Tag: animal behavior

The Turkey (and Happy Thanksgiving)

~ Crystal Sands ~ 1 Comment

More than ten years ago, I had just gotten chickens and had fallen madly in love with them. My son, just five years old at the time, was taking his first ever theater class for little kids. Everyone was guaranteed a part, and my son was a puppy in a production of Disney’s 101 Dalmatians.

One day, when we arrived at practice, I saw a Subaru in the parking lot with a personalized license plate–CHKNLADY. I have to meet that woman, I thought to myself. That evening, while sitting in the parent waiting room, I overheard a woman talking about her chickens and turkeys, so I had to ask if she was CHKNLADY. She was!

She was wonderful, and we had a lovely conversation about chickens that evening. She warned me though.

“Don’t ever get turkeys,” she said.

I asked her why, and she explained, “Let me put it this way. We got eight turkeys to raise for food. We planned to keep four for ourselves and then share the others with friends and family for the Thanksgiving holiday. We had no turkey at Thanksgiving, and instead, we have now eight turkeys that play soccer with my kids.”

Ten years later, I remembered that story but thought I was a hardened homesteader that had lost some of my sentimentality about raising animals for food. After all, I helped process many meat chickens and had come to accept it as a better way to eat meat. I thought we could be different than the CHKNLADY.

Our plan was to keep a small flock of one tom, four or five hens, and then raise turkeys for food, processing the toms as needed to feed our family and our Great Pyrenees. I have been paying about $125 every Thanksgiving for an organic, humanely-raised turkey. I thought we could surely do this ourselves.

What I have come to learn about turkeys has changed my life. Just as chickens changed my life when I got them more than ten years ago, the turkeys have had a profound impact on me. Not all of it is good because they can be exhausting. In comparison with chickens, they are difficult birds, but oh my gosh, they are magnificent! They hook you in, and you will do their bidding. Ron is their servant, and I am their assistant servant.

Since today is Thanksgiving, and our turkey named Thanksgiving is running around the yard, I thought I would write about what I have learned from these amazing creatures. I hope it doesn’t ruin your Thanksgiving. I am not against eating turkey. In fact, our hope is to hatch a few birds next year and work hard to ensure they do not imprint on us and then have a turkey next Thanksgiving.

Still, after getting to know these birds, I am definitely against the cheap birds in the grocery store because I know what kind of life they lived. If you can bear it today, please read what I have learned and make a plan to buy a humanely-raised turkey next year if you can. It will not be cheap, but if you can do it, it will be worth it.

Turkeys are majestic animals. There is a reason that Benjamin Franklin wrote they were “noble” and a “bird of courage” and a “true original native” of America.

And here are some things I have learned about them this year…

1. Turkeys imprint deeply.

It is difficult to care for baby turkeys. When they first hatch, if they do not have a mother, you have to teach them how to eat and drink–over and over. With baby chickens, you show them one time, and they are all set. It took me two to three days of constant feeding to get them where they could eat on their own. During that time, we bonded, and those babies imprinted on me. The bond just grew over the weeks because they demanded a lot of attention.

After about a month, I could no longer handle eight demanding little turkeys by myself, so Ron stepped in. They bonded so deeply with him too. These turkeys are difficult (see more thoughts below), but they love us, think we hung the moon, and are so sweet to us. This deep bond makes other aspects of raising turkeys more challenging, but I am in awe of the biology of it. It is a reminder of the bonds humans share with animals.

One way I know the bond is deep is that I can break up fights between the boys. I can get right down in the middle of these giant birds, little dinosaurs, just throwing down because the toms will seriously fight, and they will not hurt me. You can see they will be so angry at each other, but mama is sacred. No one hurts mama. This is the same for Ron. They love us so much.

*As an aside, we had three males and now have two. We had one male who was starting the trouble most frequently, and it was a devastating decision to make, but he left us no choice. Ron processed him last week, and the fighting has stopped. I will have to tell that story later. Maybe. It’s a hard one.

2. Turkeys are extremely social.

The turkeys do not just love us. They also have a love-hate relationship with each other. I think it’s more love, but they are very much like toddlers right now at just about eight months old. They have to be together though. If one of them gets separated, they will cry and cry until we go help them find their people. And they miss us terribly if we have to be away from the house during the day.

When we get home, they run up to us and click and chirp and the boys strut and show off. I tell the boys, “Oh, you are such a pretty boy,” and they immediately start putting on a show. They have done this since they were just tiny little babies strutting around in miniature.

