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| Stella |
Every pet owner knows that dogs and cats have distinctive personalities, in much the same way that people do. Our cats are as different in disposition as they are in appearance, and the same is true of our dogs.
But until Liz and I acquired three hens, I didn’t fully realize that chickens, too, are individuals. Perhaps that’s because the poultry we spot in farmyards all seem, at first glance, to be mechanically engaged in identical pursuits as they cluck-cluck their way through life, forever in search of food.
That’s true, as far as it goes. In my limited experience as an owner, chickens do live to eat. Yet their shared obsession with noshing does not negate their individuality, which only becomes apparent on closer observation.
Nala, our Barred Rock, rules our triumvirate. When I open the coop door in the morning, she’s usually the first one to race out into the pen. She’s also the most independent-minded of the three, generally shying away from being touched or picked up, if she can avoid it.
By the time I get out to the coop at night to lock things up, Nala, Snow and Stella are roosting. So I’ve yet to see them troop back in from their pen, as they always do on their own. I suspect, though, that Nala probably leads the way into the coop for the night, just as she is the first to burst forth in the morning.
But until Liz and I acquired three hens, I didn’t fully realize that chickens, too, are individuals. Perhaps that’s because the poultry we spot in farmyards all seem, at first glance, to be mechanically engaged in identical pursuits as they cluck-cluck their way through life, forever in search of food.
That’s true, as far as it goes. In my limited experience as an owner, chickens do live to eat. Yet their shared obsession with noshing does not negate their individuality, which only becomes apparent on closer observation.
Nala, our Barred Rock, rules our triumvirate. When I open the coop door in the morning, she’s usually the first one to race out into the pen. She’s also the most independent-minded of the three, generally shying away from being touched or picked up, if she can avoid it.
By the time I get out to the coop at night to lock things up, Nala, Snow and Stella are roosting. So I’ve yet to see them troop back in from their pen, as they always do on their own. I suspect, though, that Nala probably leads the way into the coop for the night, just as she is the first to burst forth in the morning.
Snow, our all-white hen, is the only truly noisy girl in the group. Nala and Stella launch into gentle chicken chatter whenever a human approaches the pen, but Snow squawks so loudly you might mistake her for a wannabe rooster, if not for the eggs she keeps laying on a regular basis. She even honks like a goose from time to time.
And then there’s Stella, who’s probably a New Hampshire Red. If a chicken can be described as ladylike, in the old stereotypical sense of that word, then Stella fits the bill.
Quiet, tranquil and friendly, Stella welcomes contact with humans, and seems to enjoy being held. She even carries herself with something resembling dignity, if that word can be applied to a hen.
In other ways, though, chickens are more similar than dissimilar. That applies to their shared preoccupation with chowing down, and to the regular and inevitable result of all that eating.
"Boys, I may not know much,” Lyndon Johnson once said, “but I know chicken poop from chicken salad.” After cleaning up a lot of the former, so do I.
In other ways, though, chickens are more similar than dissimilar. That applies to their shared preoccupation with chowing down, and to the regular and inevitable result of all that eating.
"Boys, I may not know much,” Lyndon Johnson once said, “but I know chicken poop from chicken salad.” After cleaning up a lot of the former, so do I.
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