Owls, Hawks, and Grass

I said it couldn't happen to me. Rules are made for people, not people for rules. When the Happy Hen House Chicken Forum told me I couldn't, I responded, "I will," and fell just short of telling them that I knew better than they. As I posted recently, I know some rules must be obeyed, both for personal survival and well-being, and for social survival and well-being. I try to obey those sorts of rules. I have found, however, that if you understand the purpose of the rules, and the larger setting in which they are applied, you can serve yourself and society better by ignoring the rules, on the basis of more fundamental principles from which the rules are derived. I was told that my chickens would have to be shut up against predators, have clean, fresh water available always, be fed the proper commercial chicken feeds at least twice daily (available always the more common rule), and I forget what all else. I was told that I could either have chickens or grass, chickens or flowers, chickens or garden. If I kept chickens, they would destroy everything green, leaving everything scratched up and turned brown–looking like a chicken yard. Not me, I said to myself. I know better. Well, my chickens have thrived without commercial feed, and without fresh, clean water (a small pool of moss-covered water has served well. But. . . . Notice the grass in the photo. None remains. Well, less than five square feet. I believed I had such a large yard that there would always be places for them to scratch, and for the grass to grow. I have learned better. Notice the golden-penciled brown chicken; an owl got her one night as she roosted on top of a fence, safely covered–I thought–deep in the honeysuckle vines. When I blog, don’t take it for granted that I know what I am talking about. Sometimes I may not. It would be wise to check me out.

Princess

Princess is a Cochin (also called, especially in England, Pekins), a breed that, along with the Brahma was first imported (though not originally from0) from Shanghai. In the 19th and Early 20th centuries, both breeds were often called "Shanghai" chickens. In my mind, the "tall Shanghai rooster" in "Sweet Betsy from Pike," was a Brahma (originally, Brahmaputra). Brahmas are tall, and they stand tall, while Cochins are short and squat--legs almost not seen. The Brahma struts; the Cochin waddles--at least Princess does. As I have written earlier, I deeply regretted losing my three Brahmas, but they were all loud-crowing --and majestic--roosters and had to go. Princess (who lays brown eggs) is our slow one, but when she gets there, nobody bothers her. She is quietly, not aggressively, the head of the pecking order. Sally (the Americauna layer of green eggs) is the aggressive one, always running others away from the feed, but she leaves the little Princess alone. When I toss out bits of kitchen scraps, the others all make a run to see who can get it first, and if they can't, they often take it away from whichever one got it first. Meanwhile, Princess just ambles up and takes her position, waiting for me to throw something her way. She doesn't get involved in the races and chases. Patiently she waits, knowing that I will send some her way. I didn't like her at first, not her color, not her down-to-earth size and shape, not her feathery feet and legs. We got her a year ago yesterday, and across the months she has grown on me. I've had that experience with several people across the years. I could name several that I did not like at all when we first met. They were not my kind of people. I did not like their attitudes, their voice, even sometimes their looks, and sometimes it was like the old limerick: I do not like thee Dr. Fell The reason why I cannot tell But this I know and know quite well I do not like thee Dr. Fell Some of these became, and remain, among my best friends. Sometimes I am a bit hasty in my estimation of people; sometimes I am plain judgmental. Often I am wrong. With people and with chickens. Roark, withhold judgment until you have good ground for making a valid judgment.