The Poultry Princess

The Poultry Princess: Stay Poop Free, My Friends

This is the 14th installment in a series of humorous observations about keeping chickens from guest contributor Heide Royer. If you’re familiar with her stories, poop often features front and centre and it does so again here.

You know for fun I gave myself the moniker “The Puerto Rican Poultry Princess”, mainly for my book and my TikTok page. There really is a reason behind it and it all began with a small Silver Duckwing Old English Game bantam hen named, Giggles.

She really is a fine specimen of the breed. Giggles is just a dainty little thing with light grey, tan, with a hint of black coloring, round head, big bulging eyes, and perfectly manicured tail feathers. To be honest, she probably wouldn’t get asked to too many dances, but she’s got a huge personality for such a wee chicken and would definitely not be afraid to “drop it like it’s hot” on the dance floor if given the opportunity. She also reminds me of the loud ‘woo girl’ at my favorite bar, Maddie Lou’s. You know those girls. The ones that yell “Wooooooo!” when their favorite song comes on and shriek at an annoyingly high level that makes you want to ninja chop and throat punch their boyfriends for bringing them. That’s my little party hen all right.

Every evening when I do my last round of feeding and tucking in, she’s always the first one at my feet, clucking and pecking at my muck boots, flapping her smooth feathered wings, eyeballing me intently with her Igor eyeballs to see what direction I’m going to drop the chicken scratch. Half the time I can’t even tell because her eyes are so wonky, but I usually throw some in the opposite direction of where she’s facing and then sneak a pile close to me, just for her.

I neglected to get enough scratch in my feed bucket one evening and I had to go back to the barn to refill it. I ended up getting distracted, which is very easy to do mind you, so by the time I remembered the sun was almost completely down.

Fearing that my littles wouldn’t get enough metabolic oomph for a cold night, I ran out to their coop and gently opened the door so as not to frighten anyone.

Everyone was already roosting except for my little Giggles, who was searching the ground for her personal stash of corn based morsels, which of course wasn’t there.

I looked down at her and apologized, but before I could even finish what I was saying she was on her way up. I guess she needed some ‘Come To Jesus’ face time with me for my transgression, because the next thing you know she was right on top of my head. I laughed and reached for my phone so I could take a picture, but I didn’t have it with me!! I was so angry at myself for not being able to capture this moment. I usually don’t go anywhere without it because I never know when these crazy types of things will happen to me on our 5150 Farm And crazy things are the norm, trust me. Hence the name. Google it if you don’t know what 5150 means.

The only thing I thought of in that instance was how funny this must look if an outsider were to bear witness to my precious Disney Princess moment and how I felt like Snow White, soon to be Off White.

Fluttering of wings.

Fluttering of more wings.

Motion in the air. Lots of motion.

The feeling of little claws on my skin.

And just like that, 15 little bantam chickens had flown on my arms and head. I had my whole tiny flock on my body!

I could not believe what was happening and held out my arms at my sides like a human scarecrow/poop roost and laughed and laughed.

Knowing that my time of walking out of there unscathed from a multitude of chicken plops was closing in on me, I picked up each one and placed them back on their wooden roost, all the while balancing Miss Giggles on my head with the accuracy of a woman toting a treasured basket of goodies back to her beloved village.

I was down to just one, Giggles, and now it was completely dark. I lifted her up and over my head and placed her gently in a nesting box with a handful of delectable chicken scratch and walked out.

Having this profound experience, I couldn’t wait to get inside the house and tell Travis of my unique, once in a lifetime, moment.

As I was running my mouth at a hundred miles an hour, I noticed that he mentally checked out and went somewhere else. I know he doesn’t share the same enthusiasm as I do when it comes to my birds, but usually he will fake it till he makes it. So RUDE!

“Babe! Did you not hear what I said???”

“Um, yeah. But. Um. Well.”

“What?! Oh no, what!???”

“You have a little something, just right here on top of your head”, as he grimaced pointed and to the area.

I ran to the bathroom and noticed a nice long, white streaky line of sh*t, about two inches long, inching its way down my black hair slowly like some sort of creepy fecal caterpillar.

Well damn, she got me. Fourteen others managed to keep it in like Flynn and Giggles, of all the chickens, was my assailant.

“Lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony with a tinge of chicken sh*t stain, skin white as snow” would have been my Disney intro.

And then I knew that the Puerto Rican Poultry princess was born and she was here to stay.

Stay poop free my friends.

Heide Royer is the artist behind Heidinmyworld of Art. Her creative passion lies within the animal world and is expressed through her visually compelling artwork. She is also an aspiring writer telling stories of her chicken farm life in a new book entitled “All Cooped Up – My Life with Chickens During A Pandemic”, filled with crazy antics and a lot of fowl play. It’s sure to bring laughter to any poultry loving household.

Thanks again to Heide Royer for sharing her story and photo, used with permission. Featured photo credit: Too Many Chickens

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