© 9/21/20018 Abby Black


Sometimes, I wonder.


My ten girls have learnt that the run door opening means "FREEDOM!", resulting in Joanie and Mary bolting for it. Seven times out of ten, someone slips through my legs. Twinnie always wants to see what I'm doing when I refresh the poop catcher board beneath their roost, and she always scratches around up their afterwards just to make sure that I haven't hidden anything in the shavings. Evie has learned (or taught me) that rubbing her beak on my leg is the signal for "Pick me up," and, occasionally, someone else will do the same. My mom is the spoiling grandma, and they always line up at the edge of the run when they see her coming.


Then there's the times when they'll eat my hair, my spaghetti, or straw, but won't even touch worms. We gave them slugs today, and all they did was stare and chirp; Mom related it to "They're in conference." (Fifteen minutes later, someone discovered they were edible, and it was a tag of feeding frenzy.) When they take a dust bath, there's always one who sits too close to another and gets kicked in the face. They run when a sinister breeze hits them, but only look up when they hear a hawk.


Is there such a thing as an IQ test for a chicken? Is this an expy of "Chicken Run," and Naomi is Ginger?