3. Turkeys are extremely, extremely vocal but also communicate with color.

I’ll start with the vocal. I have never seen such vocal creatures. They talk constantly! And they have so many different ways of speaking. They are quick to let you know they are unhappy via their cries, but they click constantly to keep in contact with each other and have coos for talking sweet and a kind of curious coo when they see something in the sky, sometimes things I cannot see. And, of course, they gobble. The gobble is usually some kind of “out of sorts” expression. The first time they got in trouble from me was for picking on the ducks. I ran outside and grumped at all of them, and they just gobbled and gobbled about it.

But they also bark, like a dog that is a turkey. When someone comes to our house, they bark. If it’s someone they don’t know and that someone comes into our driveway, there will be braking plus gobbling. If the delivery people have to tell me something, I cannot hear a word they are saying. We have to stand in the driveway and yell over the turkeys. I always apologize.

The cutest thing is that they bark at the fence when people walk by, just like our Pyrenees. I do not know if this is usual or if this is behavior our turkeys learned from the dogs, but when someone is out on our country road for a walk, they will now not only be barked out by two Great Pyrenees, but a small flock of turkeys will bark and gobble at them. It’s so cute to see two dogs and then a row of turkeys lined up at the fence griping at our poor neighbors, who seem bemused but it all.

Interestingly, turkeys also communicate with the color of their heads. They change their head colors with their moods, much like octopuses, I suppose. They have three head colors–red, white, and blue–but there are a variety of shades in between that give you insights into what is going on in their little minds–and there is so much going on. The red means upset or excited, and the blues and whites are calmer. When we pet them, they turn blue and white. When they get dried cranberries in the mornings (they LOVE these), their heads are a combination of blue and red.

I am fascinated by all of it.

4. Turkeys are highly emotional creatures.

I had always heard and people continue to tell me that turkeys are mean. I can’t exactly disagree with this, but I also can’t agree with it either.

A few weeks ago, I was talking to our new doctor, who grew up on a farm, about our turkeys. He said he didn’t like turkeys because they are mean. I tilted my head and asked, “Are they though?” It was a question for myself as well because I can’t decide. The doctor looked at me with a look that said, “Yes, they are!”

I thought about that all day and evening, and the next morning, I saw the female turkeys chasing our blind duck, Anna Maria, doing their best to peck her on the head.

“Well, I guess they are mean,” I thought to myself.

I also thought back to the way the boys would sometimes gang up on Boudica and be mean to her. She is so deeply trained to care for the livestock that she just takes their abuse, but it breaks my heart.

However, in both of these cases, the turkeys have reasons for being “mean,” at least according to them. They are the most emotional creatures I have ever seen. They wear it all just right there for the world to see. There is no wall, no filter. If they feel something, they express it with vigor, like way too much vigor.

In Anna Maria’s case, I have seen her accidentally bump into the turkeys, as she is blind, and this offends the turkeys. I think it has taken them a bit to figure out she’s not meaning to confront them. And, in Boudica’s case, I think they get tired of her barking. In fact, Ron has said he’s certain of this.

I still side with Anna Maria and Boudica every time because, in my opinion, the turkeys are unreasonable, but I can see they don’t really mean to be. They are just really deep feelers who live honestly in their emotions.

I remember the first time I saw this in action. The turkeys were pretty young, just a couple months old, and I saw several of them sitting in a line on top of the duck house. I was just sitting out there chatting with them, when one of the boys pecked one of the girls on the head. The one he pecked is maybe the most intelligent of the five girls we have, and her face reveals a lot. I saw a look in her eye after she got pecked on the head, and I knew there was going to be trouble.

She was deeply offended and quite pissed. She tore into that boy like I couldn’t believe. She had his snood stretched out a mile. I went over to break it up and just couldn’t. I finally got the boy out of harm’s way, and that girl started attacking everyone else. She was not letting this go.

So I ended up having to pick her up and carry her around for about ten minutes. I could see she had calmed down, so I sat her down and hoped for the best. I am not kidding. She made a line for that boy and started attacking him again! It took me forever to calm her down, and I began to learn that turkeys are highly emotional creatures. They love big, and they fight big. And they are easily offended.

5. Turkeys are amazingly intelligent.

I think part of the reason turkeys are so easily offended is that they are highly intelligent. I have learned from the chickens and ducks and the most intelligent among them are almost always the most difficult to manage on a farm because they have opinions, and sometimes, those opinions are strong, and sometimes, those opinions differ from mine.

