Ah well, chicken town is running smoothly the last two weeks (last week’s auto post failed, and I didn’t realize until enough later it would have been weird).
With the kid on vacation out of town, the grunt work of keeping them has been split two ways instead of three. This has left a little bit less time and energy for the fun parts. However, the birds know no such limits and will have their fun regardless.
This means that big boy has been in rare form. Fewer indoor trips mean the outdoor visits are intense. He is torn between his croc fetish and wanting attention more than usual. Usually, the sweet call of squishy rubber wins out, but sometimes, he comes over for another kind of lovin.
He’ll kinda creep up, peck a shoe, or grab my pant leg. Then he’ll dance back a little and scream like a banshee, then dance forward again only to peck a shoe. This is his idea of sweetly asking to be picked up.
However! There’s something inside his chicken brain that can’t accept the reality of a giant predator leaning over him and grabbing. Dissonance occurs, he grobbles, which is a gobble that also groans, and scuttles away.
Repeat the cycle of dancing in and out, only to flee the monkey paws.
Eventually, he gets turned around, and I can grab him without being seen, and after an initial grobble or scream, he realizes it’s petting time, and gives his excited gobble. Pets ensue. Everyone involved is happy.
This, however, is absolutely scandalous behavior, and volunteer hen is having none of it! She sees it start, and begins scolding the two silly fools. Brraaaaak brk brk brk, brrraaaaak brk brk brk brk, as she waddles in a big circle far away from the absurdity going on. She becomes an animated version of “SMDH”, shaking her damn head. At times, the sheer affrontery of it all overcomes her, and she stomps off into the brush, or flaps up into a tree and does the chicken equivalent of mumbling grumpily to herself “these monkeys, that rooster, I swear by my dino-ancestors. No decency or sense at all. They are feather plucking insane, I tell you!”
Baby bird though is as entertained as possible. She watches the whole process and squawks and bawks encouragement. Well, she makes plenty of noise, amd I assume she is helping big boy gather his nerve.
Inside, baby bird has decided the entire couch is hers now. At first, the kid being absent for evening affairs annoyed her. A few days mellowed that into a realization that she can prance back and forth without impediment. And now she will gladly poop right on the pad where the kid usually sits, then berate one of us until it is gone. Yes, she has figured out that our role is to give her food on demand and move soiled pads. And give her food on demand. We aren’t allowed to forget that one.
But, eventually, she settles down to the normal little cuddle session followed by a nap next to me. Which is why we put up with all the poops.
Ah well, chicken town is running smoothly the last two weeks (last week’s auto post failed, and I didn’t realize until enough later it would have been weird).
With the kid on vacation out of town, the grunt work of keeping them has been split two ways instead of three. This has left a little bit less time and energy for the fun parts. However, the birds know no such limits and will have their fun regardless.
This means that big boy has been in rare form. Fewer indoor trips mean the outdoor visits are intense. He is torn between his croc fetish and wanting attention more than usual. Usually, the sweet call of squishy rubber wins out, but sometimes, he comes over for another kind of lovin.
He’ll kinda creep up, peck a shoe, or grab my pant leg. Then he’ll dance back a little and scream like a banshee, then dance forward again only to peck a shoe. This is his idea of sweetly asking to be picked up.
However! There’s something inside his chicken brain that can’t accept the reality of a giant predator leaning over him and grabbing. Dissonance occurs, he grobbles, which is a gobble that also groans, and scuttles away.
Repeat the cycle of dancing in and out, only to flee the monkey paws.
Eventually, he gets turned around, and I can grab him without being seen, and after an initial grobble or scream, he realizes it’s petting time, and gives his excited gobble. Pets ensue. Everyone involved is happy.
This, however, is absolutely scandalous behavior, and volunteer hen is having none of it! She sees it start, and begins scolding the two silly fools. Brraaaaak brk brk brk, brrraaaaak brk brk brk brk, as she waddles in a big circle far away from the absurdity going on. She becomes an animated version of “SMDH”, shaking her damn head. At times, the sheer affrontery of it all overcomes her, and she stomps off into the brush, or flaps up into a tree and does the chicken equivalent of mumbling grumpily to herself “these monkeys, that rooster, I swear by my dino-ancestors. No decency or sense at all. They are feather plucking insane, I tell you!”
Baby bird though is as entertained as possible. She watches the whole process and squawks and bawks encouragement. Well, she makes plenty of noise, amd I assume she is helping big boy gather his nerve.
Inside, baby bird has decided the entire couch is hers now. At first, the kid being absent for evening affairs annoyed her. A few days mellowed that into a realization that she can prance back and forth without impediment. And now she will gladly poop right on the pad where the kid usually sits, then berate one of us until it is gone. Yes, she has figured out that our role is to give her food on demand and move soiled pads. And give her food on demand. We aren’t allowed to forget that one.
But, eventually, she settles down to the normal little cuddle session followed by a nap next to me. Which is why we put up with all the poops.