Chicken Gate and Me

As most know, I love to bird watch. It’s one of my semi-retirement pastimes. I have several. In fact I have so many, I may have to cut back. There’s gardening, and movies, and sewing, and crocheting, and grilling (yum), and hanging out with family and friends. I have found there is less time available now than when I worked full time.

Chasing chickens was not on my list of retirement past times or on my bird watching list. Nevertheless, I am now not only watching chickens, I am chasing chickens.

Chicken Gate started when I found my pink bulb garden upended. All those pretty bulbs I planted early this year, and which had sprouted and were producing lovely pink flowers, were found one evening laying on top the garden soil and sadly wilted.

I blamed poor yard dog Reba, who has been known to find a strawberry bed a great place in which to lie when it’s hot outside. So I yelled at Reba. “Sorry Reba,” I apologized. I figured if it wasn’t Reba it was the itinerant armadillo or possum who rooted out my lovely flower bulbs. Sorry armadillo and possum.

It was last week when I finally figured who did what with which in the bulb garden. It was sneaky, thieving chickens, scratching away with those long ugly feet, looking for bugs I guess. They didn’t eat the bulbs. They just dug them up. I chased the flock of chickens off, and they didn’t return for a while. I stuck the bulbs back in the ground, hoping the garden-gate thieves would not return.

But then, lounging away on my back porch one evening this past week I heard that dreaded ‘scratch, scratch, scratch.’ Another chicken was on loose, and in my back yard. But this time it was only one little pullet, all by herself. And she wasn’t in the garden. She was scratching around under a hay pile where I’d last seen a snake. Chickens eat snakes. Hum. That was acceptable. I decided little pullet could stay if she wished. I even through her some bird seed, which she devoured. Hope she was doing the same to the snakes.

Called Darling Daughter and told her we had a chicken, but little chicken wasn’t too keen on being caught and put up in a chicken house. Darling Daughter was delighted. We were all thinking of beautiful, big brown eggs.

Little Chick (yes, she already has a name), wasn’t there the next morning, but she was on the porch searching for left-over bird seed that evening. And Reba didn’t seem to mind. I had thought if foxes and hawks didn’t have a Little Chick for dinner, perhaps Reba would. Nope. Yard dog Reba could care less.

“I expect to come over and find Reba and the chicken curled up together asleep,” Darling Daughter foretold.

Maybe Reba, who is older than me in dog years, just isn’t up to chicken chasing. Me either. Maybe Reba considers herself retired too. I gave Little Chick some more bird feed.

And Little Chick was still with us the next morning. She and a friend, that is. Yep. Two little pullets in my back yard. I’m dreaming of big, brown eggs. Don’t know who these chickens belong to, but as long as they stay out of my flower gardens, I’m claiming them. Had thought of putting up an electric fence around garden, but don’t want to find fried chickens lying about. Or a fried Reba for that matter. And from past experience as a farm girl, I know that gates and fences don’t work well when it comes to chickens. They are chicken gate escape artists.

I told Darling Daughter that I’m too old to take up chicken farming. Grew up on a farm, chasing chickens, and cows, and horses. However, if any more chickens show up, I may become just another farm kid, again, in my retirement years. But this time it will be just one more retirement hobby.