to name critters that can so easily die… don’t turn them into pets… but I do…. So, goodbye, Tuck. It was nip and tuck that you made it in the first place… You were a pretty good wannabe pirate parrot!

Thanks, Victoria, for the pic.

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