This is going to be another circuitous column. Promise you will read to the end. Guaranteed to bring you JOY.
Our son and his family are on a short vacation. Their two dogs came to stay with us, and I am doing the morning and evening chicken chores for their 11 adult chickens and one rooster who is named Winter because he is white except for his reddish colored comb and waddles. The chores yield about eight eggs daily and is not hard labor, but rather a new responsibility.
One of the buff-colored chickens is broody. The dictionary says a broody hen wishes to incubate eggs, but she has none, and is not laying any eggs. The second definition listed is “concern for the future.”
Her condition was explained to me during my orientation to the chores. I have since nicknamed her BRUDZILLA, combining her condition with “bridezilla,” the bride who is unhappy about everything. David suggested that I remove her from her nest while doing the chores. I lift and carry her out of the chicken coop so she will eat and drink. Brudzilla pecks my hands while I am carrying her. I have started to wear gloves during this maneuver. Unsolicited advice; “Do not be broody as a chicken or a human.”
Caring for these chickens brought back many memories from my childhood. My mother raised chickens for Hy-Line Poultry as they were doing genetic testing to improve the egg quality. Each chicken had a numbered wire implanted in its wing at hatching, followed by a numbered leg band when they began laying eggs. Once a week we trapped the chickens in their nests with a little wire door that slid down when they went in. Then 3-4 times on trapping day she would check for an egg, remove the hen, documenting the number on the leg. These reports were sent weekly to the research scientists’ home of Hy-Line Farms in Johnston.
There were 2,000 that were trapped weekly, but we also had 2,000 pullets on the range, in houses spread out in the pasture. During the summer we were forced to stay home or return home at sunset to close the houses for the protection of the chickens from foxes or coyotes. It really hampered summer social events.
The chicken coop/house that David and Ada have automatically lowers the small chicken sized door according to the darkness of the evening and raises it up as the sun appears. That certainly allows protection and improves opportunities for evening activities.
My arrival for evening chores causes a sort of “hum” cackle response from the chickens. It’s not like the rooster’s cock-a-doodle-doo, and it’s not like the “I just laid an egg cackle”, but a smooth chickee noise, the equivalent of a cat purring when it is happy.
I am sharing all this because this smooth chickee sound brought back a significant memory. When I was working in the operating room at the Dallas County Hospital and we were not in surgery, we became the emergency room crew. Often as we waited at the door for the arrival of an ambulance, Nelda, the wonderful OR technician would give that smooth hen chickee sound to break the tension and anxiety as we waited for the emergency patient to arrive.
I led telling you about Winter the rooster. If you watch “Yellowstone” you will know what I mean when I say he needs to go to the train station.
The first evening he flogged me. If you did not grow up on a farm, it means he took his wings and flapped them around my legs. I did not appreciate that and tried to kick him.
The hostile behavior continued, threatening flogging, with lots of crowing and strutting. He pecked my hands while I was feeding and I used the feed bucket as a defensive shield. The fourth evening of care I was attacked! Winter has chicken feet spurs, and he jumped at me and spurred my leg though my jeans. I was watering and gave him a good soak with the remaining water.
My son and his family return home soon, so Winter may be spared from the TRAIN STATION trip.
People who want to raise chickens: My unsolicited advice, “Don’t get a rooster!” but if you want one, a white one named Winter may soon be available.
VIEW FROM MY WINDOW is written by Mary Weaver, from her rural home near Rippey.
