Jeepers Creepers, Where'd You Get Those Peepers?

Since the scare back in February when Big Bird went on her big adventure, she's stayed pretty close to home. In fact, yesterday afternoon I last saw her sitting by the coop door. When evening fell, Alzina the Ameraucana (the one who worries) was standing in the door telling me something was wrong. Roll was called, and instantly I knew what she was talking about: Big Bird was missing again.

Fortunately, I had bought two nifty LED headlamps (how did we ever live without them?) and Farmer Rick and I began the search. I've since learned the best way to find a chicken in the creek is to lay on my belly and shine the light at their eye level. Within a few minutes she was located, sleeping under the big oak. I think she just gets caught unaware because she can't see the others heading to the coop.

 What? Where? Why do you have scissors in your hand?

So, I borrowed Farmer Rick's mustache scissors (sorry, honey) and went to work! Although the Polish are loved for their poufs and antics, I don't want beauty interfering with safety.

The bob is IN you know...

Just look at those big eyes!

Does this mean I can get sunglasses now?

Love is Apparently Not Blind

Elvis figures out how to roost. He had to lose the blue suede shoes first.

Since moving the older chickens to the coop, some of the young 'uns in our bathtub have figured out they can jump out. I began to wonder if I couldn't just start sneaking them into the new coop instead of moving them into the newly vacated bathroom.

First, I started with the young Silver Laced Polish, the only other one being Elvis. Because Elvis hasn't crowed or been in fisticuffs with the other roosters, I was beginning to wonder if he was a she.

But the moment the younger one entered, he did a double-take. Which was pretty funny with that big pouf on his head. He rushed over, then twisted his neck so he could see her eye to eye. Then he circled her, and gave her a wing and a peck, thus claiming her for himself. No one challenged. I thought it was very interesting he recognized her as his type of gal.

A little later, I brought over the young Buff Laced Polish, who was instantly recognized by the older one we named Little Bird (after our other hen Big Bird), who ran over to "groom" her new charge. I'm thinking they are both female, because there was no flirting. We are calling her Little Bitty Bird. I think she looks like Woodstock from Peanuts.

Pressing my luck, I brought over a Gold Laced Polish hen. Avelino, the Gold Laced Polish head-honcho rooster, strutted over like a pirate (he reminds us of Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean), circled her with the drama of a toreador with his wing down like a cape, and gave her a peck.

Everything was bliss between the all the "couples" and the rest of the flock. Breeds do recognize their own. How hunky dory!

That is, until Geno the Buttercup, Bruno the Brabanter, Marco the Marans, and Otto the Spitzhauben all decided this hen was the most beautiful they had ever seen. (Well, she is beautiful!) So, now I know it's go for your own breed, unless a real hottie shows up.

Introducing...Angelina.

You can only imagine what happened next. The biggest free-for-all between the roosters busted out, and the hens all started running around like the sky was falling, and everyone was chasing or being chased, and pecking or being pecked, and some chairs got busted, and whiskey bottles crashed over combs, and when the shots rang out the piano player jumped behind the roosts...

Anyway, I had to bring Angelina back to the tub. Sigh. She is looking over a contract for the cover of Cosmo as we speak.

Big Bird's Big Adventure

After looking a gazillion places at least five times and giving her up for dead, Big Bird returned in the arms of Farmer Rick before dinner time yesterday! You can imagine my joy of seeing her again!

He was down in the creek dutifully patching up all the critter holes under the fence with wire when he heard a car slam on its brakes, and then a chicken cackle. He saw a couple of feathers floating up, and wondered...

...could it be?

He ran to the top of the bank, and there stood Big Bird in the middle of the road, befuddled as ever, twisting her head around trying to figure out where she was.

Now I'll remind you, this is a fancy feathered light-colored chicken with limited vision that's just spent two days and two nights out in the rain and cold without much cover, food or water, and plenty of predators around. The fact that she survived this is amazing.

Suddenly, a car was coming, headed right for her! Farmer Rick scaled the no-climb six foot fence and bounded for her, and the car slowed to a stop, to avoid hitting both of them. I'm sure the driver was wondering what was that?

By now, she figured she was in some kind of really big trouble and fleed toward the 20 foot drop off to the culverts below, narrowly ducking into a thicket of green brier, and forcing FR to dive into it, gashing extremities to retrieve her.

It was a beautiful reunion. We sat together in the wicker love seat on the front porch as the rays of the setting sun washed us in gold. She nestled her bouffant head into the crook of my arm as I petted her. She sang a sweet little song. Then, I felt it hit my thigh. Thinking it was something else, I looked down, and there was one perfect white egg in my lap!

She's Gone

It's hard to come to terms with a missing pet, even the chicken kind. I had a good cry last night.

Possums, raccoons, and skunks eat only their favorite parts and leave behind the rest of the evidence. But when the body is missing it is likely the work of a coyote, predator bird, bobcat...or fox.

We have all of the latter. I even suspect the neighbor's black cat whom I've caught stalking the chickens before from the outside of the fence. But, pardon the pun, wouldn't it just bite if it were a fox, after my recent ordeal?

I've set out a Have-a-Heart trap in hopes of relocating the culprit, far, far, away.

I'm thinking on the Polish peeps I'm getting next month I'll be giving them stylish cuts when they grow up so they can see better. I read about a woman who did this to hers in a poultry magazine.

Meanwhile, there ain't no sunshine when she's gone.