Chickens adapt - why can’t we?

We could learn a lot from the new girls on the block…

If only humans were as adaptable as birds.

We humans get stuck in a mindset and refuse to budge. I believe this problem lies at the root of many current problems in our world. Whether political, religious, moral - whatever our beliefs, if we can’t be open, understanding, and willing to change if need be, it spells trouble in one way or another. I won’t go off today on my fears for our country. Instead I’ll talk about chickens, and wish we humans could be more flexible.

Chickens squabble, no doubt about it. The pecking order is a real thing. But they work it out. And when there’s a new chick on the block, they adapt.

Take Honey Bunny, for example. She came to Darwin’s Eden “on loan” last winter, when her owner Lisa was headed to Ireland, possibly to stay. Honey Bunny was thought to be an elderly hen, and was quite spoiled, having lived with a stuffed toy rooster in a heated horse barn prior to arriving at Eden.

Honey Bunny with her new man (top) silkie Long John Silver

I started her out with Blind Guy, or BG for short, a ten year old black silkie rooster who lost his sight in a fight with with another rooster many years ago. He was housed in a large cage outfitted with a heat lamp last winter, and I thought he’d enjoy the company, and HB (Honey Bunny) would appreciate the warmth. They got along fine. He enjoyed the gourmet meals she was accustomed to (lots of cut up fruit and veggies with her grains) and apparently her hormones were stimulated by his company, as she began laying bluish green eggs. She’s a true Araucana hen, complete with the beard. Obviously she was not quite as ancient as was previously believed.

She not only adapted to her new home, she thrived. Keep reading…

Then we have Chiquita. I believe she is a Welsummer hen, a mix of browns and black. The lone survivor of a friend’s flock, she lived a solitary life for quite some time before my friend Diana could bear to part with her. But the day came, and I picked her up. She rode back to Eden on my passenger seat with regal dignity, perched on a towel, softly clucking all the way home, seemingly resigned to her fate. Little did she know she’d play a part in a chicken love triangle.

Chiquita has a cool drink as Skizzy and Little Dude look on (above) Chiquita with Blind Guy (below)

She was shy at first, but quickly learned the lay of the land. I started her out with my silkies, the least aggressive pen of birds, in the yard just outside our back screened porch. But she gravitated toward the nearby red barn coop where BG (Blind Guy) and HB (Honey Bunny) had migrated for the summer. When HB jumped down into the yard from the red coop in the mornings, Chiquita would jump up. Nuzzling BG, who tends to stay in the safety of the coop most days, she’d sample the goodies in his food dish, gently nudging him aside. He didn’t seem to mind a bit.

Soon she began joining BG and HB at night, forming a chicken threesome.

Recently, Honey Bunny has chosen to join the crew in the silkie coop at night. I guess that hussy Chiquita won Blind Guy’s heart. But no blood was shed, no evidence of heartbreak, just a change of address - next door. My snowy white silkie hens seem happy to share their man, Long John Silver, with HB.

Our third acquisition this year was Cupcake, or Cake for short. She, too, came to Eden as a result of her flock being decimated by predators and Cake being the lone survivor. Her owner Jackie reluctantly gave her up, and I’m sure Cupcake is missed. She’s a very sweet young Buff Orpington, almost a butterscotch color, beautifully feathered and fat. Her former home was a backyard in town, and I believe she relishes the freedom of our large barnyard when her flock free ranges, and I can keep an eye on them. When I can’t, she enjoys a large run with her new friends, 16 various hens and two roosters, one bantam and one silkie, so small and harmless, during the day, and a roomy coop at night.

Cupcake at home (lower left) and in her travels about the yard

All three of these hens have lovely dispositions and are quite tame, a testament to their treatment by their former owners. I was happy to give them a forever home, and all three have contributed eggs as room and board. But even when they’re older, they’ll enjoy life at Darwin’s Eden, our no-kill farm, since we have the luxury of having enough to eat.

We almost inherited University of Michigan former coach Jim Harbaugh’s chickens this year when he moved to California to join the NFL as head coach of the Chargers, but it didn’t work out. I’m sure they went to a happy home, but I can’t help feeling a bit sorry that they didn’t end up here at Eden, where we all just roll with it, and life is nearly perfect.