It's dark again at 5am; Summer Solstice has passed. It's still hottern hell all day, though.I was just out in the back yard, with my coffee and cigarettes (I'm not allowed to smoke in the house).
The duck, Lucky (who can see in the dark) had come out of the chicken pen. The chicks (who can't see in the dark) were huddled around Lucky, peeping nervously. They follow Lucky because she's the biggest (I'm assuming Lucky is a she; I have no evidence, either way).
Everybody hovered around outside the chicken pen. Finally, the eastern sky muddied with sunlight just enough I could distinguish the grape-and-slate, stepping-stone clouds from the atmosphere. Chickens began moving. They tend to move together in a flock. But each bird has a seperate agenda, so they seperate into a ever-larger organism.
They sat on the long strips of wood I'm using to frame a roof for the back yard compound, to TRY to keep cats in, so they won't go over into The Crank's yard next door.
Some preened. Others scratched the dirt. Some preened others. Most just sank down on their haunches and dozed.
I got them just after Easter, newly hatched. I have several breeds. I guess they're about three or four months old now.
I have five "mops." They're full-sized birds. Based primarily on their appearances, they're named Tina (Turner); Pearl (cuz it looks like he's wearing white earrings); Fink (cuz her mop is lopsided and she reminds me of a friend named Sue Fink, who had punked-out, moused hair, back in the 80s); Goldie, who's primarily black, with a cape/ruff of long, thin, golden feathers, striped in black; and Fido, who's white, whose mop is dotted with black feathers (guess I should have called him "Spot," but I just wanted a chicken named Fido).
Among the bantams: I have a white, Japanese silkie; her name is Suki. I have a long-tailed, brown speckled Asian chicken (can't remember the breed off hand) named Sake. I have two frizzles: white rooster named Harpo and black hen named Oprah.
Their voices are changing from shrill peeps to cracked but distinguishable clucks.
Several roosters try to crow. For the most part, it's pretty pathetic. Suddenly, somebody will stand erect, stick his head out, cock it at a right angle (it really looks like they've broken their necks, when they do this), and let out the most anemic, breathy, half-hearted wheeze.
They can hear the other roosters in the neighborhood, so they know WHAT to do; they just don't know yet HOW to do it.
But Goldie. Goldie truly cockadoodles. It's not loud, but it's perfectly sincopated, has the right tonal qualities, and carries a BIT of a distance. Fortunately, with the bamboo fencing and tarps that face The Crank's house, I don't think the crow carries over to her. Besides, with so many roosters crowing in the neighborhood, she'll never figure it out.
I'll try to photograph my flock for this blog. They're something to see.
The other roosters seem to have pretty much given up on crowing. Some did it earlier than Goldie, but none do it as well. He's the official homing device for my flock.
It's only when I realized chickens can't see at night that I began to understand the purpose of crowing. The rooster stands up high on something, so he's visible and his voice carries. He gathers the scattered flock from hunting and gathering as sthe sun sets and visibility decreases. Everybody follows his voice to evening perches or cover to sleep.
In early morning, he crows again so that any chickens who didn't gather with the flock the night before can find everybody else for the day.
It's not so much about declaring "this is MY territory," as it is with other birds' calls. It's more about keeping the family together in blindness.
The sun's up high enough for everything to be well lighted now. When I go back out, everybody will be foraging around the yard. Lucky will probably be negotiating whether or not she wants to bathe in the pond.
They're not babies anymore.
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