Chickens, I have to admit, are tough egg-babies. They don’t need to have parents to guide them. In fact, most chicks never see their mother, let alone their cocky father. But once they break through that literal barrier of being born they are ready to take on the world. Or, if they are unlucky in their birthing place, and are male they got chopped up to be dog-food. See, it’s tough being a chicken already.
I recently surveyed my two pet chickens, “Hurry” and “Bite’m”. They are full adults now at 4 1/2 months old, with their red face broadcasting their readiness to be mothers of dragons themselves. But not so fast. Is my modest backyard enough? Check. Do the warring clans of squirrels bother them, or amuse them? Check and check. Does the mere existence of their brilliance signal to the birds and wild human-tolerating beasts in the neighborhood that this humble abode is a friendly sanctuary to help-your-own-damned-self and you-better-behave animals of all kinds? Check.
It takes money, space, and time to raise chickens contrary to what I just said. They really require a lot of mothering. But despite my doting on them since that fateful afternoon in a feed store, the two little hen-in-waitings have developed a companionship that can make me blush, and I only blush when there’s same-sex companionship involved. One of them, Bite’m, when she’s a cute chick would try to duck under Hurry’s tiny wing. They are of the same age, give or take a week. And since then, Hurry has been the spiritual leader of the two-chick gang, even though Bite’m is wilder. Isn’t that a funny business?
Oh, yes, did I forget to mention, chickens have personalities. Not unlike human-beings, if you give an autonomous animal the space to grow, they actually can turn out to be quite colorful. Who knew? So when a friend’s surprised at my fondness of chickens and asked, “But they don’t have any personality.” I nodded and said, “Neither do you.” So, we are all good now.
Is a life spent in a backyard pecking at random stuff, sometimes eating the heck out of a piece of styrofoam, laying eggs like no one’s business, and “who needs a rooster anyhow” worth living? I don’t know. I will make sure to ask them in the next survey. 🐤