Dumb and Dumber and a Dumb Belle

    I’m not supposed to have any sort of fowl at all other than the chickens in my chicken houses. Normally, that’s fine. I dislike parrots and other birds in the house (to be honest, I dislike ALL animals in the house) and ducks are loud and messy and geese are HORRID to deal with.

  But…the last batch, the catch crew left two perfectly fine grown chickens in house two, a large rooster and hen. They had hidden in a migration fence (it’s basically a big tube) together. I couldn’t help but picture them as a young couple,  escaping from some horrid event together, trauma bringing them together in that way that trauma does.

  It wasn’t the first time we’ve brought chickens home that were left…the kids kept a couple in the barn named Jacques and Princess Fiona. They lived happily there for a while until Jacques fell ill and died and Princess Fiona summarily threw herself into the horses water trough and drowned. She couldn’t go on without her Jacques, I suppose.

  I’ve brought a few culls home here and there, they live for a few days and then, one morning I get up and they are just… gone. I’m sure an owl or hawk or coyote or stray dog just takes them, these fat, white, slow chicken house chickens that are dumb as bricks.

 But…I brought home this rooster and this hen, who had escaped together, hidden in a tube, hiding for days with no food and no water, the temps inside the unventilated, shut down houses reaching the upper 90’s.

  “these chickens are too dumb to scratch!” we’d marvel as they sat,  wide eyed, blinking in the sun. And they ARE too dumb to scratch and too dumb to DRINK, for heaven’s sake. I resort to taking a pan of water in front of them and just grabbing their heads and dunking it in the water a few times, watching their eyes as a light goes on and they GET IT,that the water isn’t magically going to appear above them in the form of a shiny thing to peck at.

  They also sit and wait for food to magically appear in front of them and don’t know how to eat anything that isn’t tan and crumbly like the chicken house feed. So, I would throw out tomato scraps and melon rinds and place them right in front of them, sometimes pushing their beaks into the pieces.

  When they started finally eating that, I would turn over boards and move buckets out in the barn, sending crickets jumping. I would catch a few and shake them in my hand to disorient them and throw them in front of the chickens. They stare at them, watching them move slowly…then they peck and realize it’s FOOD, glorious FOOD and they jump up, waiting for more.

 But if you think I’m gonna spend a good portion of  my day catching crickets and grasshoppers to throw to fat, white, stupid chicken house chickens…well, you’re right.

  A little bit right. I’ll do it for a bit, enjoying seeing that instinct come ALIVE that has been pummeled down in the dim chicken houses with feed and water at the ready at all times.

  Before long, the rooster (Dumb) and hen (Dumber)  were venturing out of the barn and into the yard, chasing bugs and catching worms. I showed them how to scratch, moving a rock and raking my fingers over the dirt. The rooster took to it quickly and started aggressively scratching and digging. The hen would follow him, and would allow him to steal food she had dug up. Then, she got smart and when she caught a cricket or grasshopper, she would immediately run away screeching, giving herself away. This would get his attention and he would give chase and fight her for the treat and this would go on until one of them ate it and then it started all over again.

 This was fine and dandy for a week. I kept expecting them to just be GONE, but there they were, every morning, venturing out further and further from the barn. They were so fat they couldn’t run, they lumbered around, their big thick legs awkwardly propelling them forward. I threw out scraps of tomato and melon and cole slaw and pasta salad and left over roasted potatoes…they ate it all. I would yell “CHICK CHICK CHICK” and I’d hear a squawk from under the deck or out at the barn and here they’d come, the rooster first, his fat body bouncing from trying to run. They’d happily eat whatever I had. They especially loved left over homemade bread and tomatoes. They loved tomatoes SO much, they ate all the cherry tomatoes out of my little raised garden. I sighed when I saw this and thought “surely, someone will take these chickens” but no one did. Before, someone has always taken them. Not this time..

 I tried to give Dumb and Dumber to everyone. Texted friends. Nobody wanted them. Sigh again. A month came and went.

  By this point, every time I went outside, they came running for me, squawking and flapping. They were huge, the size of small turkeys. They followed me around the yard as I weeded or watered. I’d walk to Clint’s shop and stand in the doorway, Dumb and Dumber peering in around my ankles, making Clint laugh at my trained chickens. 

  My children came over to visit and I showed them Dumb and Dumber…I walked out on the deck with a piece of bread and yelled “hey, babies! Come get something to eat!” and they’d run, flapping and lumbering toward me. My children pronounced this “ridiculous” and they were RIGHT.  

 The final straw came when, as usual, I went for my early walk to the chicken houses.  I had my headset on and was talking animatedly to my friend Tammie. I made it about 20 feet down the road when I heard a noise behind me. I turned and there behind me, were Dumb and Dumber, looking to the world like they were chasing me to the chicken houses. I shooshed them back toward the road and the rooster squawked angrily at me and I SWEAR gave me a dirty look.  Tammie and I laughed about how ridiculous I must look, talking to myself, dressed in an old pink tennis outfit I bought at a second hand store, chickens chasing me down the road.

