Character

Lucy's toes remind me of this photo by Alfred Stieglitz,

of Georgia O'Keefe's hands.

So much character. 

And since "adversity builds character", 

I guess that's why Lucy is full of it.

Out in the coop, I was photographing Lucy's twisted toes

when Pigeon scampered over to see what all the fuss was about.

She took a good myopic look, 

and then she noticed that Lucy's head was above her own.

This, according to the Official Chicken Rule Book, 

is an extreme gesture of insubordination.

In defense of her position as Queen of the Coop, Pigeon raised her hackles and placed her beak beside Lucy's. 

Lucy remained calm and still, to assure Pigeon that she had no intention of overthrowing her regime.

Pigeon thought about that for a bit, while Lucy waited politely.

Then Pigeon turned toward me to see if treats might be in order.

Pigeon herself is not without her own adversity... you can see character in her toes, too.  She's not in pain, but these bent toes do tell a story of hardship that she endured before she came to live with us.  
Those days are forgotten -- but they certainly contributed to her character. 

Maybe that's why these two gals share a special bond.


...They're sharing a special dog house, too -- 
I've made some changes in the chicken yard. 
But that's another story!

PIGEON RULES

What are some important leadership qualities ?

Hm. 

Here's Pigeon, the leader of the flock, the day I met her.


Upside down.  


Skinny, bloody...  far from healthy.  
(click here to read more about Pigeon's beginnings)

After a few weeks of tender rehab, she did seem much healthier.  
She joined the flock and slipped herself right into the lead position vacated by our dear-departed-Hatsy.

But Pigeon, our new little leader, followed Lucy around like a puppy.

As it turns out, Pigeon is extremely nearsighted.  

In fact, she's darn near blind.

This explains why she's always underfoot. 

I've nearly stepped on her several times, 

and have to be careful not to chop off her little head 

when I'm working in the garden.

  

I offer her a tomato, and she pecks to the left of it.

Even when I toss her a wiggling worm, 

she has a tough time finding it... 

she's pecking to the left again.

...but that's okay.  

There's still Bravery and Smarts, right?

O.K.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

At the beginning, Pigeon was afraid of everything. 

She was afraid of worms. 

She was afraid of the sky.

She's still scared of Marky, but  tries not to show it.

So.  Maybe health and bravery aren't that important after all.

As for. .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  

Well, she's not the brightest bulb in the coop.
She's got a pretty average little pea-brain beneath that comb.  
I'd rank Daisy and Lucy as the smartest gals...


But hey, we've known leaders who have made it to the top despite even catastrophic stupidity.

So what is Pigeon's strength?

Compassion?

In a chicken?

Yep.

She shows it in so many ways.

She is very considerate of Lucy's challenges.

Lucy's an older lady who's had some really tough times.  And this year Lucy chose to molt in January....not the best time to be half-naked in New England.

So Pigeon stands beside her and keeps her warm while they nap.

And from her very first encounter with little Fern and Daisy, Pigeon has shown only kindness.

Here she stands near them and preens -- which, in chicken-talk, means "hi there- I'm not going to kill you"... of course, the chicks don't understand that yet. They're cowering in the corner, awaiting a painful death. 

But there's one particular moment of sensitivity that really struck me.....
It was last Fall.
I was offering a piece of clover to Pigeon and the little ones.

Pigeon looked up and saw Lil'White running toward the babies in order to murder them.  
While Pigeon had nothing to fear, she knew that the babies did.
She warned them of impending doom, and little Fern and Daisy fled to the forsythia in the nick of time.


It was a simple gesture.
But a true gesture of compassion.
  
I haven't seen sensitivity like that among dogs, or cats.... 
or in hundreds of hours of nature shows.     
But here it is -- in Pigeon.

Pigeon, honey, you rock.


.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  
Now, I don't know whether it's compassion or curiosity or trust --
but Pigeon tends to be the favorite of all the kids who come to visit.

And that's a story for the next post!

.....Next post:     Chicken Socks

Meet the Girls: HATSY

....continued from previous post:  Change o' Peking order  

Why is it that grandma-names suit chickens so well? 

  

We never did figure out what breed Hatsy is.  When my friend and I ordered chicks, we were sent a baker's dozen.. I think Hatsy was the extra chick -- some kind of hybrid. 

  

She outgrew her cuteness very quickly. She started to look like a little hawk.  I was afraid she might be a boy.

 

...but she wasn't---

Hatsy started laying eggs a whole month before the other girls.

 

Eggs came flyin' out of her like crazy.  She didn't miss a day, for months and months.

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

                   

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .

Hatsy was the flock's undisputed leader from the beginning.   

We call her our Little Dynamo.   

No grass grows under Hatsy's feet.

She's an excellent gardener.

She's a treasure hunter.

Can you find Hatsy in this picture?




.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .




Hatsy's nonstop egg-laying did take its toll.      
It happened one summer evening -- the girls had been grazing in the garden, the sun was going down, Lil'White had already headed home to the coop.  I looked out the window and saw Hatsy and Lucy standing in the middle of the lawn.  Chickens can't see in the dark, and any chicken in her right mind heads for bed as soon as the sun sets.  I stepped outside to see what was up with these girls.

Hatsy was just standing there, asleep.  


Lucy was fine - she was keeping her friend company.   Hatsy barely opened her eyes when I scooped her up, and she let me carry her to the coop without the usual struggle.  Lucy followed us to the henhouse. I put Hatsy in, secured the coop, and left them for the night knowing that there must be something wrong but having no idea what it was.




In the nesting box the next day was the reason for Hatsy's odd behavior.
She had laid a pterodactyl egg.  It was the biggest egg I'd ever seen.


She had several similar sleeping episodes over the following weeks, and each time she produced a monstrous egg.   Then she started laying soft eggs... then eggs with no shells... and then she started laying these hideous things that looked like chewed-up chewing gum.


It was clear that Hatsy's internal egg-machine had blown a gasket.
   
Eventually, Hatsy stopped laying anything at all.  I felt relieved for her, because she seemed to have had a lot of discomfort,  maybe even pain, for several months.  


But the end of egg-laying was not the end of her troubles. 


 Winter came to New England, and in the middle of a cold snap Hatsy molted.    The floor of the henhouse looked as if a chicken had exploded.  Hatsy lost her tail feathers, most of her wing feathers, and a whole lot of down.  She looked like a half-plucked oven-stuffer-roaster.  

I rigged up a heat lamp in the coop for her, and she spent most of her time huddled under it,  so close to the hot red bulb that I thought I might as well come out and baste her.   

One day while Hatsy stood shivering outside in the coop,  I watched Lucy hobble over and smoosh her voluptuous black-and-white plumage against her skinny little friend. She was keeping her warm. 
The two stood there.  

I almost cried.  

.   .   .   .   click here for the next entry:  Meet the Girls -- Lil'White