Here’s the third post from guest contributor, Deanna D. If you liked her last two offerings you’re going to like this one too.
Angela’s Story
A week or so ago, we rehomed Raven (AKA The Noisy Hen) to a friend’s farm on Salt Spring Island as a peace offering to our neighbours. Raven is very happy in her new home and is fitting in fine. We have pictures.
Raven’s sister, on the other hand, is deeply suspicious of our explanations of Raven’s lovely new free-range home. She witnessed Bruce luring Raven with peanuts, scooping her up, and hiding her away in a travel box, never to be seen again.
Folks, she now refuses peanuts. This is utterly unheard of among our flock, who snatch them from each other’s beaks if one of them is too slow to gulp it down, and who suck up to Bruce dreadfully in hopes of getting more.
Giving serious thoughts to renaming Raven’s sister Angela Lansbury because she is absolutely certain there has been a murder, and she’s afraid she might be next.
And before you feel too bad for Miss Angela, keep in mind that one of the reasons she misses her sister is because now she doesn’t have anyone that lets her pick on them.
Business Worms
It rained all night and it continues on this morning. The ground is saturated and the earthworms have come up for air. Dozens of earthworms. Dozens and dozens of earthworms. Long and short, fat and thin; earthworms on a mission, inching their way along the parking area and driveway. These are not sedate, lazy earthworms, these are earthworms with places to go, gliding swiftishly across the gravel and tree duff. These are clearly earthworms with calls to take and business meetings they are late for.
As I went out to serve my poultry mistresses this morning, I had to step carefully so as not to harm any earthworms. And then, greedy gardener that I am, and much to the chickens’ very vocal dismay, I gathered up all of the squirming, writhing worms by the handfuls (I’m sure that if I had listened carefully, several would have been indignantly screaming “Do you know who I am?! Let me down this instant!”) and deposited them in the front veggie garden.
The mistresses were not amused, especially as I trekked back and forth several times before I had transported all of my writhing handfuls to their new home, and deposited not a single one in the chicken pens. And then, cruel, foul servant that I am, I did not open any gates to allow the mistresses to chase down any stray business worms that I may have missed.
Chicken Politics
The thing about chickens is that they are not very civic minded. Oh sure, they look all cute and fluffy and all, but they never consider the greater good. They have no interest in apportioning bird seed as fairly as possible. No, they are firm believers in class hierarchy, individualism, and the prosperity gospel. They hate foreigners and will often attack new chickens just for existing.
Furthermore, they think that’s the natural, rational way to act. To a chicken, there’s no point in whinging about the social order. If you are unhappy with your spot on the roost or your bird seed access, well, you better just haul up your bootstraps and start pecking the heads of the chickens in your way.
I guess what I’m saying is don’t be a chicken. If you find yourself voting, thinking, and acting like a feathered Randian, you need to reconsider your life choices.
Deanna D is a former northern farm girl who aged out of girlhood and moved to North Saanich. She has returned to keeping chickens for the last 10+ years because she can’t convince her partner to let her have a milk cow. Her long-suffering neighbours are aware that she has more chickens than she is technically allowed to but for now keep it to themselves in exchange for eggs. Speaks several dialects of chicken, will translate on request.
Many thanks to Deanna for sharing her sharp insights into the behind-the-scenes machinations of the poultry world, used with permission.
Bitchin' Chickens 
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