Conversation with Chickens

"She has her camera! Out of my way!" said one of The Secret Sisters.

"You are such a gluten for photo ops, as always!" said another hen.

"The wind will catch my feathers just right, if you would get out of my way so I can run!" said the first hen.

"Oh Lord, you are just too much to behold," said the second hen, and she got out of the way.

After they were done voguing for the camera, they came upon the blind chicken, Henneth, who was hearing all the commotion. She stood at attention, catching what was going on by intuition.

"Watch this," said one of The Secret Sisters, and she quietly snuck up behind Henneth and looked up her underpants.

"That's mean, she can't reciprocate," said the other Secret Sister.

"I don't mind," said Henneth, "I do have beautiful underpants."

Let's sing The Chicken Underpants Song!

{To be sung to the tune of "I've a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts"}

I have a lovely pair of underpants

A lovely pair of underpants have I

They blow in the breeze

They come to my knees

I have a lovely pair of underpants

Garden party of chicken underpants

It is a spring tradition. We till up the vegetable garden [after the pigs and goats have cleaned up what they can] and then we let the chickens in as we lay down new 'black gold'–manure, compost, and stall cleanings that have aged for years-looking just like the deepest black dirt you can find.

I swear the chickens prepare for this day.

"Are your underpants clean?" Alice Waters says to everyone. She sports her light buff colored pants, perfect for spring.

"I will not be bending over," said Jane. "Mine are tarnished."

"I shall be going too," said Franklin, the youngest rooster of the farm, now developing fine hackle feathers. "My hackles will look stunning with your spring underpants."

"Just stay away from me and my underpants, Franklin, I belong to Papa Roo's clan," said Chicken Named Dog.

"Suit yourself," said Franklin.

While they clawed and strutted, I worked on de-chick-a-fying the vegetable garden. Last year for the first time in 10 years, the chickens ruined our tomatoes by pecking at them, then leaving them to rot. Martyn was on the war path. He threatened to have 24/7chicken lock down all summer. To compromise, I convinced him an addition to the chicken hut area would let them stay there during peak tomato season and still have some grass and dirt, and that I would also add yet another span of chicken wire and barriers to the vegetable area to keep them out. I don't clip wings and don't intend to, so any little ledge allows them a new way to get through the pasture fence. I spent an hour or so working this weekend to make a Fort Knox of Vegetable Gardens, only to notice a chicken at my feet when I was done.

Sigh.

They had easily gone under one of the gates. So I will add a board there.

In the meantime, they are happily parading in clean underpants, except Jane. But that too shall pass.

The smallest Apiferian dies

I found Henny Penny today, her little body was lying in Old Barn in the hay area where Rosie has been residing this winter. A couple days ago I noted in y mind I hadn't seen her for a couple days, but she was one of our most active setters and we'd often find her sitting on a hidden clutch somewhere.

Henny Penny was well over 12. She had a perfect life for a chicken if you asked me. She free ranged, lived a long life free of being hurt by predators, had roosters that protected her and didn't bully her and she had an old barn that was her partner in crime-stuffing eggs there to roost on, always looking for a way to have more chicks. Let's not forget it was Henny Penny who became the surrogate mother to the one surprise chick that hatched from another hen's egg-that chicken was named Una but later became Uno, when it was apparent Una was an Uno. Uno the rooster was part of Henny Penny's tribe in Old Barn, and he was there this morning when I made the discovery.

It's always shocking to find a body. When I first saw her, I did let out a soft gasp,

"Henny," I said.

With the pig snorting down food in the background, and the donkeys relishing morning hay, life was already going on as usual all around me. Animals and the farm are the perfect teacher of one of life's most important realities-nothing stops for anyone. I first examined her body and was given a wonderful gift–she had clearly died of natural causes. There were no wounds and no signs of stress. She was old. She died amongst her flock and in a warm barn. Selfishly, she died where I could find her and know how she died. This is often not the case with chickens and cats. We wonder if they suffered or were half dead out in the bramble, waiting for death. So to know that this little hen died a good death, was a gift for me.

And she was the smallest member of the farm. She was a Bantie hen and the funniest little character. She had little tufts on her feet and the prettiest markings. A fierce setter as I said, she also was very independent. It would drive me mad that she'd find roosts high up in the barn and not come into the hutch at night. But now that we have the dogs, the raccoons don't go into the barns and I'm a bit more relaxed about it.

You can get attached to chickens and Henny was special-her little waddle, due to her small size, brought a smile every time. I've held other chickens and wept. Often I'm weeping for the past month or year's losses, that were stuffed inside a zip lock bag somewhere, waiting for a good moment to express some pain and move on. I didn't weep with Henny. She had such a long, good chicken life. But I did sit with her for the longest time this morning, holding her tiny body. I told all the hens and Papa Roo she was gone-but they already knew and were busy scratching and pecking for breakfast. I'll bury her in the pumpkin patch today.

I'm so glad I included her in the new line of postcards. And for the record, I found her with clean underpants.

What we see isn't always

I love this photo. I hesitated to put it on–anyone who comes here regularly knows I love blur in photos, for it shows the living quality of the moment it was take–that's my way of thinking of it anyway. It would make a great arty statement if I ever got interviewed about my images, don't you think.

But when I took this photo I obviously didn't intend to cut the head off, or have the entire thing blurry. Still I liked it, and keep looking at it. There is something really lush and emotive about it, to me. This is Henrietta who has the most beautiful chocolate brown coloring and the way the shadow mimics here fluffy chicken underpants profile-lovely.

I was thinking, if this were a painting, with a tile like, "Moment 2050" one might not worry about the blur or the fact the head has been cut off. I don't really know what my point is, I just thought I'd give an audience for this lovely blurry brown headless chicken.