These animals are profoundly intelligent. They learn things quickly. They have amazing spatial awareness and understand either our language or tone of voice very, very well. When they get reprimanded, which is never more than us telling them “no” they can’t do something they want to do, such as eat from the bird feeders or be mean to the ducks, they cry and act sad and try to make up, especially to Ron. They desperately want to be in his good graces.

The best way I can describe these turkeys is that they are very similar to three year olds. They are smart enough to be terrors, are extremely self-centered, but are also so brilliant they are charming and interesting and really just absolutely fascinating creatures.

***

Truly, I feel like that just a fraction of what I could write about these amazing animals, who, somehow, are ugly in a way but, at the same time, breathtakingly beautiful. Maybe it’s their contradictions, so human like, that make me love them so.

One day, I will try to write more. I feel like I could write a 20 page essay on them, but who would want to read that? I hope this Thanksgiving ramble on the turkey was just right length. I hope you found it interesting and learned some things about turkeys.

And I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving.

A Mouse Love Story

~ Crystal Sands ~ 6 Comments

In May of 2024, my son rescued a tiny deer mouse with eyes still closed. It was after a big storm had blown through our area, and there, partially in a puddle in our driveway, was a tiny white-footed deer mouse.

My son had just been diagnosed with long COVID, so when he brought the tiny mouse inside in a shoe box, I told him it would be too much work and that he should put the mouse back, near where he found him. “Maybe the mama will come find him somehow,” I said. “But we don’t need another animal.”

My son didn’t say much, but that night, after I went to bed, I heard the blender going. I got up, went downstairs to the kitchen, and there was my son “making a mouse formula” from the recipe he found on the internet. The shoe box was sitting on the kitchen counter, and I hung my head because I knew what we were doing.

I looked in the box, and I could see why my son insisted on rescuing this little baby. It was so tiny and barely moving. I thought it was so likely to die but understood the need to try. We started researching and estimated the mouse to be about 9 days old. I told my son he would have to get up every two to three hours to feed the mouse, and he agreed. I was so worried about this because my son was so sick, but my son did it. The next morning, the mouse, with eyes still closed, was moving around better and liked to be held already.

After that first night, I agreed to take turns on the shifts to allow my son to get some rest. It was during those shifts that I fell deeply in love with this little mouse. We fed him goat milk and homemade formula from a paint brush. When that little baby (my son named him Jeremiah) opened his eyes and looked at me, I was in so much trouble.

But this is not that love story.

We learned from our research that a lone deer mouse will be too lonely. The. best way to give Jeremiah a companion was to go to the pet store and buy a fancy mouse, in particular a female because they would get along better. And because a deer mouse and a fancy mouse are different species, they cannot breed. I checked this about a thousand times and from like a hundred sources. I did not want mouse babies.

My son and I went to the store and bought Cynthia. She was a tiny little thing and so beautiful. But when we brought her home, Jeremiah was terrified. He ran up my arm, shaking, and hid in my sleeve. I drug him out and put him in the cage with Cynthia, only I put a clear plastic divider between them, so they could meet without having to actually touch each other.

The next morning, I found them sleeping side by side against the divider, and I figured I could take out the divider. I did, and Jeremiah and Cynthia fell in love. Jeremiah will usually share his food with her, which is saying something because he’s a foodie and a hoarder, and Cynthia gives Jeremiah baths. They cuddle up all the time and are the best of friends.

I love to study their differences. Cynthia has small eyes, a small head, and is all body. Meant for pet food, I am thankful to know her and thankful we saved her from a different fate. She is the sweetest creature and lets me pet her more than Jeremiah does now. She doesn’t store food like Jeremiah. She lives in the moment.

Jeremiah is all eyes and ears and head. His proportions are so different from hers. He’s sweet but wilder and loves to play and play and play. He also loves to hoard. He eats a little and stores a lot from his dinner every night. I always find a giant stash of nuts when I clean the cage, which makes Jeremiah panic. He hates when I take his stash, but I always give him more to start a new one.

Sadly, Cynthia’s life will be much shorter than Jeremiah’s. While a deer mouse in captivity can live 4 to 5 years, sometimes even more, a fancy mouse lives 12-18 months in most cases. Cynthia is 16 months old. A couple of weeks ago, I thought we were going to lose her.

