We have twelve chickens and one handsome white and black rooster called Hubert. Our boy named the rooster.
I’m not sure what all the breeds are but we definitely have Leghorns, Plymouth Rocks, Australorps and a lone puffy headed single minded black feathered Araucana who lays blue green eggs. She was the first I named: Beulah.
My Fellow’s favourites are the large confident Rhode Island reds. They are burly good natured birds who lay the large dark brown eggs, sometimes double yolkers. My daughter has named one of them Shirley (because she was the first to surely produce eggs for us)
She’s named a wee white hen Tara.
The only other bird I have personally named is the small lame hen, I think she’s an Easter egger. I call her “Little Grey” because she has grey feet. We’re not sure what is wrong with her. She still warbles like a chick, she’s small and she favours one leg. We’ve inspected her for wounds or lumps, we’ve separated her, nothing seems to help. The others pick on her, she’s definitely an outsider, but she isn’t being pecked to death and she can perch and fly and her appetite seems fine. My husband suspects she’s the one who lays a teensy tiny white egg every once in a while. He talks about chopping her head off and throwing her into the stewing pot and I leap to her defence: “No! Not Little Grey! Don’t even JOKE!”
I was down there again today to clean out the pen and top off the feed and collect the eggs. The Rhode Island red girls all hang together and gossip like a high school clique and expectantly wait for me to toss them some greens. I am not a very good farmer. I call them greedy and bossy and I don’t thank them for their eggs. I divert them by throwing them some weeds and I save the best little carrot shaving morsels for Beulah and little Grey who are once again, on their own. I whisper to my outsiders, “Here you go, pretty girls, be brave.” They nibble at the treats until the big red birds catch on and shove them away.
As I check on the water pails I recall what I know of my husband’s days in high school. He would humbly say he was a gangly boy with big ears and a bad hair cut or some such modest offering. But the real story is, he was a well liked actively involved big strapping handsome football player! He was a football player! No wonder he likes the Rhode Island reds! He IS a Rhode Island red! He’s a great big sure and steady hearty producer!
So what does that say about me? I look over at gimpy gimp and puff head.
Well.
We have a chicken coop for two reasons: eggs and ambience.
Some of us feed the family and some of us are – well – let’s be honest – mostly here for entertainment.