Little black dress, hen style

It never gets old, it never is out of style–the little black ensemble, complete with black underpants–you just can't go wrong with it, ladies.

Tiny chicken underpants

Henny Penny is the tiniest member of the barnyard and has been with us about eight years, so she is most likely about ten. Here she is showing off her underpants, and of course they are the smallest underpants in the barnyard, but ever so lovely, don't you think?

Unencumbered bottoms

Sometimes when mingling in the barnyard, I have great epiphanies. Just yesterday I mused that humans have bottoms once tailed but now tailless and when clothed we can not admire the individuality of each bottom.

But in the barnyard, all bottoms are free, unique and unencumbered from cloth.

Chicken underpants fashion alert

Slightly tilted chicken underpants

Chicken underpants of the moment

It's a challenge to keep one's undergarments clean and fresh in the muddy season, but Clara knows at any moment the paparazzi can be lurking, waiting for the perfect underpants photo opportunity.

Chicken underpants for spring!

Spring is soon to arrive, according to the Official Hen House Almanac and that means the ladies have been strutting about in some of their spring underpants to see how they feel in action. I know much of the country is still struggling through storms after storm, so I thought this would give you hope that Spring will indeed come to you too.

We have a special melody we sing this time of year in honor of spring underpants. It is sung to the tune of "I've a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts".

"I have a lovely pair of underpants"

©K.Dunn, with edits by The Two Janes

I have a lovely pair of underpants,

A lovely pair of underpants have I.

They're clean as the breeze, and shimmy as I move,

And then Papa Roo says, "Oh my!"

Yes, I have a lovely pair of underpants!

A lovely pair of underpants have I!

Chicken underpants at sunset

Chicken self absorbtion

"Oh, I feel so...fine...so fine, I am fine, I am beautiful, yes I am, is she looking at me, yes she is looking at me, of course she is, looking at me, what, is that some one over there looking at me too, yes they are, because I am so fine, so fine, and now I will show them my underpants."

Perfect underpants for a summer evening

I think the title says it all.

Scrambled egg convention

If you've never been to a scrambled egg convention, you might try to find one nearby. They are quite entertaining. Let me be quite clear though, the menu is very simple: scrambled eggs without seasoning.

Topics of discussion will vary depending on the season. Today I heard a lot of chatter about bees. I guess one of the chickens saw a bee and that had everyone predicting an early spring. Worms have been beefier this month than last, according to Edmonia Lewis.

Today's convention provided lots of pretty chicken underpants sightings...however, one of the Three Janes was horrified I took a picture of her with slightly soiled pantaloons. I lied and told her I wouldn't post it. I rarely lie to the animals, but sometimes on Sundays I do, because I'm tired. They usually know I'm lying, so don't get all bothered by it.

Note: Scrambled egg conventions are held monthly at Apifera in order to keep our egg supply under control. While chickens shouldn't get egg shells [it can inspire them to peck at their own eggs], they love a good scramble. This was a 32 egg scramble. I taste test them, and let me tell you, best scramble ever.

We all need each other

"Why hasn't she been taking pictures of my underpants?" I overheard Jane Morrison asking.

Yes, it's true, my duties as loving companion to many was inadequate all last week. Amidst all the Muddy Madness of the past 7 days, an entire barnyard of creatures continued on with life as usual, aware of the mushy goo goo talk going on at the Big House. There have been many direct hints that it was time for me to get back to my on-top-of-it care taking, versus my hi-guys-gotta-get-back-to-the-puppy-and-book schedule I was on . Not that any one was neglected. But my daily interactions in the barn had to be kept to a bare minimum this past week so I could not get my manuscript finished [which I did], but so I could also guide Muddy in his first week here. Both were necessary.

And it didn't come a day too soon. Arriving at Boone's stall this morning, I gasped. "What in heaven's name, Boone. Did you rock the house last night?" Boone lives in his own turn out stall, meaning he has the freedom to go in and out when he wants. He has a shade porch too so can stand outside but still be under cover from sun or rain. He has it made. He has chicken friends that dine with him, Frankie spends much of the day with him, and he chews on the backs of the rams who share a fence line. He gets a daily brush, one animal cracker a day if available, fresh hay and water from the sky. His feet are cared for by a good farrier and he gets eyeball massages regularly.

Now Boone's always been a tidy housekeeper, unlike many horses. He never poops in his stall, unless it's really raining hard for days. We've had fine weather, not poop-in-the-stall weather, and I was shocked to see his entire stall covered with some of Oregon's finest horse manure. He stuck his head out of the stall like he always does, and nickered, like he always does. And then he turned his big old butt around and pooped.

Man, you slack off for one week to help a puppy and that's the thanks I get.

So, I stood on the hay bales and made a grand declaration to every living creature there. "I am here for you, I never left. I have overcome my 106 Muddy fever, and I will rub your feet again, and your bellies."

As I cleaned Boone's stall, the air felt spring like, and damp. It smelled good to me, manure combined with damp grass and horse all mixed together. As Boone ate, I leaned into him and rested in silence for awhile. I'm lucky to have so much companionship that means so much to me. And I'm lucky I can feel love and give it out to living creatures and people - be it in a horse hug, an old goat massage, or a fresh home made pie.

Living isn't always a picnic in the park, but I need to be alive right now.

And as I left the barn? The three Janes ambushed me, bending over to show me their beautiful, puffy undergarments. I so wished I'd had my camera. Next time.

Underpants of the moment

Today's winner of the Underpants of the Moment is Clara Barton, a lovely Buff Orpington who likes her underpants fluffy and creamy orange in color.

Lady's lament