Pullet Eggs

The younger generation recently has begun to lay a few eggs. Brownie, pictured above, laid her first today: bantam eggs are small, pullet eggs are always small, Brownie’s egg was baby-sized, pale tan, and elongated with a pointed, almost ice-cream cone shape. Her papa could be any of two or three roos. From one of these she got her iridescent black/green color. From her white, fluffy Cochin mother, Princess, she got her downright short legs (of course, Lincoln, commenting on leg length, noted that they need only to be long enough to reach the ground). Our gorgeous young rooster, Joe, her stepbrother, reminds me of Ted Baxter–handsome, colorful, good voice, but a little slow in “getting it.” When kitchen scraps are thrown to the chickens, someone else will steal his chosen tidbit before he can pick it up. But it makes no difference to little Brownie whether he has picked it up or not. Her low-down legs are so fast that–several times a day--she will grab food right out of Joe’s beak as she races by. There are plenty of sharp little ladies around who can make a fool out of a big, good-looking male before he has any idea what has happened, leaving him with a Joe, the rooster, blank look on his face. “Hey, what happened?”

Foghorn Leghorn, the Original

Everyone knows Bugs Bunny, Yosemite Sam, and Foghorn Leghorn. They think. Now, meet the real foghorn of a chicken. The Ayam Bekisar is a male hybrid between Green Junglefowl (Gallus varius) roosters and domestic bankivoid game hens. Ayam Bekisars were used as the original Foghorn Leghorn by boat cultures who used the vociferous hybrids to literally stay in vocal distance from one another when separated by the frequent tropical squalls that one experiences in these seas. To this day one finds Bekisars in Java and Komodo contentedly perched in their bamboo cages hoisted above the fishing boats crowing or rather roaring their terribly long songs And now you know the rest of the story.

Questionable Blog

When I was first introduced to the world of blogging, I saw it as a promising place for a writer to public his ideas and interests, so with hardly a thought I jumped right in. Jumped in over my head. If I had given it even a little thought, I would have checked the depth of the water before diving in. I would have found that, more important than the depth, I needed to take note of the swiftness of the stream. I found that the blogosphere has a rapidly flowing current. On the other hand, I am slow. I move, write, think, and live in the slow lane. But blogging looked so full of possibilities that, without thinking, I jumped in and started ten or twelve blogs. I have a lot I want to say. Almost immediately I realized that, with such a load, I could not keep my head above water, could not catch my breath, so I eliminated all but about seven. I probably will be forced to change that in some future. Only thoughtless ignorance could have led me to call one of these blogs, “The Daily Chicken,” or “The Weekly Banty Chicken.” As it has worked out, “The Occasional Chicken,” or “The Whenever Bantam,” would be more accurate. Although I am hesitant to, I may eliminate this blog. But not until I post another handful of pictures or stories when I find time. _______________ Meanwhile, the photo at the top is Sally, an Americauna pullet. I ordered a few Americauna chicks last summer, not because they are a good-looking chicken, but because they and the Aricauna are the only breeds of chickens in the world that lay anything other than white or tan-brown eggs; their eggs are blue, blue-green, or green. One of my small joys is gathering Sally’s light blue-green eggs, and, when we have company, showing them a small pretty they have never seen before, and likely will never seen again. If you keep chickens, you might be want to order a few Americaunas from your favorite hatchery.

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.

Sleeping Outdoors

http://s97.photobucket.com/albums/l212/oldwriter/?action=view&current=Elevenp-1.jpg If I didn't get these chooks into the coop early, they always roosted high in the bushes. I liked this idyllic scene and let them all roost "in the wild" for a couple of weeks--until an owl began taking out one or two a night. That took the romance out of their free, wild, and adventurous life. I was disappointed, but didn't want to lose any more of my banties, so, ever since, I have been keeping them in the chicken coop at night. I think the chickens also were disappointed, and only grudgingly took to the artificial roosts I had fixed for them inside the coop. If I was at all late shutting them in, I had to look in the trees, bushes, and vines to find them. I wanted my chickens to live with as few constraints and restraints as possible because that is how I like to live. Across the years, I have been burned several times because I chose to "color outside the lines," or think "outside the cliched box” and acted on those thoughts. Certain boundaries and regulations are unavoidable if we are to maintain a healthy and stable human society. I know this. I want to be a good citizen. But, like the recalcitrant chickens, I judge some of the rules of social correctness to be inappropriate. I still try to avoid all possible constraints I can. Like the chickens and the owl, I haven’t always gotten away with it. All the same, I’ve managed to become a septuagenarian survivor, and a productive, if not respectable, citizen.

Many Chicken Changes

About four months ago, the doorbell rang. When I answered, the municipal animal control officer was at my door with the question: "Do you have a rooster?" I had five. One of the reasons I got my banties in the first place was so I could hear roosters crowing in my own back yard. Well, a neighbor, who from the time he moved in three years ago, for some reason, has never liked anything about me, called City Hall, claiming that a rooster of mine was keeping him awake all night (not exactly the truth, because, although they crowed a lot, there was none from dusk until about four in the morning. Which, I understand, could be disturbing, but that’s not the same as all night). So, five roos went to our local animal shelter. The same day, I discovered two hens brooding clutches of eggs. About twelve weeks ago, they hatched thirteen chicks, seven of which turned out to be roosters. One is the silver-head in the accompanying photo, taken two days ago. This morning, Silver Head, along with seven others, mostly roosters, went to bring the nourishment and the joy of fried chicken to a family I know. They are living on an inadequate income, and know how to slaughter, dress, and cook chicken. So, I am left with a total of eight bantams. I retained the best-looking young rooster. My reasoning went like this: This is twice the neighbor has called City Hall to complain about me (the first time, about my Native Plant Landscaping). I have no desire to deliberately offend or aggravate him. However, I do want to be able to see a rooster in the backyard, and hear him crow. While I don’t want to annoy the man across the street, neither will I let him rule my life. This time I have only one roo, not a chorus of five, so there should be much less crowing. What I hope is that the fellow will have grown tired of calling City Hall, and will tolerate Rooster Joe (Joseph, because of his coat of many colors [See the accompanying photo.]). If the AC officer comes calling on me again, Joe will have to provide my friends with another small meal of fried chicken. But until the officer shows up, I’m keeping and enjoying Joe. The AC officer is a real nice guy who understands, but must do his duty when a complaint comes in. I understand, and he understands. Please tell me if you think I have a social obligation to the neighborhood to establish a more socially acceptable lawn, and to drop the idea of keeping a rooster.