Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Attention, Historians...

...the most hated person in history is NOT, in fact, Hitler.

It's me.

At least, going by the chickens' reactions to me lately. They really, really now how to lay on the guilt with a freakin' trowel.

See, chickens are NOT big into any kind of change in their routine or surroundings. They want everything to stay just as it IS, thank you. Even if it's a change for the better, changes are viewed with unhappiness and distrust, and they'll look at YOU--in their minds the occupier of the position of Head Roo and Giver of All Things Good--to fix it, and fix it NOW.

So when we moved, and subjected our flock to various and sundry (and repeated) offenses and indignities of relocation, stuffing them in carriers, making them live in cramped quarters, etc. we found ourselves apologizng over and over again and trying to make it up to them with extra attention, cuddles and treats.

Food goes a long way in chickenland.

But this morning I went out to check on them and got a dose of heavy duty ChickenGlare from at least 6 of the oldsters. The chicks from last year's hatch were blithely out in the run, dashing about in the 25 degree weather with the wind & blowing snow, not really minding the chill. Youngsters are notorious for being kinda brain-dead and naive, and as such are more flexible in their thinking.

The dignified old ladies of the flock were another story. Their expectations are set in concrete. You don't mess with the ladies' dignity and sense of balance. They like to know what to expect in life from one moment to the next, and moving from southern California to northern Nevada in winter, haha, is NOT condusive to friendly human/poultry politics. They'd huddled in silent groups at the back of the coop. This is what I got from them.

The Stare has the power to drop lesser creatures in their tracks. The Frizzles especially contrive to look extra pathetic, as if those curling feathers only serve to allow the cold to get directly to their skin. I'd unwittingly compounded my sin by forgetting to go out there with goodies in hand to make up for the weather. The piteous looks, Lordy--the whining about their poor miserable condition was truly heartrending. The repeated loud and vocal appeals to me to DO something was undending. You'd think I was twisting off their toes.

I got out of there as fast as I could. Besides, it was cold out there!

I sense a large mealworm order in my future.

1 comment:

  1. From annes on LJ:
    That was an EXCELLENT read! :D Poor chickens, HOW VERY DARE YOU, SIR!