Yesterday Dan the Man helped me haul chicken feed to the layers' coop so that I could refill their feed barrel. Guess he didn't have anything better to do. That or he just loves me so much he wants to spend every available moment with me.
The egg layers are a great bunch of chickens, except for Whitey, the rooster. Well, Whitey isn't even an egg layer, but he is part of that bunch. The hens never complain and happily lay their eggs day after day. They never talk back and don't ask for much.
Whitey on the other hand is a real pain in the neck. Not all the times, just when you are not expecting it. He is so bossy with the hens. It really irritates me to no end when he has to run clear from one end of the yard to the other at full speed when he sees a hen who didn't ask permission to wander off from the flock for a little "me" time. When he gets to the poor little hen he belittles her and chases her back into the flock. What a jerk. He is so full of himself.
Actually he scares me! Believe it or not, I use to HATE and I mean HATE chickens.
It all started many years ago, I think I was around 10 years old, long before I ever dreamed of being a Country Chicken Girl. My sister's grade school class had hatched chicks. One day she came home with one of the chicks. With her puppy hazel eyes she asked our mother if we could keep it and of course my mother, the push over, said yes. The chicken, whose name was Funky, was okay when it was a chick, but as it got older, it became a crazy possessed wild thing that could run as fast as a freight train. Funky Chicken use to chase me all over the back yard, threatening to gouge out my eyeballs if I let her get close enough to me. I can remember screaming with terror to the point that I was crying and my evil sister just laughing her head off.
My sister found it so hysterical that she couldn't or wouldn't help me because she was laughing so hard. Makes me shutter to this day to relive those chicken attacks!
A couple of years ago, after we had started our chicken business, my sister and I were having this conversation.
Sis: I can't believe you are raising chickens! I thought you were scared to death of chickens. Remember Funky Chicken?
Me: How could I forget? I had nightmares for 3 months straight after we got our first batch of chickens because of her.
Sis: She use to chase you all around the yard and make you cry! That was so, so funny!!
Me: I remember. It took me several weeks before I could trust these chickens and to be able to walk among them because of your stupid chicken.
Sis: Ya, but you have to admit it was hilarious! Haa, haaa, haaa, heee, hee!!
Me: It wasn't that funny. She scared the poop out of me!
Sis: It was funny, it was so funny, I can still see you... running around the yard with the can full of feed. You'd shake the feed in the can while you ran and Funky would just keep chasing you because she wanted the feed! ROFLOL!
Me: You mean she was chasing me because I had the can of feed???
All those years, I thought she was just a freakazoid chicken who had a vengeance out for me. All of the sudden the fright and terror had been lifted. If she had told me that years ago I could have just fed Funky the feed and none of that would have happened!
Anyway, I'm not completely healed of the ordeal. Every once in a while, Whitey feels like he needs to attack the feet of the one who feeds him. He usually does it when I am least expecting it and when I have my back turned. The attack usually starts with me feeling a big bump against the back of my legs. I think he takes three steps backward and then lowers his head, spreads his wings and comes running at me full blast. Then when he gets to me he jumps a little and tries to cold-cock my calves with his feet. I can't tell exactly what he does because my back is turned. That's when my heart starts racing and I am afraid I am going to have a heart attack right then and there in the coop where no one will find me for days and days. All the while, Whitey will be pecking my eyes out and eating my nose and mouth and pooping on my dead face.
Well, I'm not about to let that happen so I muster up the courage and fight back, usually by trying to kick him, but he is so nimble on his feet that he can jump backwards, just like a boxer quick on his feet, just far enough to avoid my fierce karate kick! He even does that head bob thing that boxers do. When I can't land a kick in his head, I start to yell at him in an evil chicken killer voice. I tell him what I am capable of doing to chickens. How I can gut a chicken in a little under 120 seconds and how he'd better run away scared because I really don't need him in this chicken operation. He is only here because the hatchery screwed up. Sometimes I take a rake after him. When we have one of these go-a-rounds in the ring, he usually lays off for a couple of weeks, but then he inevitably tries it again.
Stupid rooster, he's lucky he's still around. He may not be so lucky next time we process chickens.
Anyway, I was feeling sorry for the egg layers this morning because they hardly get any cyberspace time on this blog. I have ample pictures of cattle and cats, but none of the chickens. Poor, poor chickens.
Fret no more my sweets! I will go through my pictures and post what I have of you.
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