I appear to have my own personal chicken. Not that I want a personal chicken. Nor that I think of chickens as pets, I don't. That doesn't mean I don't like chickens, I love chickens. Given our lifestyle, it just doesn't make sense to become emotionally attached to our animals.
This chicken however, seems to have attached herself to me. In fact about the middle of the afternoon, she usually comes looking for me. I'll look outside the kitchen window and there she is, at the bottom of the porch steps, looking up at the house and waiting for me to come out.
If I'm already outside, she'll come running right up to me. She'll stand at my feet, cocking her head to look at me with one eye. Then she'll cluck as if to say, "I found you." After that she'll follow me around. In the event that she doesn't find me, she busies herself by scratching up anything I've mulched.
Technically, she's not even supposed to be on this side of the fence. She's a fence hopper though and has defied every wing clip I've given her: one sided, both sided, even, uneven, lopsided, you name it. She still makes it over the fence.
The other day she saw me raking leaves, hopped the fence, and came running. She happily scratched down all the leaves I was trying to rake up. I don't deny that this is a tad annoying, but as friendly as she is, she won't let me catch her.
This hen is one of my original 19 hand raised baby chicks. She is an Ameracauna, and was my only green egg layer. I say was, because she hasn't laid an egg in forever. She doesn't even have a name because we don't name our chickens. But I don't reckon that matters one iota to her. Nor to me for that matter.
Personal Chicken © January 2013