Well, this has been a week of chickening. Nothing too crazy, but still a busy one.
Volunteer hen has developed a case of conflicted self interest. She has lost the ability to casually scold us from afar when we bring treats. See, normally, she stays far enough away to complain that we aren't throwing things accurately too her, but not so far that she can't grab a snack before anyone else gets to it.
But just in the last week, she's taken to meeting us all at the door, though she stays behind the rooster. She scolds us just as thoroughly, however. She had previously been sometimes coming closer when me or my wife would bring treats, but didn't trust the kid at all. All the birds can tell who's coming by footsteps now. But this week, even when the kid is coming, they're both lined up and waiting.
The big guy, he's about as smart as a stick, only more prone to slamming into things.
Which is one of his hobbies. He'll come tearing across the yard if he's way out there when I come out, try screaming to a stop, and end up ass-over-teakettle, or slamming into the door, or a leg. Bwakabakabrgle-thwack.
He Naruto runs at that. He gets all hunched over, wings swept back, head stretched out, ass just waggling back and forth while he runs.
But, dumb as he is, we love him. Largely because when he sees one of us, he screams and gobbles and comes running. Yeah, about half the time, once he slams into you, he humps your shoe, but still. Like, earlier today, my kid brings him in like a satchel, tucked under arm (what? Indiana Jones has one. It's less fabulous, but still.) The kid opens the door, and I'm standing there.
The rooster screams "ARRRRRRRRRRAAWK!", stretches out his head and starts running towards me. But he's under an arm, so he isn't actually running anywhere, and I'm a foot away. I did mention he ain't the sharpest crayon in the box. But, because he can't reach me, he flips his head around, pecks the kid, and screams again while stretching his neck towards me. Damn chauffeur, you can't get good help any more.
Again, he's a foot away. So I just reach out and pet him. And he's suddenly happy, clucking and purring.
Which brings us to baby bird, my little marans goddess.
As always, she is well worshipped. She is also spoiled rotten. She expects her biscuits on schedule (pronounced shed-u-all in her head", and will gladly let us know when we are late.
Earlier this week, she decided that my arm is her cushion, and we are still negotiating how long she can sit on it.
She'll come in for the night, get her ice (she gets ice shards when I refill my insulated tumbler, and gods forbid she not get them), make her way to the living room for a quick snack at her food bowl (it isn't actually a bowl, but that's what we call it), then flap and jump to the couch.
This is when biscuits will be presented to her highness. Or else. Brrrrrrrrrrrrraaark! Which translates to "look here, monkey, you hustle those opposable thumbs of yours into action and bring me my biscuit!"
Once m'lady has finished tea, she strolls.
She walks across my lap to the couch arm. Then back across to my kid's lap. Then back to me, then back to them. We are to remain in place during her inspection amble, and be certain to not touch her butt fluff, thank you very much.
But, eventually, she makes her way back to the arm of the couch. If my arm is not in place, layed across the arm of the couch, just over the edge where her little butt can rest on it, she will sweetly croon at me. If that fails, then she will sweetly peck the ever living hell out of my chest, increasing the force and frequency until said arm is in place, and I begin sweet talking her.
At that point, she will waddle side to side a bit until she's in position, then she flaps her tail, lifts it, and settles in on my arm. Now, you may not be aware, but there is a section of a hen's backside that is less feathered than the rest. It is right around the vent (aka chicken butthole). It is very, very soft, and very, very warm. The feeling of that soft, warm vent settling down is surprisingly delicate and pleasant, believe it or not. Since she is quite thorough in policing her butt fluff, and vent area, it isn't as, um poopy as you might think.
But you would think about it as said vent settled onto your arm. While she keeps the area spotless, it is a butthole, resting warm and alive against your flesh. My flesh.
Hence our ongoing negotiations. We are at the stage of "listen here, you dirty monkey boy, that is my throne, and you will keep it still". All offers made so far on my side have been rejected as unacceptable. I suspect that without collective bargaining strength on my side, this will not end in a fair compromise.
Luckily, my body is a damn furnace, so she only sits against it for five minutes or so before moving away far enough for air to pass between us. I'm then free to move my arm and gently wipe it down.
At least she moves away if she needs to poop.
For anyone unaware, indoor chickens are a thing. Ours splits her time inside and out, but people do have full time inside chickens. They are extremely difficult to train when it comes to pooping because they don't have actual control over it. They can't hold it the way some animals can. All they can do is try to go where they're supposed to. But that is very difficult. You have to pay a lot of attention, catch them before they start to poop, move them where you want them to, hope they stay there to poop, then reward them.
So, most people just get chicken diapers. No, really, go look it up
But our girl is very good about going to a pad. It has to be the same kind of pad, she won't accept newspaper in the same places. I'm not saying she always places the poop on the pad, no. But her feet will be touching one. If her butt is over the pad, well, easy peasy. If not, well, that's what disinfectant wipes are for.
So, the arm of the couch has a pad on it. She'll step away from my arm, make her business, then peck me until I change the pad. Which I have to do one handed, because she isn't going to just move away, no. She has to step onto one arm and be lifted away from all the rustle and bustle of the pad change.
Annnnyway, enough chicken talk.
volunteer hen
big boy
