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| My daddy, Ogburn Taylor, with our coop. |
Now the fun part, to acquire some chickens. A local farmer and friend of my daddy generously gave us a starter flock. Their was the proud rooster, a white headed game cock we appropriately named, Don Crowleone, three black hens of unknown breed and a white silky that looked more like a snowshoe rabbit than a fowl. They were a mix matched flock of mutt chickens, but we loved them. They took up residence in our "masterpiece" chicken coop beneath a elm tree in our backyard. We spent every Sunday morning sitting beneath that elm enjoying our morning coffee while the chickens entertained us. And, if you've never sat and watched chickens go about their day, it is far more entertaining than the latest reality show and certainly more family friendly.
Several months into our chicken adventure a friend of a friend came to us with a dilemma. "Chicken Lady Kate", as we now call her, had moved to rural southside Virginia from the suburbs of New York city. Completely enthralled with every aspect of country living she had quickly started her own flock of chickens. These chickens were her babies. She cooked for them, cuddled with them daily and even bathed them in her kitchen sink. She gave her chickens more love and attention than most of us show our out-of-town relatives!
Unfortunately, she had to move and her beloved flock could not accompany her. Through our mutual friend we offered to foster her five orphans.
Late one Sunday afternoon a very nice, clean car pulls into the drive. A beautiful, teary eyed woman, wearing a, "Have you hugged your chicken today?" t-shirt, introduces herself. It was Kate. And in the front seat along side her was a wire cage containing her five precious, feathered babies. Her four hens, Sadie, Sophia, Blacky and Tarky...and Helen...a rooster. When Kate purchased her flock, she was told each was a hen of various pure breeds. There was a beautiful Rhode Island Red, that actually won first place at a local fair, a Buff Orpington, an Ameraucana, and two silkies...one hen and one not. Helen turned out to be a "he".
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| "Chicken Lady Kate" |
We introduced our new adoptees to the existing flock with no trouble. Speaking of trouble, that should have been Helen's middle name. Silkies are noted for the furry appearance given by the feathers on their head and legs. This adorable ball of fluff struck fear into the hearts of all he encountered. It must be a primeval instinct to run when being chased, even when its from a 2 pound rooster!
***MOMMY NOTE; When a rooster ruffles his hackles, the feathers around his neck, and does a little side-step dance, he is contemplating an attack. When a rooster flogs an adult it typically strikes the legs, but the roosters spurs can easily strike the face and eyes of a small child. If a rooster does attack, it is because he thinks you are another rooster. Don't fight back, slowly walk away.***
I have enjoyed many priceless moments from my kitchen window as friends and family would pull into the driveway and exit the safety of their vehicles. Helen, with the systematic stealth of a cougar, would surprise attack every ankle he could, sending his unsuspecting victims scrambling back into their vehicle or bolting for the backdoor. We have 40 pound gobblers, a 15 pound Rhode Island Red rooster and a 500 pound boar hog and none of them command the respect that is demanded from this 2 pound rooster... named Helen.
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| The infamous Helen. |
