The Poultry Princess: Henopause

This is the fifth installment from guest contributor, Heide Royer. After a four month hiatus she back and full of more light-hearted stories about the joys of chicken keeping.

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I’m hot and no I don’t mean I’m Instagram model hot. I mean, I’ve got sweaty farm boobs and my hair looks like old, dumpster drained spaghetti from a sketchy Italian restaurant in Queens. Not cute and slightly funky.

“You’re just going through the change Heide.” I hear my Dad say.

“No, everyone here is a selfish, barbaric reptile and I’m not. I’m turning the air down and you should go find a different rock to sunbathe on instead of my couch.”

Yeah, I would never say that out loud but I thought the beejesus out of it. What I did say was something witty like “ha ha”. I’ve learned early on in life to keep my retorts respectful and short when growing up with a father that’s a Marine. It prevented my head from being snatched from my body and my soul thrown into a latrine in purgatory while I was growing up.

Menopause. Ugh, a turn of the tide for a middle-aged woman. But what if it’s not that? What if it’s….henopause?

Ok, hear me out.

I was traveling out of town one week for business with a tinge of pleasure, and I had to bring my sick little Serama hen with me. Well I didn’t have to, but I chose to because no one can take care of her like I can and it’s part of who I am.

Now a lot of chickens do well with the cold, but Malaysian Seramas require a bit more heat than their larger counterparts. Naturally, I would have immediately walked into the hotel room and turned the temperature down to polar bear level and crawled into bed, although this time I had to refrain from moving the thermostat’s evil 73F degrees inferno setting and let it be.

Why? Well because I didn’t want my 8 ounce chicken to be uncomfortable when she’s not feeling well.

So yes, I am going through the change, but it has nothing to do with estrogen. It’s estrohen. See, if you pronounced estrogen in Spanish it would sound like estroHEN. Once we get chickens that’s when the metabolic change happens to us. We slowly start to morph into these winged creatures.

During that time of the month, does it feels like your cooter is going to drop to the floor? What’s that resemble? The egg drop.

Why is it when you’re doing chicken chores you feel your stomach start to bubble gut you? Henopause is encouraging the instant bowel release. Your humanity rushes you to the bathroom.

Hungry and it’s non-stop bitchin’ until you finally satiate that need? Who does that remind you of? That’s right. Your flock of hungry pie holes.

So yeah, we change, and it could happen at any age once you make the decision to own chickens.

When you surrender to this, you can understand that you aren’t crazy. You aren’t alone. You’re just undergoing part of something greater … and smellier.

Embrace the change.

Love and quiches to all, and to all a good night, The Puerto Rican Poultry Princess.