Hen Chronicles: The legacy of Jiminy Cricket lives on

I saved a tiny, six-legged life the other day, but our hens would have been happier if I had done otherwise.

When I retrieved the chickens' feed and water bowls from the garage at dawn Saturday and headed out to the coop armed with a jug of water and three cups of feed, there was a cricket hanging on to the outside of the water bowl.

Now chickens, I'm told, love crickets, and not as pets. Although I've never put this to the test, I don't doubt that hens enjoy munching on these critters. My guess is that, from a chicken's point of view, the combination of chasing a cricket, catching it, and then scarfing it down while eluding your jealous poultry pals makes for a very rewarding culinary experience indeed.

So I could have allowed "my" cricket to tag along on the edge of the water bowl until it suddenly found itself in the pen, surrounded by three famished hens who would have brought its life to a quick and dastardly end. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. Instead, I flicked the cricket onto the grass before I reached the coop. 

I'm not sure why I spared the bug's life, because I routinely give the hens worms that turn up in the garden. Do we somehow identify with crickets more readily, because we enjoy the sound of their chirping? (I can hear them outside our living room as I write this.) Or do we subconsciously associate crickets with Walt Disney's memorable creation, decked out in top hat, umbrella, spats and a jaunty vest? Perhaps I was just feeling kindly yesterday morning, channeling my inner Francis of Assisi, and did not relish the thought of watching the hens play the role of ravenous lions in their version of the Colosseum. 

Whatever the cause, there's no guarantee I'll be equally merciful next time, unless the insect takes a page from Jiminy Cricket's playbook by donning a tiny suit of clothes, complete with white gloves. Throwing such a creature to the hens would be like relegating Pinocchio to the woodpile.