When my wife Liz and I dashed off to a summer rental on the coast of Maine last week for some R & R, the dogs tagged along but the cats and chickens stayed behind.
I know all four cats missed us while we were gone, even though a friend popped in periodically to care for them. They acted reproachfully when we got back, as if to say: "How could you abandon us like that without so much as a note explaining when you'd return?"
But I didn't know what to expect from the hens; we'd never left them for such a long period of time before. Another friend catered to their needs while we were away, and now the answer is in. Chickens are not cats. They couldn't have cared less that we were gone. As long as someone - anyone - brought them food and water on time, it made no difference to them who did the serving.
That's a humbling revelation for a mere human such as myself, but I'm trying to take it in stride. It just goes to show that there's not much point in greeting chickens at breakfast by saying: "Hello, my name is Paul, and I'll be your server for today."
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