My chickens have it pretty good. A nice, roomy house, an enclosed run where they can stretch their legs, and even a “private” yard with a picket fence so they can explore a bit when we’re home.
All I ask in return are two simple things: 1) provide us eggs and 2) don’t venture out into MY yard where they dig giant holes, toss around pine needles and devour anything green like a giant swarm of drunken locusts.
Two simple things! And two of my three birds abide.
But then there is little Phoebe — the bomb-crater chicken. A house, a run and a yard are not enough. She needs to roam and explore. She needs to wander MY yard, scratching for bugs, eating plants and digging massive holes that that look like a World War II air raid.
How does Phoebe get out? Well, chickens do fly, you know. But most of the time they’re too lazy, too fat or frankly, lack the smarts to remember they have this skill.
Unfortunately, the little brown Phoebe does remember. She can get up and over the fence in a single bound.
I watched her do it one day. Stood just outside her picket fence as she tried to muster the courage. She looked like a kid on a high dive board: “Should I do it? I don’t know if I can do it. Maybe I can. What if I die?!?”
I stood at the gate discouraging the miscreant: “You shouldn’t do it! There’s no way you can do it! YOU WILL DIE!!!”
And then she leaped into flight. RIGHT AT MY FACE!!!
A flying chicken is not a thing of beauty. And when one is headed for you, it’s actually kind of terrifying. There is no grace in their wild flapping. It’s like watching a head of lettuce launched out of a cannon. They surprise even themselves with their lift and speed, and they have no control as they rise and fall. Wings, feathers and feet fly in every direction. The two of us both screamed, “Lord have mercy upon our souls!”
I dove out of the way as the feathered basketball careened through the air and then crashed to the ground in a heap. She used her beak as a landing gear, then scurried off to dig more holes while I collected my senses and checked to see if I had wet myself.
DAGGONE BOMB-CRATER CHICKEN!!!
I’ve tried all manner of ways to discourage this. Removing objects from the yard that give a her a boost. Stretching nets tied to bamboo poles above the fence. Hypnosis to convince her she’s a pig and lacks wings. None of it has worked.
My new idea is to fatten her up. “Just let her sit around all day watching TV and eating sugary snacks,” I told my wife. She’s not too keen on this.
So, this weekend I’m back to the drawing board. Any ideas? I’m looking for new ways to contain this flying bomb-crater chicken. Then I can get a back hoe and start filling in all the holes in MY yard.