Let’s talk turkey
posted in Livestock and Pets |Or, rather, let’s talk chickens.
Chickens: the psychodynamics of chicken flocks.
Chickens: Why Comet lays more eggs than Angie, who lays more eggs than any of the other chickens, who don’t seem to be laying yet at all.
Chickens: Why Comet is a bitch.
OmegaDad has a soft spot for Comet; he thinks she’s spunky. We all think she’s smart. I think she’s a bitch. OmegaDad scoffs, saying that his sweet Comet could never be bitchy and it’s all in my imagination.
I guess Angie’s pecked-to-a-fare-thee-well-hind-feathers are all in my imagination, too.
But now…now, I have scientific proof that Comet is a bitch. Because it just so happens that being a good egg-layer is often coupled with…ta-da!…being at the top of the pecking order. In other words, being a bitch.
I swear I read it today at ScienceBlogs, but I can no longer find the reference. However, David Sloan Wilson’s latest book, “Evolution for Everyone: How Darwin’s Theory Can Change the Way We Think About Our Lives
There were only three hens, not nine, because the other six hens had been murdered. The three survivors had plucked each other during their incessant attacks and were now nearly featherless. Egg production plummeted during the course of the experiment, even though the most productive individuals had been selected each and every generation. What happened? The most productive individuals had achieved their success by suppressing the productivity of their cagemates. Bill [the poultry scientist] had selected the meanest hens in each cage and after six generations had produced a nation of psychopaths.
There you have it: scientific proof that Comet, who lays an egg a day (really!) is a chicken psychopath.
Of course, Angie, who is laying an egg every five or six days, it seems, often comes across as second in the pecking order: she pecks the others. But, since she’s second, Comet reserves a special meanness just for her.
Comet also has become a pushy broad who pokes and pecks at everything, jumps up in my lap when I’m trying to feed Angie from my hand, and attacks my toes if I don’t have food for her. This is Angie, who will snuggle up in my lap, settle down, and start “purring” (kind of a low, gurgling coo).
In other, less amusing, chicken news, one of our two beautiful silkies has a crossed beak. This means she’s ending up smaller and lighter than her sister. This means we finally decided to take her to the vet. So I ended up having to box her up and spend 20 minutes clucking incessantly to a frantic hen who was dashing herself against the box sides whenever I had to stop or turn the car. I took her to OmegaDad’s office so he could take her to her vet appointment; I had to be back at home to pick up the dotter at the bus stop, feed her a healthy snack, oversee the homework, and take her off to gymnastics.
When we returned, OmegaDad had Fluff quarantined in the downstairs bathtub (the cats and their accoutrements were kicked out and the door closed), in fear of Marek’s disease, a highly contagious viral cancer that strikes chickens when they are around four or five months old. It seems that the vet was extremely concerned because Fluff suddenly can’t walk.
I’m hoping it’s because Fluff kept bashing against the box. I have become too attached to the chickens, and find the egg laying to be somewhat of a treasure hunt…It would suck royally to have our little flock of very individualistic birds be laid waste by a virus.
