It has been over 6 months since I've added to my blog. This tells me that this is not a likely career choice. I have, however, had plenty of chicken drama. Yes, drama. Chickens are ridiculously dramatic. You can't just surprise a chicken just a little bit. You shock a chicken. They freak out. For example, if I throw some food on the ground and it bumps into their leg, the chicken won't just bend over and eat it. No. The chicken will jump straight up into the air, flap its wings, squawk and run. And then it will be offended when another chicken grabs the tasty morsel. A chase is guaranteed to ensue even if there is plenty of other food to be had. Yeah, drama.
We have a 55 gallon plastic drum that held dried field corn, still on the cob, that we occasionally would give to the chickens as a treat. Unfortunately there was no lid on said drum and it was not not just half full of corn, but also became infested with mice. It REEKED of mouse urine and was so disgusting that I decided to be a bit drastic and walked/rolled/shoved it out to the chicken yard. I figured a couple of them got in there and got trapped. Chickens being curious wondered what was going on. So, I tipped the barrel over and let the corn roll out. The drama chickens jumped and squawked and acted all crazy, but what happened next was awesome. The first mouse decided to make a run for it. Drama chickens gave chase and that mouse was pecked and tossed and didn't last more than a couple of seconds. Whew! One down. I nudged the barrel with my foot and more corn escaped, another mouse ran and was swiftly dispatched. This was working out well, although I must admit the smell was pretty disgusting. Releasing the fumes of mouse urine and poo is rough on the nose and the lungs.
I continued to nudge and mice continued to run. I lost count at 25. Twenty five. In fact, the chase got old for drama chickens and they walked away and decided it wasn't fun anymore. I had to stomp a couple to stun them and then grab them by the tail and toss them to the chickens. They begrudgingly finished them off, but not without attitude. As far as I could tell only three mice got away. One somehow did a 180, found a spot between the fence and garage to squeeze through, zipped around the corner and went back into the garage. I am not amused. Two others took off and made it into the cornfield. I'm okay with that. The cats or owls will get them. All in all, I was pleased with my plan. I just had no idea that there were 30 or more mice living in the barrel.
We have new chickens, about 35 young ones just hatched this spring. In the process of the mouse run the young chicks were standing off to the side completely freaked out by all the goings on. One of the mice took off and ran smack dab into the cluster of youngsters. Talk about dramatic! I don't know who was freaked out more, the poor mouse was running for cover and found itself in a Monty Python moment except with chicken feet. The chickens were jumping up and down, the mouse was trying to dodge about 70 rapidly stomping chicken feet. The last I saw it, one of the youngsters had enough and was standing there with it in her beak wondering what to do with it next. I don't know if the mouse was dead or just passed out from sheer exhaustion. The youngsters have grown a bit now and are much more likely to chase vermin. In fact, if I go out in flip flops they try to eat my toes. I really need to remember to cover my feet.
I have let a few of the hens hatch out some of their own eggs. Sometimes they go broody and they get all mad when I take their eggs. They try to peck me and I have gotten blood blisters when they get a good hold of my skin. We don't have a brood coop, as such, so the mortality rate is pretty high. Add to that the fact they really aren't all that smart and the mortality rate gets worse. Smart: mama hen going all ninja on the dogs when they get too close. Not smart: having baby chicks jump in dog's water bowl to get a drink. They don't swim. Smart: hiding baby chicks under their wings, sometimes co-mothering with another hen if there are lots of chicks. Not smart: taking chicks into the big chicken yard just to have all the drama hens peck the babies to death because, you know, they are starving to death and these tiny golf-ball size pieces of fluff are a threat. (Imagine me rolling my eyes at the drama hens.) So, yeah, I have fished a few chicks out of water bowls and have gathered their tiny bodies to put in the burn barrel. We have a huge dog, Spot, that runs about 135 pounds or so. He got one of the chicks and was trying to pet it with his giant paw. Poor little thing didn't know what to do when his big old tongue came out and slurped it from butt to beak. Twice. Spot was just trying to give it some love, but I grabbed it. I was really afraid it might accidentally stick to his tongue and, well, you get the idea. Two days later I found it in his water bowl. I have to ask myself, was it a case of forbidden love? Bowwowmeo and Chickliet? Shakespeare had chickens.
