We continue to have gender issues in the chook yard here at Fossil Cove. Ella is still crowing, though it isn’t clear just what s/he has to crow about, and no one is producing eggs now except Blossom, dearie. At least none that I can find. . . Every day is Easter here in The Slow Lane. I really don’t know what is going on. Or not going on, to be more precise.
Is it my imagination or does this little hen appear to be developing a rooster-like tail? Note the band on the left leg, which is supposed to indicate a hen…
As if that weren’t enough chook angst, there is also the issue of chook apartheid. I’m referring, of course, to Blossom, dearie. She doesn’t mingle. I’m sometimes a bit of a hermit myself, so I’m not criticizing her for just being a loner. But it really isn’t normal chicken behavior to be stand-offish like that. Chooks are sociable animals. Gossipy, even. So I don’t know for sure what’s up with Blossom, dearie. I would hate to think it is a black-white thing. Indeed, I don’t think I would tolerate it in my chook yard. But there is this lurking fear that something like that could be at work here. I mean, she is all white; everyone else is all black. My apologies to any Kiwis out there– I am not implying that your beloved All-Blacks (rugby team) are chickens.
On the other hand, it could be ageism. She is the only adult in the group. I get that. A lot of grown-ups don’t fancy hanging out with teenagers. And these particular teenagers haven’t even managed to work out yet whether they are Arthur or Martha, so how tedious must that be? Goodness knows what will happen when the three younger ones catch up with this older lot. That’s due to happen any tick of the clock, so I’m anticipating the confusion will continue for a while longer.
It’s a worry. MM