Don’t mess with Number One Chicken
Lucia was always…the boring chicken. Pecked stuff. Made quiet clucking noises. Kept out of the way.
Then she started laying eggs and became a whole ‘nother bird. Still a steady, quiet chook (and a reliable five-eggs-a-week layer), but she is — no doubt about it — Boss Chicken.
First thing in the morning, everybody gets one good peck (just to remind the flock who’s boss), and then it’s happy family for the rest of the day. (Except Mapp. Clearly fed up with this broody bullshit, Lucia gets a big beakful of Mapp’s neckfeathers and tugs until the poor crazy bird runs ’round and ’round in circles shrieking).
Uncle B tried to shoo Lucia off the vegetable patch the other day, and she reared up to full height and stood him down. Like, “young man, do you know who I am?”
She has one vice: a fascination with sneaking in the kitchen door. We’ve never scolded her for it, but she’s quite furtive. We have to watch ourselves in the morning, as we are apt to find her unexpectedly underfoot.
I suspect my crap housekeeping is to blame; all those delicious bits of cheese and potato chips, just lying around for a chicken to find.
I don’t care. She’s never yet shat upon the floor, and she’s a hell of an automatic floor sweeper.
Heh. My Roomba makes breakfast.
June 16, 2011 — 10:28 pm
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