For those among you who may still believe that chickens have no personalities, here's more proof to the contrary.
Dawn is the best time to feed the hens. But as the days have grown shorter, it keeps getting pushed back, from 5:30 to 6, then 6:30, and now 7. Being an early riser, I've sometimes grown impatient. That's why I've occasionally found myself heading out to the coop to release and feed our three hens a few minutes before the sun came up.
Chickens peg their lives to the rising and setting of the sun. Like clockwork, they go to bed promptly at dusk and get up predictably at dawn. If left to their own devices, our hens would continue to roost in the coop until daylight roused them. So "the girls" weren't quite awake yet when I showed up early.
By rushing their wake-up call a bit, I tampered with the natural order of things. Two of the hens didn't seem to mind my hurry-it-up routine. But the third one was another matter.
Here's how it played out. I placed food and water in the pen and then opened the coop door while it was still somewhat dark outside. Snow, our take-charge Plymouth Rock, was game. When she heard me rustling around outside with the chicken feed, she woke up and hopped down from the roost. Snow emerged as soon as I opened the door, despite the early-morning gloom. Nellie, one of our two Rhode Island Reds, followed a minute or two later.
Eventually, Hope made an appearance as well, but not quickly, and not without trepidation.
Snow and Nellie immediately tucked into their breakfast. But Hope, whose role model is Chicken Little, stood stock still in the pen, making a mournful, high-pitched trilling sound. She continued to do this until dawn finally broke, at which point her obvious fear of the dark evaporated and she joined the other hens in chowing down.
Out of respect for Hope's tender sensibilities, I'm now timing my early-morning arrivals more carefully. After all, no one should hop out of bed fearing what the new day will bring.
By rushing their wake-up call a bit, I tampered with the natural order of things. Two of the hens didn't seem to mind my hurry-it-up routine. But the third one was another matter.
Here's how it played out. I placed food and water in the pen and then opened the coop door while it was still somewhat dark outside. Snow, our take-charge Plymouth Rock, was game. When she heard me rustling around outside with the chicken feed, she woke up and hopped down from the roost. Snow emerged as soon as I opened the door, despite the early-morning gloom. Nellie, one of our two Rhode Island Reds, followed a minute or two later.
Eventually, Hope made an appearance as well, but not quickly, and not without trepidation.
Snow and Nellie immediately tucked into their breakfast. But Hope, whose role model is Chicken Little, stood stock still in the pen, making a mournful, high-pitched trilling sound. She continued to do this until dawn finally broke, at which point her obvious fear of the dark evaporated and she joined the other hens in chowing down.
Out of respect for Hope's tender sensibilities, I'm now timing my early-morning arrivals more carefully. After all, no one should hop out of bed fearing what the new day will bring.
No comments:
Post a Comment