It seemed like a good idea at the time, that is, buying some more chickens; in Australia we call them chooks. We had a few chooks several years ago, who were lots of fun, but they pooped all over the verandah and then a fox got them, leaving us devastated. But after awhile we felt ready to plunge into chookdom again - of course by that time we had thrown the old chookhouse out, so we had to start from scratch.
We did everything properly - read about what to feed them and how to house them, and which breeds lay the most eggs and are the easiest to get along with. Then we bought a fancy little chookhouse and a supply of food, and set off to a farm in the Barossa Valley to buy some chooks. It was a wet and windy day and when we finally got to the place of sale, it was also very muddy and many of the damp chickens didn't look very palatable, not that we were ever going to eat them.

None of them seemed very interested in laying eggs, but they all made a contribution now and then. Hazel's eggs were so small, she seemed a little embarrassed - but she was doing her best, and looking beautiful. Then Joyce died within just a few months; we never did know why. So we bought another chook, not a 'designer' chook this time, but a practical, reliable, boring brown chook who we named Emily Smiff, which was later changed to Golden Girl, because some of our friends and relatives are named Smith. GG soon started laying lots of big brown eggs, putting Hazel and Wilma to shame, but they didn't care.
Then Golden Girl died - a catastrophe, as she was Tony's favourite, but this is the price you pay when you buy ISA Brown chooks - lots of eggs and cuddles, but not for very long. Precious Flower soon became the new leader of the pack, because neither Hazel nor Wilma could be bothered taking charge. And they had decided not to bother laying any more eggs either. So that left poor Precious doing all the work.
We needed more chooks - actually we needed more eggs. So we had to make a decision; girls that would look decorative or would lay lots of eggs. We had learned that the chickens of the catwalk are not very good layers and they died a lot. So we bought two more ISA Browns - Pinky and Perky who we couldn't tell apart. But only a couple of weeks later, there was another catastrophe, when Hazel a.k.a. Princess Fantail died.
Are you keeping up? At this point we had four chickens - Wilma, Precious, Pinky and Perky, and that's the way things still stand. Precious had a bit of a fit when the new girls arrived, but soon settled down and resumed laying eggs; Pinky started laying very quickly and does her duty every day; Perky was reluctant to get to work, but she recently started dropping eggs on the concrete floor of the garage. She apparently drops them from a great height, as they're always broken. We must teach her, somehow, to use the nest. But she's a bossy girl, and knows her own mind, and probably won't take any instruction from us.
It's interesting to watch the life cycle of chickens. They arrive at their new home, young and worried. They're wary and distrustful of people and other chooks, but they don't mind the cat. Then they figure out who's the boss - the belligerent chook who struts her stuff and chases them away from the food - and they settle down to their place in the pecking order. They soon learn how to open the automatic feeder, and they discover there are two other feeders, called Linda and Tony, who can be relied upon to give them treats from the kitchen. So they follow us everywhere we go, and let us pick them up and cuddle them, if they think there's a treat at the end of it. Precious is the best at cuddles; Wilma is the worst. She's neurotic.
As time goes on, the leadership of the flock changes. Precious had that role until she started losing her feathers; now Perky is in charge. Wilma has never been interested in being in charge of anything; she's too lazy - always the last to get up in the morning and the first to go to bed, and inbetween she lies in the sun, showing off her glossy black feathers to their best advantage. The other chooks mooch around all over the place, digging holes everywhere and trying to get into the veggie garden.
The trouble we have with all our animals is that we name them. Not really a good idea. When they die, we lose family members with personalities, not just chickens or sheep. We've had several sheep die over the years, two in our arms. Losing good sheep friends like Oscar and Conway is very upsetting. And losing cuddly chooks is no fun either.
But, as the Hindus say, ‘life is full of sorrow and then we die.’
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