She has been having health problems off and on all summer, but two weeks ago, I thought we had surely come to the end. Her abdomen was bloated terribly, like really terribly, and she was struggling with her breathing. I could see from the look in her eyes that she was really struggling. I read that the issue was likely tumors in her abdomen and that this happens near the end of a fancy mouse’s life. There is nothing that can be done. I also spent time researching the most humane way to kill a suffering mouse. Interestingly, it is what I thought it would be and what we do for other animals on the farm, but oh my gosh, I couldn’t do it.

On the second day of her being in terrible shape, I told Ron that I wanted to give her one more day, just in case. During her days of suffering, Jeremiah never left her side. Jeremiah was definitely the reason I said to give her one more day. He is usually wild and bouncy and plays in the wheels in their cage, bouncing from one to the other, but he was very serious about Cynthia. I checked on her about ten times a day, and every time I was in there, he was with her looking so very worried. He had his little head on her head and seemed so distraught.

I was so very worried.

I told my son we would likely have to get Jeremiah a new girl soon. My son said his goodbyes to Cynthia the night before the third day. I did as well.

And, the next morning, as soon as Ron had time after morning chores, he found a little box to put her in, and we went to the cage to get her to end her pain. It was a devastating feeling.

But, there, walking slowly but looking about half the size she looked the night before, Cynthia looked at us with bright eyes for the first time in days. She was walking, was not nearly so bloated and swollen, and you could see in her eyes that she felt better. Ron and I were both shocked! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

“I think that was Jeremiah’s magic,” I said. “I think he willed her to get better.”

Then, I thought about the word “magic” and said, “Love is really the magic, isn’t it?

People don’t believe in magic, but I have seen miracles in the name of love. Maybe that’s the magic we have as creatures. I have to remember that.

Today, Cynthia is doing very well. She loves popcorn, so she had her popcorn last night. Jeremiah is back to his usual self. He’s busy stashing food and bouncing around.

I have no idea how much longer Cynthia has. I assume it can’t be more than a month or two, but I am so moved by the love story between those two mice from two different worlds that I just had to share. Love is so powerful, more powerful than the dark. We have to remember that.

Sending love to you all!

Luna has become a mama’s girl.

~ Crystal Sands ~ 2 Comments

After a solid month of Luna being grumpy at me because she had to stay in the house to heal, she gradually started to turn in a more positive direction toward me. Now, she is a complete mama’s girl, and I am honestly going to have a very hard time when we have to try to move her back outside with the flock in the spring.

Luna and I have learned to communicate well with each other. She lets me know when she has to go potty, and she also lets me know when she’s hungry for peas, is bored, or just wants to be pet. She has also taught me that she loves to fly.

Indian Runner ducks cannot really fly. I have seen them get a little lift-off when they are running and flapping their wings, but they never really fly-fly. Apparently, Luna wants to fly though because we do this thing when I hold her up and she flaps her wings like she’s flying. I carry her throughout the house, and I can tell by the movement in her little muscles which way she wants to go. She stretches her little legs behind her and just goes all in with her flying. It seems to make her very happy, which makes me really happy too. I did have to learn how to keep my hands in a certain spot because those wings flap hard–and they can hurt. I think we have it down to a science though, and my favorite part is when I am lowering her to come in for a landing and she puts her little legs down like she’s lowering the landing gear.

She talks to me quite a bit now and loves me the most. This is a surprise to me after she was so grumpy at me for so long. It’s like she realized I am here to help, and I guess I must be doing a pretty good job. We spend time together almost every evening when I grade papers. I sit and binge watch something on television, and Luna watches it with me. She watched all of Ted Lasso with me, and we just finished Lessons in Chemistry.

She still gets grumpy sometimes though, and we have found that the best babysitter is Bach, specifically the Bach cello suites.

Over the six years we have had these ducks, we have had four ducks in the house for an extended period of time. With each duck, we found that they really loved cello music. Anna Sophia loved it so much that she would come running from different parts of the house to listen to it. For Anna Maria, it was the only thing that could calm her down.

I did tests with each duck to see what they like. I tried different types of classical music. It turns out ducks hate the horns. I also tried country music, rock music, folk music, etc. Bach always wins. Bach and the cello.

In this little video, I captured Luna in her most totally relaxed state listening to the Bach cello suites this week. It’s the best.

A Little Bit About Tuesday

~ Crystal Sands ~ 1 Comment

This afternoon, I went outside to get my son who was walking our long driveway. He gets antsy during homeschool, so he takes mini walks between each subject. When I went to find him, I saw little Tuesday busying herself in the driveway while the rest of the flock looked out the screen door of the coop in envy. Everybody loves driveway time, but when I give the chickens too much driveway time, Ron complains about the driveway getting overwhelmed by chicken poop and asks me why he spent months building a 3/4 acre fence by hand. I just make a face that says, “well, we all appreciate it, but if you could fence the driveway, that would be great.”

