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Noisy Chicken and Stupid Chicken were adopted together out onto a farm where they can run around with other chickens and sheep and get lost , lay eggs on shelves and leap gloriously through the field. How much do you love lesbian bleeding heart farmer types? A lot.
Pictured is Stupid Chicken chatting it up w. a Ewe. Noisy Chicken having a little snack.
So, this is Noisy. This is not a new name given to her after she was discovered to be noisy, it is the name she came with. Perhaps that should have been a hint to me into her personality. I don’t know…
Anyway…Noisy, like Stupid Chicken, likes to be held, stroked and is quiet and calm when this occurs. Another house chicken? No. I, nearly a life long vegetarian, am ready to bid her and have considered ringing her neck myself. But once I catch her, my resolve fails me and I am sitting there, looking at squirrels, stroking a chicken neck.
That is her full name, and she prefers that you use both names. Like how I prefer Sally-Anne to Sally. She has another name, but it has long been forgotten, due to the singularly overwhelming characteristic that this chicken is a dolt. She is also noisy, but so much less noisy than Noisy Chicken, whom you shall meet at a later date, that Stupid Chicken seemed to be the name for her.
I have found out something that makes her almost worth not ringing the neck of. While she does get lost in a corner in the garden, or at the watering pan, or in the open coop, or under the table, or under the Mercedes, she is quiet and seemingly less confused if sitting on my lap being gently stroked. Just what I needed, a house chicken. .
Elly: Okay (meaning she is ready to go)
Me to myself: Oh, you’re still here! (Talking to Turkey Lurkey on my bed)
Me to Elly.: She hasn’t finished laying her egg.
Elly: Pick her up and put her outside.
Me: But she’ll be mad.
Elly: You’re the person.
Me: Oh… right.
I came home at dusk this evening and TL ran to meet me at the gate. I mean ran. I opened the car door and she was making a brand new sound. I recognize her whines, her clucks and her gurgles. This sound was that of distress. I grabbed the other chicken from the car, (another story, maybe later) and headed for the front door. I let in Thomas, TL and then Other Chicken and I walked in. TL ran, not for her sink, but to my bed. Jumped up, still making that distressed sound, and sat there for all of 5 or so minutes and relieved herself of that egg that she normally lays sometime around 11 am. Poor thing. She then jumped off the bed, went to Thomas’s water dish and re-hydrated, as is her wont. She was there several minutes before she quieted down and waddled and hopped onto her sink for the night. Whew.