Many of our birds here on the little farm have very distinct personalities.   We have our favorites that are almost like our children, others seem totally oblivious to our presence, and a couple have been downright nasty little cusses.  A rooster named Rocky tried to fight us every time we got near him until he went for a swim amidst light fluffy dumplings and rich golden roo…, chicken, broth.    The more personable of the lot know they’re going to live a charmed life and the others are subject to my grandfather’s cardinal rule.  I can still hear him saying, “Do not name the farm animals.  They’ll be coming to supper and they won’t be guests”.

Last year one of our Ameracaunas hatched two chicks which were as cute as could be but seemed to have a mind of their own, squeezing between the wires in their pen and frolicking all around the yard until a quick heavy rainstorm blew up and drowned them.  This year another hen has 3 chicks which we’ve been putting up at night to protect them from predators or another sudden rain storm.  Mama doesn’t quite understand our good intentions and as we’re catching the chicks she launches into a pecking frenzy to let us know they’re her chicks and we’re not welcome.

Last night I forgot to put them into the coop until well after dark.  I’d already put on my nightgown and didn’t feel inclined to get dressed again to run out back to the chicken pen to put them up.  It’s sheltered and can’t be seen from the road so there wasn’t much chance of stories circulating about the crazy chicken lady running around outside in her gown so I bee-bopped on out dressed as I was.

Mama was doing her usual fierce pecking on my hand as I caught two of the chicks then the third chick decided to make a break for it.  I was weaving and bobbing around the chicken pen trying to catch that last chick without mama getting too feisty when I felt this tug from behind.  Mama had come up behind me, grabbed on to the hem of my gown, and with all the strength she could muster started flopping around trying to pull me away from the chick.  Imagine, if you will, a grown woman with two chicks in one hand and a net in the other trying to catch this one wayward chick with Mama yanking and pulling on the hem of my gown.  I was torn between laughing and admiring her mothering skills.  I’m sure the story about the crazy chicken lady would have been suitably embellished to reflect the incident had anyone actually seen what was going on.

I finally caught the chick and put the three of them inside the coop, mama hen strutted up the gangplank pleased as punch with herself thinking she’d taught me not to mess with her babies, and I fastened the door and headed back inside thinking to myself how a mama chicken can be so protective of her babies when there are people who aren’t as good a parent as she.     © Blissful Meals Yall, visit again soon.  The Historic Foodie