So everyone gets just about two hours of driveway time per day. It’s pretty good, I think.

Of course, we have our exceptions to the rules. Ruby, Kate, and Juliet can have driveway time whenever they want because they have a hard time being with the flock. This also annoys Ron sometimes because it is a pain to get them somewhere safe if we have to leave in the evening, but we do the extra work because we understand Ruby, Kate, and Juliet. They need their space. Truly, on the really cold days, I cannot let them out of the coop until it reaches about 15 degrees, and it just breaks Juliet’s heart. She gets panicky and upset. Sometimes, I just want to bring that chicken into the house, but she might not like it here either. I think she just needs alone time, and Ruby and Kate are not far behind her in this department.

It makes sense then that Tuesday was out in the driveway alone this afternoon because she is Ruby’s baby. I don’t know how she is getting out, but this is the third or fourth time. She might be flying. Ruby can fly over the gate to get out, but she seems to prefer not to. It’s like she wants me to wait on her–and I do.

When I saw Tuesday, I started talking to her. My son overheard and said, in his teenager voice (he has different voices, and “teenager” is one of them), “That chicken is named Tuesday?”

“She is,” I said. “And another black chicken who was her hatch-mate is Wednesday.”

“Where’s Monday?” he asked.

“Nobody wants to be named Monday,” I answered.

He thought his seemed right.

Tuesday is starting to be more and more like her mama. I’m seeing her pull away from her hatch mates and go it alone more. Interestingly, Wednesday does this too. In fact, a few weeks ago, Wednesday spent the night outside by herself–all night long! Ron had put up the chickens that night, so I was a little grumpy. Thankfully, she was okay.

Anyway, Tuesday is very curious about me. She has that way of looking at me that is different–that I see in the super smart chickens. Thankfully, she seems to be more chill than her mama, so I am hopeful. She reminds me a little bit of Poe. That also makes me hopeful.

Last week, when Ron was complaining about the chickens who insist on hanging out in the driveway all day, I reminded him how he would feel if he were forced to spend his whole life with people, and he had to admit it was only right to let them have their way.

“Well, don’t breed any more chickens from that line,” he said.

“Yeah, I really shouldn’t,” I said, but then I added, “But I already did though. Tuesday is Ruby’s baby.”

He gave me a look of despair. I knew he must have wondered why I would do that when Ruby is so darn difficult. The truth is just that I don’t know for sure, but I think it’s because Ruby is also so darn charming. I think Tuesday might be extra charming.

I can’t wait to find out–to see who she becomes. Oh, and I can’t wait to find out what color of egg she lays! Ruby lays an lovely olive egg.

Where are my bird friends?

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

We have spent the summer with the most magnificent array of birds all around our property. We had three sets of Eastern Phoebes, two sets of Goldfinches, about a million sets of Chipping Sparrows, a set of Cardinals (and there was some major excitement when I first saw their babies) and the usual Chickadees, Jays, Nuthatches, hummingbirds and more. I know some of these birds have flown south, but all of our birds have disappeared since the hurricane blew through.

I took the feeders down the night before the hurricane. They were down that whole day, but I put them back up by about noon the day after. That was on Sunday. We still have no birds. I take that back. The hummingbirds are here, though they are different hummingbirds, not the two sets who spent their summer raising babies with us. It’s just people passing through.

But where are my Chickadees and Nuthatches? I haven’t even seen the Jays–or the squirrels. I’m so worried. Has anyone ever experienced this? Have others living in Maine had their birds return after the hurricane? I’m a bit worried.

Those birds are my joy!

The saddest song.

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

On Thursday, Ruby officially let go of her babies. I normally write that the mama’s “ditch” their babies, but, for real, this was more of a gradual letting go–and Ruby is my hero for it. The babies made it to seven weeks, which is a good amount of time for the baby to develop. The kiddos, as I refer to them, still have no names. I am sure one is a boy, and the other one is an unusually challenging case. I’ve seen this go either way. But the kiddos are pretty big. They have each other, know the lay of the land around here, and are pretty self sufficient. I’m trying to win them over to me with treats, but they are hesitant, of course.

Ruby raised them so well, but it’s still hard to watch how hard it can be on babies when the mamas let them go. Ruby has been very gentle in the grand scheme of things, but she has still been mean to them. It just breaks their little hearts. Thank goodness they have each other.

