“But his soul was mad…it had looked within itself, and by heavens! I tell you, it had gone mad.” – Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
“’The tyrant grinds down his slaves and they don’t turn against him; they crush those beneath them.’” – Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights
“If for one instant I had thought what might be the hellish intention of my fiendish adversary, I would rather have banished myself forever from my native country and wandered a friendless outcast over the earth…But, as if possessed of magic powers, the monster had blinded me to his real intentions.” – Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
You get the idea.
Warning: We now enter a dark chapter of The Chicken Chronicles. (Hopefully the darkest.) What started as the sweet springtime addition of two new chicks to our flock all too soon went terribly and horribly wrong. It quickly became apparent that new chick Yo-Yo was not going to be nearly as big as the other chickens. While that does make her extra adorable in our eyes, it unfortunately painted a target on her back (specifically her neck feathers) for Gigi and Clucky, our two established hens. They jumped on her, pecked at her, it was awful. Short of outfitting Yo-Yo in a tiny suit of armor—which we did discuss, but just couldn’t quite figure out the specifics on—nothing seemed to keep the older chickens away from her.
Fellow new chick Amy was spared similar harsh treatment, being roughly the size and build of the other two, but the stress got to her nonetheless–in very bizarre and disturbing ways. Amy started eating eggs, including her own. We had read about “egg eaters” in various chicken books, but had failed to truly grasp the horror. (“She’s a cannibal?!?!”)
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Amy too started acting aggressively, although not towards any of the other chickens.
Instead she targeted our 2-year-old grandson, Darian (aka Mr. Bubby).
Not cool, Amy.
We tried a number of different tactics to deter this behavior, none of which were especially succesful. One particularly spectacular fail was when we armed Bubby with a vuvuzela (it was the summer of the World Cup in South Africa, after all) and gave him the green light to blow it at Amy if she started to look threatening. For the record, this did work to keep Amy away, but it also scared Yo-Yo so badly that she ended up on the roof of the chicken coop and was only able to be coaxed down after an intervention involving the removal of aforementioned vuvuzela.
All Doughty family attempts at chicken behavior modification having thus far proved fruitless, perhaps it was time to go back to the drawing board.
After a long hiatus, The Chicken Chronicles resumes! But first, a recap:
Marlena was in a coma while two different men claimed to be her long-lost husband…no wait, that was Days Of Our Lives! Only slightly less drama with our Gals in the backyard…
First there were Clucky, Gigi, and Babraham. Babraham was revealed to be a rooster (while Clucky was revealed to be the Death Star and Gigi just one heck of a cool chicken). Sadly, Jasmine’s beloved Babraham Lincoln was forced to relocate–to a sweet setup on Vashon Island, it should be noted–and we were down to two chickens. And two grandsons.
Over the next fall and winter, there was much talk about a replacement chicken for Jasmine and perhaps even a chicken for Tristan (nine years old and an animal lover through and through). Everything we read advised against introducing a single new chick to a flock (even just a two-chicken flock like ours), strongly suggesting bringing in two or more at a time instead.
So in Spring 2010, Rick brought home two more chicks—a Delaware for Tristan and another Auracana for Jasmine.
Tristan, a big Sonic the Hedgehog fan, named his chick Amy, after the “pink girl hedgehog who believes herself to be Sonic’s girlfriend” (thank you, Wikipedia*). Jasmine christened her adorable little chick Yo-Yo.
Amy and Yo-Yo lived in the house–just as Clucky, Gigi, and Babraham had during their chickhood. Clucky and Gigi still had full run of the back yard and for the most part remained blissfully unaware of the new additions. Could Clucky sense a distrubance in the force? It was hard to tell. But soon enough it would be time for the new chicks to join the flock.
Talk about drama.
*Wikipedia also notes that “Amy’s skills with her ‘Piko Piko Hammer’ are second to none”. This may be significant, except that I have no idea what it means.
Fine! I admit it—I’m stalling!!! I haven’t been able to find the pictures I need to post the next installment of the Chicken Chronicles, so instead here are some chicken-related odds and ends.
