I’ve been watching chickens all summer.
A 4-H project of my oldest daughters
has turned into a learning experience for me.
Strange creatures, chickens…

They came to the house in a plain cardboard box;
it contained twenty fluffy chirpy chicks. There were
four sets of five, different breeds.
They had to have a heat lamp for warmth
and lived in the garage for a couple of weeks.
They were pure, innocent, peaceful.
We had to make sure none of our cats
slipped in without us noticing, we protected the chicks,
they were under our care, we accepted that fact.

When the weather grew warmer, they moved outside.
Twenty chicks in a 6 foot by 2 1/2 foot pen,
hand built the year before and recycled.
They seemed to enjoy their greater freedom,
liked each other’s company, they were young.
We fed twice a day with crumble, kept them watered,
gave them snacks of grass, watermelon and hay.
They thrived and grew expansively.
I began to notice trouble, one mid-size chicken
started pulling the others soft feathers near the tails,
and eating them. Curious behavior…

The four breeds were different sizes,
bigger chickens would peck at the five smallest.
We had to separate them to a pen of their own,
close by but divided. The problem was solved.
The feather-puller had to be banished,
taken elsewhere to live. Peace ruled briefly.
There were three roosters in the flock.
The strongest began to practice a tremulous crow.

The cage became too small for the fourteen chickens.
They squabbled over food and space to stretch their wings.
We built a large addition onto their pen,
surrounded it with chicken wire and cut a passage.
I studied the chickens, observed their routines.
They snatched the food from each other’s beaks,
they dirtied their drinking water, chased
the chickens who grabbed the tastiest morsel relentlessly.
I became more and more disturbed
about their ruthless lives. Peculiar creatures…

We left them in the care of the neighbors
when we vacationed for two weeks. I thought of them.
They had grown much larger in our absence.
The five smaller feather-toed chickens
had learned to pull feathers, and eat them.
Several of the chickens had bare rumps.
All three roosters were maturing their crows,
vying for the hens, and the worlds, attention,
as they strutted and arched their prideful necks.

Their feeding melees degenerated into frenzies.
The roosters became too noisy, they, too
were banished, taken care of elsewhere.
That left four hens in the small pen, and
twelve in the larger. The feather pulling continued,
though now the others were more wary,
and sometimes attacked the transgressors.
The care of the chickens grew offensive,
the cages smelled from droppings and rejected food.
Beady eyes watched the caretakers continually.

The project is almost finished, in a week,
nineteen chickens will be reunited.
They will be transported from their homes,
displayed and judged at the county fair,
auctioned off to the highest bidder.
I will be relieved, happy to be done
observing the selfishness of chickens.

(Two days later)

There is a new factor that has arisen
after these words were penned.
The feather pulling broke through skin,
the blood seems to draw a response to peck,
crimson color stains the few feathers left.
Four small chickens are in a cat carrier,
one in the small pen, eleven in the big.
Five days until the fair…

Erin Moen
9/10/03
Copyright 2003 ©

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9/10/2003 Julie Donner Andersen

Erin, this was fascinating and held my interest until the end. At times, I laughed. Other times, I marvelled at how chickens can so resemble humans in behaviour.

Nice write!

Julie :)

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9/10/2003 Leland Waldrip

Very interesting, Erin. Sent me down memory lane. I've had my own experiences with chickens. 500 biddies raised one year. Their numbers dwindled rapidly as my family consumed the source of some of the problems you mention. It was my job to prepare them for the kitchen, so I was quite happy to finally be rid of the chickens.
Best regards,
Leland