Tonight as the worst though.

Right now, we have two giant dog crates in the driveway area, separate from the rest of the flock. It’s risky to have them in the driveway, but they stay very close to home. If we have a chicken who roams too much, they don’t get driveway time unless I am around to watch. Lucy is out because she is in hospice and doesn’t need a rooster on her back. I am very ashamed of Rooster for this, but I am trying not to hold a grudge because he’s getting old and not really who he used to be, sadly. But he’s still Rooster.

So we just moved Lucy out with Ruby and her babies, but Lucy has her own dog crate. I call it an apartment. Our teenager, Ronan, referred to them as “prisons” to me. “They’re not prisons,” I said. “I only lock Lucy in the crate at night for her safety. Plus, she’s asleep, so I’m sure it doesn’t feel like prison.” My son looked at me like,” calm down, lady.”

The first night Ruby kicked her babies out of their apartment and I went to close everyone up in the garage for the night, the babies were outside of the crate crying and crying. Ruby was sitting in there like, “I don’t know who these children are.”

I told Ruby she could at least give the apartment to the babies, and I pulled her out of the crate. I almost put her in the coop with everyone else, and then I decided to let her live in the garage until winter like she did last year. She hates it with the flock, even though she has moved up a little in the pecking order.

The second night, Ruby decided to kick Lucy out of her apartment! I pulled Ruby out of the dog crate, put her in the garage on a shelf/roost, and then had to go find Lucy. Poor old Lucy was hiding in the corner of the fence. I picked her up and put her to bed.

I didn’t know what to expect tonight when I went outside to put up the dog crates and tuck everyone in. I found Lucy in her crate and both Ruby and her babies in their crate! This surprised me, but Ruby was in the back allowing her babies to sleep in the front. But they couldn’t touch her, I guess, because everyone kept their distance.

Then, I saw the sweetest thing ever. The little black rooster is very vocal, just like his mama (Hector) was when she was a baby. He scooted right up to Ruby and put his little head down underneath Ruby’s head and sang the sweetest, sweetest little song you ever heard. I have tears writing this down because it was so beautiful.

I also have tears because of what happened next. Ruby, who always used to sing back to this little boy, pecked him on the head.

He cried and ran out of the create–brokenhearted.

Their Favorite Things (or On the Preferences of Chickens)

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment
This is Saint Seans, lover of raspberries and patient chicken.

It’s raspberry season, and one of the best parts of having our own raspberry bushes is sharing some of the bounty with the chickens. We have two chickens, Saint Saens and Schumann, who love raspberries to the moon and back. They get so excited when I start picking raspberries, and they stay with me the whole time I am picking, waiting patiently–just in case. Everyone else gets bored and goes away after awhile, but Saint Saens and Schumann never give up.

I know they love raspberries, and they know I know they love raspberries. And, because they know this and know me, they know they are going to get some raspberries no matter what. In addition to the raspberries I sneak them before the rest of the flock figures out I’m handing out treats, I make sure they always get one of my good berries on my way back into the house. Those two plus Mary Jane get a perfect raspberry every time I wrap up my picking. Mary Jane doesn’t seem to like them all that much, but she eats them. Lucy doesn’t like them at all and won’t eat them. Broody Hen didn’t like raspberries either.

There has been quite a bit published on the individual personalities of chickens in the last few years. I think some people still doubt the intelligence of chickens (and I have a hypothesis about why, which I will explore in a later post), but the research is growing–and the mainstream writing is following that research. I think, in the coming decades, our culture will finally have an understanding of the commonalities we share with other animals, though there are some cultures who have understood that we are all kin to each other for a long time.

Just yesterday, I stood in line in Belfast to meet and have some books signed by naturalist author, Sy Montgomery. She has written some bestsellers about animals and animal intelligence, and she has written some about chickens. In her book, Birdology, she emphasizes the individuality of chickens.

This is absolutely true. If you follow my blog at all, you know this, but I haven’t written much before about the personal preferences amongst the birds in our flock. It’s all quite adorable, and I have found it makes me happy to make my chickens happy. If I figure out what someone likes, I do my best to accommodate them. I love to see them so happy. Plus, happy chickens lay tastier eggs.

So in addition to the Saint Saens and Schumann raspberry thing, here are some preferences I am aware of: Bianca loves greens, like more than anyone. She waits at the fence the whole time I pick greens for salads in the evenings and will run to the gate when I am on my way out to make sure she gets one last good bit of lettuce.

