Susan and the Terrible, Horrible Mostly Not-Good Day

This is one of those days that you are just thankful when it's over. Not very good English, but who cares about grammar after a day like this? I did get a few things accomplished that I can feel good about now that all the dirt is washed away and I've had a bite to eat. One thing was to finish closing in one aisle of the barn with chicken wire and tying it in to the 10' x 10' dog kennel that Herb set up this morning so the chickens will be safely closed in now that . . . but I'm getting ahead of myself. This is like one of those ER episodes where they started at the end of the day and filmed back . . .
The last thing that happened was the second best, but a pretty good thing at that: My first day to get TWO eggs at once! That means that Emerelda has company laying eggs. Silly girls, they both used the same nest box, so I put one of the eggs in the other one and left it while I hung chicken wire, hoping they'd get the idea that there's room for everyone. Maybe one day getting eggs will be mundane enough that I don't feel the need to take pictures of them, but that day is not here yet! Obviously, whoever chicken number two is, she's a faux Ameraucana, too! I think Esmerelda's is the pinker egg, and the new girl's is brown--just plain old, mundane brown.
But who can complain with yolks (ta!da! Karen!) this yellow. Since Herb was staying late at school for parent-teacher conferences and Kara had had a worse day than mine, I poached her an egg for supper.
[Blurry action as we go back in time to me getting my hair cut at 2:00 p.m.] The sylist asked how I was, and this is what I told her: I haven't had breakfast yet and I'm having a terrible day, but the best thing that has happened to me all day is that I just got rid of my rooster over at the Farm & Garden Store! I read on the internet recently that the closest living relative to a Tyrannosaurus Rex is the chicken. Well, they've got it wrong--it's a Velociraptor! Anyone who has ever seen "Jurassic Park" knows that Raptors are way scarier than T-Rexes! And those innocent-looking little dinosaurs that fluffed up their neck flaps and killed that fat guy in the Jeep? Well, my rooster is a cross between them and Velociraptors!

Yesterday morning when I went to let the chickens out, he came after me even though I had my chicken stick pointing at him. He fluffed up his neck feathers to three times their size, puffed out his chest, spread his wings and jumped claws first at me so hard that he actually jumped into the point of my stick. And then he did it again! When I shook it at him, he finally ran off. So last night, after the chickens went up into the coop, I put long leather gloves on, reached in, got Carmen, and stuffed him into a dog carrier that Herb was holding for me. Then I put the carrier in the coop so he could spend one last night with "his" girls.

When I finally got home about noon today, I took the carrier and drove over to the Farm & Garden Store. Stephanie wasn't there, but I told her husband Tom that she had said I could leave my rooster there because he was so mean, and that someone would be sure to want him. Tom started to reach into the carrier to pull Carmen out, and I said, "You don't really want to do that! He's really mean and attacks us." So he tried to shake Carmen out into one of their cages, but Carmen didn't want to go. At my suggestion, he finally got some heavy gloves to pull Carmen out.

"He's really nice looking," he said as he reached in. "Yeah," I answered, "but he's as mean as the devil!" As he pulled Carmen out, he exclaimed, "Oh, this is just a young rooster! He doesn't even have spurs!" As I told the sylist, I'm sure they're still laughing over there about the crazy lady who was so terrified of this spur-less little baby that she gave away a perfectly good rooster! I'll probably have to wear a disguise next time I go in there, but I'm still glad to have Carmen gone. Even if he was just a cute little baby Raptor, he was terrifying in his own mind--and he believed it enough to convince us! Talk about imposters!So Carmen has the last laugh, impersonating a big old scary rooster who could put a spur through a steel-toed boot or terrify people so much that they have to sneak out of their houses when he isn't looking (both true rooster stories I've heard!) Or does he? Here's his last picture, sitting in a cage waiting for a new home--with someone who actually knows something about chickens and knows he's full of sound and fury, signifying nothing--until he earns his spurs!

The Great Impersonation, The End

Sadly, Carmen did not know how to keep the advantage he had so bravely won, and he became aggressive. He has pecked the hand that feeds him and attacked the person that feeds him until I feel unsafe going anywhere near the chickens without a long walking stick or Hero on a leash. The final insult was when Jenny & Jean-Marc recently arrived for a visit, and Carmen chased her all the way from the barn to the house—where she found the back door locked! Her shrieks brought me on the run with my “chicken stick,” knowing immediately what the problem must be. A couple of whacks with the stick finally drove Carmen away. His days are numbered now, and as soon as we have a pen in place to protect the girls in his absence, he will return whence he came. Not to the egg, but to the store, where I am assured he will be taken home by someone who doesn’t mind aggressive roosters. I personally think you’d have to be certifiable! I will miss his splendid beauty and melodious crowing, but I will not miss HIM!

