Village Squire, 1980-11, Page 31SIX ACHERS
Yvonne Reynolds and her husband, a
retired Canadian Armed Forces officer,
settled in rural Huron County six years
ago. The antics of one dog [daughter of an
unmoral Sheltie], one house cat [Himalay-
an aristocat], one barn cat [don't ask] and a
fluctuating number of chickens and goats
keep her supplied with more than enough
materia! for a regular monthly column.
Something
to crow about
Even before we completed our little
barn, thousands of horrible flies moved
in. Where did they live before? Are there
motels for transient flies? Which came
first, the chicken or the egg?
Speaking for ourselves, the chickens
came first. During a conversation with
our friend Francis, I mentioned
reading somewhere that flocks of Bantam
hens and roosters wandered freely
around the San Diego Zoo, keeping
animals and cages free of lice, fleas, and
other pests, and controlling the fly
population by dining on fly eggs and
larvae. A few days later, Francis
presented us with three little hens and a
rooster.
The rooster was magnificient. Golden
feathers crowned his head and cascaded
down his neck. The rest of his plummage,
black at first glance, glowed fluorescent
green and navy in the sunlight. His eyes,
beak and legs were cadmium yellow, and
his tail fanned out behind in a glorious
array of long, gracefully curved plumes.
There was only one name suitable for
such a creature. Joseph. After all, he did
have a many -coloured coat and, like
another Joseph, was polygamous.
We christened the little red hens Judy
and Josie, and named the biege one
Jenny.
Joseph appointed himself overseer of
our homestead. Whether we were hoeing
the garden, mowing the lawn or eating at
the picnic table, Joseph and his wives
soon joined us. With his head cocked to
one side, he would observe us for a
moment with one eye, then tilt his head to
the other side to confirm what he had
seen. Turning to the hens, he would
stand on tiptoe, beat his wings in the air,
fluff out his feathers, and remark to his
flock that the humans were doing a less
than adquate job, but where did one get
competent help these days? With the
hens clucking in agreement, Joseph
would lead his ladies to something of
more interest.
A CHICKEN KILLER
This idyllic situation continued until
one beautiful September afternoon. Don
and I had been away, and when we
returned, we discovered big clumps of
iridescent feathers just outside the
barnyard fence. Knowing something
drastic had happened, we began to
search for the feathers' owner. Three
terrified hens, huddling in the barn,
stared at me with stricken eyes as I
hurried past. I found Joseph's body, still
warm, beside the silo. My husband
spotted our neighbour's dog, a convicted
chicken killer who was usually kept tied
up, crouching low along the fenceline as
she sneaked back home.
Joseph had obviously died defending
his hens. We gave him a fitting burial.
Josie, Jenny and Judy were lost and
directionless without their paramour and
protector. We would have to get another
rooster.
One of our neighbours, hearing of our
plight, invited us to pick up a rooster he
wanted to give us. We accompanied him
out to the barn where, his generosity
fueled by something stronger than water,
he began to stuff birds into a large
cardboard box. First in was a large red
rooster, then a strange speckled bird with
baleful eyes, black and white hens, white
and black ones, little ones, big ones,
medium-sized ones. The air was filled
with feathers and outraged squawks.
(You might say the language was fowl!)
When we could make ourselves heard in
the din, we finally convinced our kind
friend that all we wanted was a rooster,
and reluctantly agreed to also accept the
strange speckled bird.
We named the rooster Bill. Just plain
Bill, because that's what he was. Our
weird -looking young pullet was dubbed
Batty.
Bill was a stupid bird. While the hens
headed for the henhouse at dusk, he
would perch wherever nightfall happened
to find him - on a stepladder rung, on the
henhouse roof, or in the long grass. He
did this once too often, and was carried
off early one morning by an enterprising
coon. He was a stupid bird, and we really
didn't want him as the father of our
chickens, but he did not deserve such an
ignominious end.
Our present rooster is B.B. (Batty's
baby). Although not quite as handsome
as Joseph, he is much smarter than Bill.
When a hen is laying an egg, he is often
nearby, as solicitous as a father in the
delivery room. He brings his harem to the
back door regularly, to crow for stale
cookies or a piece of cake. As we dispense
the goodies, he struts around making
possessive noises which we interpret as
telling the hens that he deserves all credit
for providing their treat.
I hope nothing happens to B.B. for a
long time, even though Don has to wake
him up these dull, dark mornings.
THE GIFT THAT...
KEEPS ON GIVING
JEWELLERY
KIf FORM - MAKE IT
YOURSELF
CUSTOM MADE - AT LOW
COST
STONES ARE NATURAL,
MINERALS IMPORTED
FROM ALL OVER THE
WORLD. NO GLASS OR
PLASTIC.
Tiger Eye, Carnelian,
Amethyst Quartz,
Garnet, Moonstone,
Jade, Opal, and lots more
Rings, Pendants, Beads,
Necklaces, Belt Buckles,
Bola Ties, Bracelets,
etc.
VISIT...MINI MINERAL
MUSEUM - NO CHARGE.
L,Ira ems
51 ST. DAVID ST., GODERICN, ONT. MIA 1l4
524-9972
VILLAGE SQUIRE/NOVEMBEH 1980 PG. 29