Lucy loves strawberries and blueberries, like loves. But she passes on the raspberries. She will devour a strawberry like a velociraptor but will just glare at me when I hold a raspberry in front of her.

Betty Jr. loves to play in fresh straw more than any other chicken I have ever seen–and they all love it to a certain extent. She is always first in line though to get back in the coop after I clean it. She literally waits at the door while I work. The other day, I was out in the coop and just cleaning nest boxes. Betty Jr. was following me around, all hopeful like, but I wasn’t putting fresh straw down for her–at least I had not planned to. But when I went to get the straw for the nest boxes, I grabbed extra for Betty Jr., just so she could play in some. She was so happy. She just scratched around in it with such a happy look in her eyes. It makes me want to give her a hug, but that beautiful chicken won’t stand for it.

Rooster’s favorite is mac and cheese. He used to always give all of his treats to the hens. He still mostly does this. Dvorak does as well because he’s a good boy too. But the first time Rooster had mac and cheese, I saw him take a bite and really like it. This look came upon his face, and I knew he was never sharing his mac and cheese with those hens.

Poe’s favorites were grapes and grubs. Only about half of our flock will eat grubs. Bianca likes them, which makes Ron really like Bianca. Schumann does as well, as does Mary Jane, but Joan and Faure won’t touch a grub. I really don’t blame them.

There is certainly more, but you get the idea. Chickens are individuals just like us. Their emotions are simpler for sure with a range amongst the flock as well, but there are many personality similarities between humans and chickens–right down to having preferences for things you just really like.

Oh, and just a quick Ruby update: She is still with her two babies. One is definitely a boy. I still can’t tell on the other. They are both babies from Dvorak, and his brother, Rostropovich, was a mystery to me until I heard the crow. Please don’t let there be a crow this time. Otherwise, we will have not a single new hen to add to our flock this year.

Trying to be better than nothing.

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 335 of 365

Anna Maria is a little better today. She’s a strong girl and hanging in there well. It’s going to be a couple of weeks that she’s in the house, I think, but I see some progress already. Plus, tonight, I decided we had better get antibiotics on her poor eye, so Ron held her and I got the medicine on her.

Mainly, today, I tried to get her used to me. While she was in the bathtub soaking, I sat on the bathroom floor next to the tub and did our taxes. Then, I spent more time with her this evening while I was working. My hope is that she will just get used to my presence. Ron spent some time with her tonight, and I think he agrees that Anna Maria will never again be able to return to the flock.

It was very interesting spending so much time with her. When I originally rehabilitated her, she would fight me when I had to pick her up to get her out of the tub and into her nest. My arms were covered in bruised from duck bites. Ducks pinch really hard, it turns out. But no biting or fighting this time. She’s just pretty worried about me.

So, today, I just leaned against the tub and told her she was going to have to get used to me, that we were going to have to learn to be friends. I told her I would try my best to be better than nothing. Maybe she understood this because the coolest thing happened.

After I told her this, I went to work on my laptop, and a little later, I thought I felt her looking at me. She was. I turned around just in time to see her “duck” behind the shower curtain. She was like, “you saw nothing.”

But she did it again. And again! It’s like she was playing hide and seek. It was so cute. Of course, when I decided to turn all the away around and look at her, she turned around and pretended like I didn’t exist while also watching me with her one good, I mean semi-good, eye to make sure I wasn’t going to grab her. Hopefully, tomorrow will be easier for her, and hopefully, Ron and I can figure out a long-term plan for her.

Bella

~ Crystal Sands ~ Leave a comment

Day 274 of 365

This is Betty in front and Bella in the back sitting on the table this morning. This is their glass of water. We have a deal that if we provide them with a water glass filled with fresh water, they will stay out of our water. It usually works. Betty is a charmer. She loves everybody. Bella is particular, and I can’t figure her out. All I can tell about her so far is that she has big mood swings and always looks surprised. And, recently, she’s been considering gracing me with time in my lap. We’ll see!

I was going to write a post about our hen, Schumann, and bumble foot, but I can’t write tonight. Bella, the kitty who never wants to sit in laps, is considering sitting in my lap. I must behave appropriately, else I will be rejected by Bella.

Betty is always in my lap, but Bella hasn’t decided about it. Tonight, she is close, and writing with a laptop in my lap is not conducive to winning over this beautiful kitty.