To my delight, I found my first egg on Oct. 5, nearly three weeks before I expected to. To my disappointment, it couldn’t by any stretch of the imagination be considered blue! Jenny got on the internet and found an official Ameraucana breeders’ website which clued me in that many chickens are sold as Ameraucanas or Aracaunas which are really mutts! They may lay blue eggs, or perhaps green or pink, but they should really be called Easter-Eggers because they are not Ameraucanas. I found a local breeder, very nice man named Randy, who was willing for Jenny and me to stop by on the spur of the moment today. He was so interesting and gave us so much information: If Carmen is aggressive, he’s not an Ameraucana; they are gentle, timid chickens. If the eggs aren’t blue, they aren’t laid by an Ameraucana. They only lay blue eggs, although each chicken has her own individual shade! And I could tell by looking at his chickens that mine don’t look anything like them. Apparently I have a coop full of imposters! Not only Carmen, who pretended to be a pullet when he was really a rooster, but ALL my girls have been masquerading as Ameraucanas when they're just plain old MUTTS!
I still think they’re beautiful, though, and I still love my girls, even if they never give me a blue egg. Sniff! Esmerelda very graciously laid another one this morning after having taken nearly a week's vacation, so Jenny got to get it out of the nest (while I held Carmen off!) And Jenny and Jean-Marc each got a poached Zephyr Hill egg for breakfast along with some scrambled store-bought free-range eggs. No comparison! Esmerelda may be laying beige eggs, but the yolks would put a pumpkin to shame! And they both agreed the eggs were delicious. Of course, they wouldn't have dared say anything else--Carmen would have gotten them!

Esmerelda is looking at us admiring her egg. What do you suppose goes on in that little chicken brain? She was cackling away on the roost (the only one doing so) when we opened the door, and then she hopped down to come check on us. Personally, I think she's proud of herself, so I told her, "Thank you, Esmerelda! Good girl!" Carmen does all the crowing so I figure she might as well get some praise for a job well done!

The Great Impersonation, Part III

So the girls (Carmen included) moved into their colorful new gypsy wagon, and began learning to free-range while we waited for them to get big enough to lay eggs (about 6 months old). We learned many things that chickens like, beginning with the day I found a dozen red and green tomatoes in various stages of hen-pecked-ness. I threw the first few hollowed-out shells at them in a fit of anger until I got smart and salvaged the unpecked parts to make salsa! So Herb put up wire fence around the garden beds. We also learned that they like to sit on the loveseat on the front porch or the table on the back porch, of course leaving plenty of droppings all around.

They especially like to get up on the back porch and use it as a launching pad to hop up into the air, grab a rose petal in mid-air, and land on the porch to gobble up their treat. They do not, however, like being squirted with the hose. Being very smart, they used to start running as soon as I turned the water on; now they run as soon as I come out. They KNOW they are not allowed on the porches; they are just not respecters of the law! But they love grass, and we have lots of that around here, and there is something lovely about a flock of chickens grazing on the lawn.
I was not at all excited about having a rooster and dealing with fertilized eggs, etc. But an experienced chicken-person told me that the rooster will protect the hens, so I decided to keep Carmen for awhile. Good thing I did! We found out quickly that Zephyr was very good with the chickens, and not being much bigger than them, they weren’t bothered by her—even when she poached the vegetable scraps I give them! Kara’s dog, Hero, however, showed way too much predatory-like interest in the chickens, not to mention being over 50 lbs, so we kept him on a leash at first and then supervised him closely until we could see that he knew how to behave around them.
Having graduated to the supervision stage, Hero was close beside me one day when I turned to dig up a couple potatoes. Suddenly I heard horrible squawking, and I knew what was happening. Screaming “Hero!” at the top of my lungs, I raced toward the sounds of the chicken massacre in time to see Hero hot in pursuit of one of the hens. Just then brave little Carmen shot in between hunter and dinner, and Hero turned on Carmen while the hens ran into the woods. Still screaming at the top of my lungs, I darted after Hero, but Carmen zig-zagged so fast, I was never in the right place. Herb heard me screeching all the way down the hill in the orchard and came racing up the long hill, and Jenny & Jean-Marc (who were here visiting) heard me all the way in the house. With the reinforcements, we managed to corner Hero and grab him while Carmen made himself scarce. Hero had become the villain of the piece, and Carmen, the REAL hero of the day, had earned himself a reprieve.