Published: August 05, 2009 08:53 am      

Suspicions unfortunately proven after trip to condo

Suspicions are never good — especially when they come true in a chicken house. I have been keeping a close and watchful eye on one of my chickens for the last two weeks. At first, I thought she was just ahead of the other hens in the coop when it came to size and overall maturity. But then, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach that this was not an all-girls chicken condo.

My uncle Lyle, and my chicken partner in crime, came out Saturday to see if my suspicions were on the up and up. I opened the door and he stepped in. He made an impressive chicken call — one that I haven’t been able to duplicate. And then, as if in a scene from a movie, my suspicious chicken appeared from one of the nests. The chicken puffed its feathers out, stretched its neck, looked straight at us and went “Cuckoo!” I yelled “Oh, no!” and uncle Lyle yelled, half laughing, “There’s your rooster!” At that moment, I saw my egg quota fall.

I had a feeling there were date nights going on in the coop. It’s sad when my hens are experiencing more of a social life than I am. No, I’m not jealous — really. One evening I opened the door and my rooster was surrounded by half a dozen adoring hens.

Since this discovery, my rooster “cuckoos” nonstop — day and night — it doesn’t matter. I have heard many horror stories about roosters. For one, they are mean. My neighbors, Dave and Julie, had a rooster who recently passed away from natural causes. Julie told me how their rooster chased her and her two teenage daughters and to top it all off sprayed them with a very unattractive aroma. Needless to say, I don’t think they bought flowers for his funeral.

Since that time, I have heard the battle cry from others who were scarred for life by a rooster. Even my uncle Jim has crystal clear childhood memories of being chased by one. A reader e-mailed me recently and told me how her husband had “not so good” memories of being chased, knocked down and pecked by an irate rooster. If that happened to me, I don’t think I would enjoy eating chicken either.

It’s been a rough week in the coop — not only for me and my rooster but also for one unruly hen. Every night, like clockwork, Cordy and I feed and water the chickens. And every night, except this one, our routine has gone off without a hitch. However, on this one particular lovely August evening, one of my hens decided she wanted to see the world. As I was closing the door, I had a hen fly over my head and out the door into the great blue yonder of my backyard. It’s too bad someone didn’t have a video camera handy. I was chasing my hen through the Kentucky wonder beans in my garden, zigzagging around tomato plants and back into my yard around the chicken house too many times to count. As I was running, I was yelling “here chick, chick, chick.” I then turned to my trusty herding dog Cordy. “Cordy, get that chicken!” And with that, Cordy ran the other way. You have to love a well-trained dog.

When I go out to take care of my chickens, I put garbage bags over my feet to keep my shoes clean. The bags made chasing a little more difficult. Unfortunately, I ran through a fresh deposit Cordy had just made and with the bags on my feet I went flying across the yard screaming “Ahhh!”

I did eventually stop my hen in her tracks when I successfully threw my oversize Whitey’s ice cream bucket, AKA feed pail, over her small frame. Then, came the tricky part. Now that I had her, I had to get her back into the coop. I slowly lifted the bucket, grabbed a hold of this overexcited squawking chicken, opened the chicken house door and placed her safely back in her condo. Talk about a workout. You know, I could really identify with Rocky Balboa when Mickey had him chase a chicken to get greasy-fast speed. I definitely passed that test.

Snickers, my Golden Polish, has achieved celebrity status. My great-aunt Beulah Milnes, who turned 91 this year, drove to my home recently with her daughter, Wanda, who is visiting from California, and her sister, Leola, who will turn 89 this year. One of the first things aunt Beulah said when she got out of the car was, “I came to see Snickers.” Heh, how lucky can a chicken get. Aunt Beulah has been a faithful Clinton Herald reader her entire life. She told me her parents subscribed when she lived at home and her readership continued after she got married until now. I have had more visitors at my home this past summer because of my chickens than I’ve had in almost four years. If I had known that, my chickens would have arrived long ago.

I wonder if Snickers will receive fan mail? I’m just trying to figure out how she will sign autographs.



Angie Bicker is the lifestyles editor with the Clinton Herald. She has been with the Herald since 2001.