The planet is our home; we need to be more responsible. Here's what I do.
Covered in feathers and fluff. Generators of lots of strange sayings.
They’re hen pecked.
Our chief hen does a certain amount of that. She’s now boss to four other girls and she decided what they can do and when. If something tasty arrives in the coop even if there’s five separate pieces no one else eats before she allows.
There’s a pecking order.
She’s the boss. There’s two new chicks so they’re the bottom of the heap at the moment.
They’re cooped up.
Thankfully there’s been a break in the rain now. After three days of solid rain pouring. The plants might like it; the hens don’t.
They’re bird brained.
When we put a steel bin in the backyard this is what happened.
<a href="http://“>squeaky vs squeaky the big fight!
But in this case Squeaky was no chicken.
(Poor Squeaky, courageous to the last, she hid her illness from the other hens and us and died last year. So we got the Bronte sisters!)
I’m thinking about their characteristics because of their instincts. We gave them a fertilised egg a couple of weeks ago.
Now the three senior hens are intent on sitting on it. It’s due to hatch in a couple more days.
Hens know what to do. They can scratch for food and preen their feathers. They all dust bathe in the same way within a few days of emerging from the egg.
When they turn over ground it’s ritualistic. I expect they’ll know how to be mother hens too!
a blog by a multilingual expat-since-birth, linguist, researcher, mum of three, living in the Netherlands and writing about bilingualism, multiculturalism, parenting abroad, international life...