The feline set is known for its inquisitiveness. Curiosity killed the cat, the saying goes, but satisfaction brought him back. Yet our trio of hens could show Felix and Tigger a thing or two in that department.
Whenever I make any adjustments around their coop and pen, Nala, Stella and Snow are the epitome of nosiness.
The other day, for example, I was hammering a wooden stake into the ground right outside the pen, to keep it in place. That created quite a racket, but the chickens, far from running off in fear, gathered round to see what was going on.
And during one of my periodic efforts to invent a new-and-improved water bowl that will not double as a wading pool, the hens crowded the gizmo as soon as I placed it in their pen. The more time I spent fidgeting with it, the peskier they became, jostling for position to see who could get closest to the action.
I realize chickens are birds and the term “bird brain” does not suggest a high IQ, but I could practically see the little wheels turning in their admittedly small noggins.
“What’s he up to?” they seemed to be asking that second time around. “What is that thing?” “Is that a new water bowl?” “Why isn’t it closer to the ground, so we can wash our feet in it?” “Why is he messing with success?” “If I peck at his hand, will it taste good?” “Speaking of which, why is he playing with water when he should be feeding us?”
If curiosity ever killed the hen, satisfaction would bring her back . . . again.
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