Photo by Audrey Pavia
Mr. Molly , hanging out by the service department door .
I of late wrote about how mychickensconstantly stick with me around when I ’m in the backyard . Shameless beggars , they have no scruple about sprinkle around behind me as I do my chores . Lately , they have develop another interesting quirk . They have become ghost with the garage .
I have a come off garage in the middle of my backyard , and I use it to store my hay and chicken feed . When I scoop out shot and clams for my mess each morning , a few piece splatter out on the floor . One day , when they were following me around , they come across this and now live to get into the garage so they can scavenge on the spilled provender .
I normally keep the side threshold of the service department closed to keep the hound and wildlife out . But when I ’m doing chores — which requires going in and out of there — I leave the room access open . The volaille are beyond excited about this , and quickly jog into the garage to look for spilled feed the moment I start the door .
I stack my hay near where I keep the provender , so it was inevitable that the hens would startle exploring the bales out too . So on any given day , after leaving the garage door open for 20 minutes or so , I ’ll walk in and discover chickens light atop piles of baled hay , enjoying the opinion from up high .
What ’s funny about all this is how the hen respond when I come up into the garage . I ’m not sure if it ’s being in such near quarters with me , or that they somehow experience I really do n’t want them in there , but they get a panicky look in their eyes and rapidly seek to reckon out how to get to the exit without having to kick the bucket me . I pay no attention to them , yet they work like this was all part of my master plan : to lure them into the garage , corner them and put an remnant to them once and for all .
Inevitably , whenever I take the air into the service department after the door has been open for a few minutes , I pick up squawking and fluttering . After frantically running in circles , they each make a beeline out the door , speed to safety — only to rove back in a few seconds later , already having forgotten I was inside .
What I ’ve learned from this is that volaille are a lot like cats . Give them the effect they are n’t allowed somewhere , and that is where they will want to go . In the character of my cat , food for thought is n’t the motivator — just a forbidden room is appealing enough . You do n’t require anything of particular time value or stake in it to make them crop intemperately to get inside . Chickens , on the other hand , necessitate a reason , and food is usually it .
I have to accommodate that my flock ’s fascination with the service department is irritating and mirthful at the same time . It ’s annoying because they track down , screeching when I get too close to them , and amusing because , well … they break away , screeching when I get too closelipped to them . Let ’s face it : There is something tragically risible about a hysterical crybaby .
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