First, check out this awesome chicken apron that my sister-in-law Linda made! (Then be sure to click here and check out the rest of her cool stuff on Etsy.)
Our friend Paige sent this picture from the archives of Seattle’s Museum of History and Industry. This little boy from 1928 is so reminiscent of Tristan—I love it! There is something timeless indeed about kids and chickens…
Jasmine sent this image of a chicken sculpted from eggshells by artist Kyle Bean—very cool!
And her friend Alysen sent a link to a site titled MyPetChicken.com with this fun fact: earlobe color indicates egg color.
Also, Genus Clothing, official clothier of CluckyDotCom, is now best reached via FaceBook–click here!
And finally, just because I can—I am including my favorite picture EVER of Clucky! Yep, that’s her on the right. So proud.
Jasmine was now 17 and a high school junior, busy with friends, school, friends, band, and friends. Tristan was settling into the second grade at our neighborhood school, having found several good buddies of his own and even a girlfriend. Mr. Bubby was branching out, too. We had found a daycare right across the street from Jasmine’s high school, itself only about a quarter mile down the road from my work. Jaz would walk over after school and hang out with Bubby and his “wife” Lucy (I swear sometimes they looked just like Archie Bunker and Edith) and the other kids at daycare until I got off work, picked up Tristan, and then swung by the daycare before we all headed home.
The boys’ mom had set us up on Skype before she left for Afghanistan, so we were able to talk to her that way, as well as via telephone and, of all things, Facebook. Our middle daughter, Misty, had recently set up a Facebook account for me (thank you, Misty!) and I used it to post countless pictures of the boys so their mom could see what we were doing each day.
We did not watch or listen to the news during that time; rather, we attempted to stay in the moment as best we could. The anxiety we all felt knowing our daughter/mother/sister was in Afghanistan was offset by daily adventures and milestones.
One particular celebration I remember was when Gig and Clucky, now around six months old and chicks no longer, started to lay eggs. Gigi was first, with her smallish, brown speckled eggs. It took Clucky a while longer to figure things out, but she finally got the hang of it. Her eggs were pinkish – easily distinguished from Gigi’s, so we could always tell who was laying where or if one of them skipped a day.
We marked the occasion by baking a special “Chicken Cake” with those first few eggs.
Another memorable occasion was the clear fall day when we carved jack-o-lanterns on the patio, with Gigi and Clucky wandering through our legs, pecking the pumpkin seeds out of the pulp being slung everywhere.
That year, Tristan dressed up as Harry Potter for Halloween and Bubby was Yoda. The next year, in 2009, we would go with an entirely Star Wars theme, per Tristan’s request — Clucky made a cameo appearance as the Death Star, Tristan was Boba Fett, Bubby was Yoda again (hey, the costume still fit), and their mom, having just returned safely from Afghanistan, was Princess Leia.
When a U.S. Marine goes out in public dressed up as Princess Leia, you know she’s happy to be home.
The dynamics of the Doughty homestead changed dramatically in the summer of 2008, when our two grandsons, Tristan and Darian (a/k/a Mr. Bubby) came to live with us for a year while their mom—our oldest daughter Amanda, a single mom and U.S. Marine—was deployed in Afghanistan.
Tristan, seven years old at the time, had to leave his dog, Aspen, and cat, Ginger, behind in North Carolina (although he did bring Spike, a sweet little white mouse). He was eager to make friends with Clucky and Gigi. Busy by nature (aren’t all boys that age?), Tristan was patient and gentle with The Gals as they got to know him.
One of Tristan’s favorite activities that summer was to collect leaves, flowers, and seeds from the backyard and concoct elaborate potions, which he would leave as offerings for Gigi.
Gigi seemed pleased.
Mr. Bubby, then only one year old, shared some similar interests with the chickens — primarily a love of crackers. Clucky and Gigi were often spied trying to sneak in the back door while Bubby was occupied in his high chair, manufactuaring and dispersing copious amounts of cracker crumbs.
Bubby would also have involved and animated conversations with the chickens.
Sure would like to know what they were talking about…
Two of my favorites…