This morning, as I was rushing around the coop, trying to let the chickens out in their run, feed them, and give them a treat before I left for work, one of the smaller ones slipped past me and got out into the garage. I wasn’t too concerned at first, hoping that she would hear the feed rattling around in the plastic scoop and just come right back in.
She didn’t.
I finished feeding the others, then I approached her but she started a combination run-fly thing and headed to the area of the garage with nooks and crannies…into which she could fit but I could not.
Let the stress begin! The closer I got to her, the closer she got to wedging herself into a small space. If chickens had thumbs, she would have been using it to thumb her beak at me. I backed off.
Happy that I had my cell phone in my pocket, I called the house phone and asked my son to help.
He walked into the garage a few minutes later where I was still standing, rooted to the spot, afraid to take my eyes off the little offender in case she hid somewhere while I wasn’t looking. I explained the situation to him, and as I did, he just walked over to her, scooped her up, and was stroking her back while I just stood there with my mouth open.
He had done in one second what I had been trying to do for five minutes, but every time I “invaded her personal (chicken-al?) space”, she moved further away from me.
I’ve decided not to take it personally. I think she let him catch her because she bonded with him a couple of days after her birth. He was the one who picked her up out of the cardboard box upon her arrival from the post office, offered her a drink, and started her on her life’s path while I stood nearby, taking pictures of it all, as moms so often do.
She has now rejoined the flock. But I’m gonna be keeping my eye on her….
Karen Creamer Author, Coach, Speaker 