There's always a risk of anthropomorphizing the behavior of animals, by interpreting their antics in human terms.
Maybe that's what I did in this case, but I don't think so.
I was mucking around in our compost bins the other day, shoveling out compost for the garlic bed, which we'll be planting at the end of the month. Both bins are located next to our chicken coop. (Yup -- that's where the chicken poop ends up.) In the course of my digging, I found a fat worm. I knew it would make a great snack for one of "the girls."
I tossed the worm toward the pen, where it landed on top of the chicken wire that covers the frame. Snow, our eagle-eyed Plymouth Rock, jumped up, grabbed the dangling end of the worm in her beak, and pulled it down into the pen.
This was par for the course. Snow always is the first to spot an incoming worm, lunging for it with lightning speed. Usually in these situatios, she manages to wolf down her treat before Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, figure out what's going on. When it comes to the worm toss, Snow is the undisputed champ.
Or was.
Nellie brought her A game to the pen that day. She stole the worm from Snow, triggering a scrimmage that involved much flapping of wings. It continued until Nellie -- I wouldn't belive it if I hadn't seen it -- swallowed Snow's worm!
After the prize disappeared down Nellie's gullet, Snow's eyes grew larger than I've ever seen them. She looked around in amazement. Then she began squawking. A lot. And loudly. This wasn't mere clucking, but a throaty cry of outrage and desperation. It was, I'm convinced, her way of asking the obvious question: "What the hell just happened here?"
I was mucking around in our compost bins the other day, shoveling out compost for the garlic bed, which we'll be planting at the end of the month. Both bins are located next to our chicken coop. (Yup -- that's where the chicken poop ends up.) In the course of my digging, I found a fat worm. I knew it would make a great snack for one of "the girls."
I tossed the worm toward the pen, where it landed on top of the chicken wire that covers the frame. Snow, our eagle-eyed Plymouth Rock, jumped up, grabbed the dangling end of the worm in her beak, and pulled it down into the pen.
This was par for the course. Snow always is the first to spot an incoming worm, lunging for it with lightning speed. Usually in these situatios, she manages to wolf down her treat before Nellie and Hope, our Rhode Island Reds, figure out what's going on. When it comes to the worm toss, Snow is the undisputed champ.
Or was.
Nellie brought her A game to the pen that day. She stole the worm from Snow, triggering a scrimmage that involved much flapping of wings. It continued until Nellie -- I wouldn't belive it if I hadn't seen it -- swallowed Snow's worm!
After the prize disappeared down Nellie's gullet, Snow's eyes grew larger than I've ever seen them. She looked around in amazement. Then she began squawking. A lot. And loudly. This wasn't mere clucking, but a throaty cry of outrage and desperation. It was, I'm convinced, her way of asking the obvious question: "What the hell just happened here?"
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| Nellie, the new champ |
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