 The finalest straw (it’s a word, I swear) came the next morning at sunrise. I woke to make Clint’s coffee as he slept and had my walking clothes on. I hear a faint cluck cluck sound and I turn and see Dumb and Dumber standing at the window of the back door, staring at me. Dumb pecked the glass and Dumber squawked in happiness. I tried to quietly herd them off the deck (I have two things I’d like to point out: chickens cannot be herded and they do NOTHING quietly) but Dumb squawked in protest, waking Clint.

  The finalestest straw came when Dumb then decided to pick a fight with Tika, my special needs dog with the demeanor of a snapping turtle with scabies. Dumb ran up onto the porch where Tika lay guarding her food bowl and pecked crazy eyed Tika’s  head hard. To Tika’s credit, she didn’t kill Dumb although she could have. People kept asking how my dogs left the chickens alone. We had spanked them for biting chickens at the chicken house for so long, I guess it never occurred to them. If the pack leaders (Clint and I) said the chickens were stayin’, then  Maggie and Tika just agreed.

  This has gone on for a month. I kind of enjoy the little dudes, they make me laugh and I’ve enjoyed remembering how fun chickens can be, pecking and scratching and fighting for food. But they gots to go, as I like to say.

 Last night, Clint had his friends over to play pool in the shop. This group of guys are some of the hardest working, nicest guys I know. They are men from our church, family men with sweet wives and grown children.  They have prayer time, then they play pool and pick at each other and eat too much junk food.

  I walked to the shop door to tell Clint I was checking chickens and Dumb and Dumber peered in behind me.

“Garland! Here’s these chickens I was telling you about! Come see ‘em” said Clint. Here came Garland, a tall, handsome, silver haired man with a dry sense of humor and a work ethic that is unbelievable. He is over 70, but could pass easily for 50.

  Garland looked at the chickens and laughed. “I do believe those are the fattest chickens I’ve ever seen.” he said.

  “Lichea’s got them so spoiled. She feeds them every time she walks outside.” Clint answered and we admired Dumb and Dumber. They seemed to preen for us and showed out by chasing a grasshopper.

  “Have I got a deal for YOU!” I told Garland. “You can HAVE these fine chickens for free.” Clint laughed and said “he’s already taking them.”

I should have been happy…but I felt a twinge of sadness.

“Oh… good!” I said.

“will it bother you if I butcher them?”asked Garland.

“ oh, no..” I said honestly. “I just can’t do it. I’ve gone and gotten attached.”

“they’re basically organic fed?” He asked.

“yup. Homemade bread, tomatoes and bugs.” I answered back. “oh! and they like oatmeal.” “you feed them oatmeal?” he marveled. “yes! they love it!” I grinned back.

Clint and Garland made plans to catch Dumb and Dumber after playing pool…and they did, without my help. Their last meal in my yard was watermelon scraps from a wonderful watermelon Dwayne had brought. I like knowing that. They loved watermelon.

  Clint said Garland thought it was funny I was attached to Dumb and Dumber and opined I could go get two more and have all the chickens around that I wanted. He also noted that I killed chickens all the time and why did these two seem to be different to me.

  But…Clint and I know we aren’t supposed to have chickens in the yard  and that bothered us and we knew either we’d have to kill them or try to sneak them into the next batch. I didn’t want to do that to Dumb and Dumber, it seemed cruel to place them back into captivity after tasting freedom and I thought they’d be happier at Garland’s house, with his sweet wife treating them kindly until butchering day.

 As I type this, I have another memory of Dumb and Dumber. I was sitting in Tara’s old room, just where I am right now, typing away at the computer. Pecking out my memories, scratching around in my head, finding just the right phrase or word to complete my story. I heard another pecking, off to my right. I turned my head and stared directly into the eyes of Dumb and Dumber. They had wandered into the front yard and had seen me sitting there. The window into Tara’s room is almost floor to ceiling, with an arched top. Dumb and Dumber stared in at me and I stared out at them and for a moment, I pondered that…here they were free to run and scratch and peck for the first time in their lives. Maybe they were staring at me thinking “why does she just stay in THERE? it’s GREAT out here! loose and free from the darkness! not kept captive in a dim, loud place! This outside stuff ROCKS!”

  It made me think about times I’ve been captive and didn’t know it…captive because I didn’t know what was out there or what sunshine was.

  There have been times in my life I was too dumb to scratch. Too bloated and slow to dig and see what’s really underneath. So, dear reader. Here’s to getting out of your comfort zone and scratching and exploring. You’ll get dirty. You’ll dig up unpleasant things from time to time.  Unfamiliar things will scare you…but, perhaps a semi-crazy blonde Poultry Princess will dunk your head in the water, making you lose your breath in the cool wetness…finding you LIKE it and doing it again on your own  with no help or encouragement. You’ll find you like watermelon, but…asparagus…not so much. You’ll find the joy in sunrises and feel the need to find a safe place in the sunset. You’ll run toward people, cackling and clucking,   people that bring you good things and feed your body and soul. You’ll pick fights with Tika, a half heeler/half cottonmouth with cataracts (it would explain her demeanor) and stand firm against gnashing teeth.

   I hope Dumb and Dumber like their new home. I’m sure their end will come soon, swift and sure. But til then, dear reader…..they are making the most of what they had left. A life they never knew existed until they were forced into it.

  Today, dear reader….scratch. Explore. Don’t be scared. Be chicken.