On Watching Chickens

By Pat Harms

When considering possible retirement activities, chicken-watching as a source of interest and entertainment never occurred to me. But unlikely hobbies may develop with time and opportunity and now, blessed with both, I find I love to watch chickens. While bird watching is a perfectly respectable hobby, few share my enthusiasm for observing poultry. My family finds it inexplicable. They are all bird-watchers in the traditional sense, and are avid and eagle-eyed, if you’ll pardon the expression. I am not good at it. They cry to me, “See the eye ring!” while I am still trying to locate the bird. Unlike wild birds, I can easily see chickens. They are large, slow moving and beautiful. We have two roosters and thirteen hens of various breeds and colors; black, speckled, white, buff and red. As chicks, they were identified only as brown egg layers. As they grew, discovering their varieties added interest. When a few turned out to be roosters, it was almost too interesting. Rooster competition is fierce. Our two resident roosters have now reached an understanding. One watches over six hens, the other seven. Another superfluous rooster, a large muscular chicken mistakenly christened Big Mama, was guilty of spouse abuse and had to be removed. Observations on the life style of chickens would make an excellent sociological study. They have a hierarchy and form cliques where some unfortunates are not welcome. Certain territories are favored. I see little of Spot, our unimaginatively named gamecock. He and his girls prefer the garden behind the barn, out of my view. Rocket, the alpha rooster, has a flock that is more sociable. Personalities are very different. Chickens can be assertive or shy, curious or blasé, nervous or literally unflappable. Intelligence levels also vary. Dumb things chickens do are quite as entertaining as most TV shows, and somewhat comparable, I feel. Of course, the chickens I am privileged to watch are privileged chickens. Not for them the confinement of a pen, or worse, assembly line cages. They are free-range. Free-range chickens lead enviable but hazardous lives. They are prey to passing cars, hawks, dogs, and coyotes, all of which have occasionally depleted the ranks of our flock. But oh, in the meantime, what pleasant lives they lead! They roam the small acreage, searching for seeds, insects, or any edibles. They find it necessary to investigate all open doors. If the garage door is left ajar, we may find an egg up on the shelf with the paint cans. Under the canoe is a prime egg laying location and I was delighted when a hen decided a spot below the steps, which I could see from my kitchen window, was the ideal place. We gazed at each other with mutual interest. Sometimes they perch on a windowsill and peer inside, and I’m sure would happily join us if they could. However, my interest in chickens does not extend that far. Chicken watching, I recommend it.