I will write about Schumann tomorrow. It’s a worthy story. Tonight, however, I must play my cards right with Bella.

Duck Game

~ Crystal Sands ~ 4 Comments

Day 22 of 365

We have seven Indian Runner ducks (six females and one male), and they are magnificent. We have had them for over four years now, and every night for four years, we all play a game. It starts with peas and ends with a tail shake and many circles around the duck house. I call it our “duck game.”

Before I explain the duck game, I feel I should explain Runner ducks for those who do not know. Runner ducks are suspicious of EVERYTHING. And I do mean everything. We raised these babies by hand, but if I am wearing the hood on my robe on cold days, I cannot be identified and must be feared. They will run, quack, and just in general make me feel like a horrible person who is surely an eater of ducks.

Our male duck, Antonio, falls in love with me every spring and summer. When he hears my voice, he comes running from across the field to see me. He gets pets and snuggles. He stands on my shoes and tells me he loves me. He does this every single time–until I try to video him. Then, there’s the phone–a foreign object that cannot be trusted and may, in fact, eat ducks.

And, of course, there’s the peas. Every single night of my life, I warm up one pound of frozen peas in a medium-sized white bowl, add warm water, and deliver said peas to said ducks before they go to bed. Every single night. Rain, sleet, or snow. When the pandemic first started and everyone else was scrambling to buy toilet paper, yeast, and flour, I was trying to secure frozen peas.

One time, I accidentally ran out of peas. I tried frozen blueberries. Ducks love blueberries. But, no, before bed, it’s only frozen peas. One night, I tried fresh peas from our garden. Hard no. Only frozen peas. Early on, I used a different bowl one night. Hard no. All bowls other than the medium-sized white bowl are suspect. One cold winter night, when there had been a snowstorm and the ducks had been hunkered down all day without eating much, I tried to bring them TWO medium-sized white bowls full of peas. Hard pass. Two was scary.

So, yeah, routine is important.

After the peas are devoured, it’s time for the game to begin. We start slowly. We go around the duck house one time, two times, three times. Usually, after round one or two, our one chocolate Runner duck we rehabilitated heads into the duck house. She doesn’t trust me. It’s been three years, but you never know when I might try again to give her medicine. You just never know. (I will have to write more about her soon. Her name is Anna Maria, and she’s a little miracle to me.)

The rest keep going. We go around and around the duck house a few more times. As we go, a few more ducks will peel off and head into the duck house. Sometimes, Boudica helps me, and we can get the ducks into the house in just maybe six or so rounds. There have been times, however, on my own, that I have made over twenty circles around the duck house. I remember feeling dizzy from the circles as I leaned into the duck house to say goodnight and close the door.

Antonio tries to help every single night. His raspy little quack tries to boss the girls around, but there are two girls who like to play way too much. No matter how much he tries to help (and he tries everything, from standing at the duck house door rasping at them to coming back out of the house himself and trying to herd them in on the next round), two girls refuse to be bossed around by him.

They are the last ones up every single night, and one, our smallest duck who is full of personality, is almost always the very last. The first time I realized this might be fun for her was one night, after everyone else had gone into the house, she stood at the door. “I might go in,” she seemed to say. “But I might not.”

I froze. She froze. I was hopeful. Maybe she was going in. But then, she wagged her little tail and took off again around the duck house. “This duck is messing with me,” I said to myself.

Now, after so many nights of this same scene with her, I realize it is absolutely a game. I also realized the tail wag was a good thing for sure when I saw my husband feeding grubs and worms to the ducks as he was breaking new ground for more garden area. The ducks would come when he called for them, grab a snack, and then wag their tails with delight. It’s just about the cutest thing I have ever seen.

Most nights, I love to play the duck game with this little duck. Every now and then, in the rain, I am begging her to please just go to bed. Of course, she loves the rain. Just loves it.

I have thought that I might not know what to do with myself without the duck game. It has become this fantastic part of my life, my routine, and I feel pretty fortunate to know these ducks. I love that I do this every night of my life. In fact, it’s bedtime for ducks. I need to go play duck game.

***

I have a quick Ruby and Kate update. Kate is still broody and doing well. I find out tomorrow if there will be babies for me to pick up for her. And Ms. Ruby is a VERY good mama! I can see there are six babies for sure. There might be seven, as there were seven eggs under her, but all I can see right now is a sea of little legs when I lift Ruby. I hate to bother them too much, but I figure we will know for sure very soon how many babies she has hatched. In a few days, she will be taking her babies on field trips. I love the field trips!