Chickens Have Their Reasons

This is a Rhode Island Red hen.

(Photo used with permission) 

We had two hens of this breed, until a few days ago. Their names were Penny and Not Penny, but your guess is as good as mine which was which. They were both terribly ragged, with clumps of feathers missing -- victims of Chicken Dinner, The Rooster I Never Wanted (he was dumped upon us by The Chicken Fairy, and you can read that story here). Neither Penny nor Not Penny was particularly photogenic in their beaten-down state, so I opted to use a photo of the supermodel pictured above.

Penny had had a bad year; she was never the same after being mauled by A Beagle Who Shall Remain Nameless last summer, and almost dying. Against the odds Penny survived, but ever after all of the other hens picked on her (probably sensing her weakness) and she became a loner. She avoided the coop during the day, preferring to lay her eggs in the storage room or behind my car tire, and she wandered far afield by herself and seemed to enjoy the solitude. Last fall I was driving down our road with my sister in the car, and there in the middle of the road was Penny, not budging. I pulled the car up inches from her, rolled down the window, looked down on her bedraggled head, and said, "Go home, Penny." To my sister's great amusement, Penny went home.

When Chicken Dinner, the aforementioned rooster, matured in the fall, he began to bother Penny, so Penny started bunking on a four-inch shelf in an open-air shed, five feet in the air. It couldn't have been comfortable, but she preferred it to the coop. I knew something was wrong and started paying attention. One evening around dusk I plucked Penny off the shelf while she dozed, walked her into the coop to gently put her on a perch, and locked her in. Within a few minutes Chicken Dinner had roused himself from sleep, hopped down from his perch, chased Penny into a far corner, pinned her to the dirt on her side, and was savaging her for no discernible reason. I marched into the coop, picked up the terrified hen, backhanded Chicken Dinner, and whisked Penny back outside to the shed to sleep on her shelf. "I'll never make you go in there again," I told her, and I didn't.

That shed shelf bedroom would be Penny's undoing. Penny always rose with the sun (unlike the rest of the chickens, who stay locked up until midday so at least some of them have to lay eggs in the nest boxes instead of the garage). She would hop down to start her endless search for seeds, bugs and veggie scraps. The other morning our new fox neighbor was waiting for her.

This is all that remains of Penny.

Or, it could have been Not Penny -- I'm not sure. Either way, they're both gone, and so is the Buff Orpington hen who made a beeline for the pasture every day. I don't know why she did that; chickens must have their reasons. In any case, McGillicuddy also became a to-go meal for the fox.

Just after sunset tonight I saw the fox from my kitchen window as he trotted west along the berry hedge. He disappeared behind the big hay barn, but on a hunch I went outside and stood by our fence, watching. Sure enough, in a minute he reappeared, trotting toward our yard. He was coming surprisingly close for a bright orange animal in the half-light of dusk. I called to him.

"No chicken tonight," I taunted. He didn't hear me and kept advancing. "Go on, beat it," I shouted again. This time he heard me, and froze in his tracks. One more word from me and the fox sprang back toward the berry bushes, covering a great distance in a few leaps. He's gone, but he'll be back every day until he gets all the chickens. I'm afraid their carefree days of freedom are over, poor babies.

Except maybe for Chicken Dinner. I think I'll let him out nice and early.

Comments

[foolery]

Since I wrote this post, Meg, hes come around. He herds his four hens around the yard and they all stay together. He never attacks people or cats, or hed be covered in rosemary and flour faster than you can say Whats for dinner? Dad talked to a feed store on my behalf, and they told him to bring the bird in a box or cage and theyd give him away, but I know if I do that that someone will eat him. So far, so good. Chicken Dinner may stay if he behaves.

And Chass niece was here last week and renamed him Frank. That will stick as long as hes good!

[Meg @ Soup Is Not A Finger Food]

That Chicken Dinner is a big bad bully!

[foolery]

I know, Britton -- its why I could never raise a lamb or heifer or steer for 4H or FFA as a kid, even though my friends were making tons of money doing so and I had the perfect set-up here: I couldnt stand the thought of sending my pet off to its death. Or worse, EATING IT. I am quite circumspect as a carnivore; Im fine with the idea as long as Im not in the chain of culpability. : )

Thanks for reading and commenting!

Laurie

[Britton Minor]

I know it's the life cycle, the food chain, the inevitabilities of this life--but I still wish everyone--humans (most) and creatures could live in harmony without having to feast on each other. Ok, so it's a worthless comment, shameful in its naïveté and la-la land wishes...but it's how I feel. I don't even like it when my cat kills a spider! And to think...I'm not even a vegetarian...strange.

[foolery]

Were not killing any foxes, but we dont let the chickens out until after lunch, and then only if were going to be home in the afternoon. So far, so good!

[foolery]

Were not killing any foxes, but we dont let the chickens out until after lunch, and then only if were going to be home in the afternoon. So far, so good!

[Rick's Cafe]

And cityfolk never grasp the notion that killing those cute foxes/coyotes/wolfs is a lot less heartless than watching your family critters be eaten.

[daryl]

oh I am so sad ... poor penny and not penny and all the other to-go fox dinners ..

[foolery]

Thanks, CBW. Chicken Dinner has expressed no opinion about his name, but I really dont care if he likes it or not.

[Chesapeake Bay Woman]

I'm so sorry about Penny/Not Penny. Absolutely love the name Chicken Dinner.

[foolery]

Lisa, OF COURSE I remember you! And this rooster is a perfect gentleman to people, but hes way too rough with the hens. Makes me mad. I dont think hed be any match for that fox, however. Your Max must be a weightlifter.

[foolery]

HA! Awesome, Pierre. : )

[gramps]

A tale of love, loss, murder and chicken dinner. What more could we ask for on Easter Sunday

[Pierre Lafrance]

Great writing. Surely pullet surprise material.

[lisa mertins]

Hi Laurie, remember me from Marci's bday? I wanted to comment since I JUST got chased by our SOB Max the rooster.

The thing about him though, as ferocious as he is, we haven't lost any chickens on his watch!

I didn't really want a rooster either but maybe yours will keep the hens safe once he's mature and mean like our Max. We've had him about 4 years now and he's not a bit nicer than he ever was.

That said, new hens that come into the flock get to live in the hen condo so he won't murdilate them!

[Judy McDonald]

Haven't read your blog in a long time. Wow.....you have gone big time with advertising and all. If I tapped into your blog each day I would get nothing done around here. Thanks for sending the Chicken story through email. j

[foolery]

I may have to try that, Kathi, *sigh*.

[KathiD]

Foxes and chickens. What more to say? Except I'm sorry about both Pennys and the Buff.

So far, the electric wires I wrapped around the chicken yard have kept any more of mine from being dinner for critters, but there is always something out there looking for a nice meal.