“Just remember to close the door to the chicken coop behind you so the chickens don’t get out when you do not want them to do so”, our friend Matthew instructs us as he gives Mom and I our tending-to-the-chickens-and-rooster tutorial.
I silently think to myself, “Come on, of course, I would close the door behind me. Don’t be silly, Matthew. I know I am a city gal but even I can figure that out.”
More sage and fortuitous words have never been spoken but I did not know this at the time.
Heavy sigh.
Our story starts out innocently enough. Mom and I (okay, actually Mom…I just wormed my way into an invitation) are invited to house-sit for our friends John and Matthew for one week in Connecticut. Their house is a quintessential New England white house with lovely dark green shutters. The gardens are a bloom with flowers from azaleas to zinnias…and grapevines and lilies and phlox. There are birdbaths with birds actually bathing. Gold finch, cardinals, woodpeckers and blue jays make daily repeated appearances at the bird feeder adjacent to the kitchen window. Hummingbirds flit around the trumpet flowers and butterflies and bumblebees are prolific. Their home and gardens look as if they were torn out of a magazine spread from Better Homes and Gardens. Who wouldn’t want to housesit?
The day of reckoning...the scene of the crime started off innocently enough. A gorgeous sunny day - not a cloud in the sky. Mother Nature showing off all her splendor. “Would you like eggs for breakfast…a mushroom omelette?,” Mom asks. Considering after Day 1 of house and chicken coop responsibilities, we have collected 3 eggs, that sounds great.
Collecting the eggs? Very easy. Things I learned that I did not know before? Hens can lay an egg about once every 25 hours.
Roosters can be selfish and nasty and surly.
Chickens, with brains the size of a pea, are not the brightest creatures on the planet and tend to be forgetful - more about that later.
“Sure, a mushroom omelette sounds good,” I say “Should we eat out on the back porch?”
“Oh, I forgot we can eat outside”, Mom says as we start carrying out our breakfast plates and coffee to the back porch table that overlooks those beautiful gardens.
“This is great, isn’t it?, Mom tells me between bites of multi-grain toast with lots of butter.
“Well, it certainly is a bit different from our view at home of fire escapes across the way strewn with old air conditioners, garbage bags and a tattered, weather-worn Puerto Rican flag’”.
“Living the dream, Mom. We are living the dream,” I laugh as we finish breakfast. There is something to be said for starting one’s day wondering whether one should dine on the back porch complete with garden views and bunny rabbit sightings or front porch where one can watch joggers run by or side porch where the hummingbird show often takes place.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully. We run a few errands and little do I know my life is going to be inextricably altered by nightfall.
“I’m going to let the chickens out now”, Mom tells me. Next thing I know 13 chickens and 1 rooster are running around the garden. They run, chase after each other under and around the bushes and create playful mayhem. As dusk starts to settle in, being helpful like I sometimes can be, the following fateful statement comes out of my mouth….
“Mom, I’m going to go to the chicken coop to bring the chickens in for the night”. Cue the ominous music, please.
“Okay,” she responds, “Just make sure you have all 14 of them”.
“Don’t worry - I’ll just have them line up and count off - military style”, I say as I make my way to the coop.
The chicken coop structure, if it was done up to accommodate people, would easily pass for a luxury studio apartment in N.Y.C. It is a beautiful wooden structure with a fan so the chickens are cool and comfortable during the warmer days of summer and has indoor lighting and a swimming pool (okay, I am kidding about the swimming pool), is surrounded by beautiful flowers..right now, multi-colored zinnias in abundance and a vegetable garden with tomatoes, lettuce, arugula, radicchio and more - It’s the crème de la crème of chicken coops - and all the food, treats and water a chicken could dream of ….that is, if chickens dream.
“Okay, everyone - time to come inside”. I say this out loud, truly believing that the chickens must understand. 10 of them come running in through the chicken entrance/exit to the coop and start to settle in…..Excellent progress, I think. This could not be easier. One of the hens, Gertrude, never even left the coop because she is in Mommy mode. Granted she is not sitting on an egg but two of the smaller hens let Gertrude sit on them for hours on end, letting her pretend that she is the Mom and that they, these fully-grown chickens are her children. I am not sure if this is unconditional love or extraordinary delusion but there you have it.
As the chickens enter through their chicken door, I enter through the, lets call it the people door at the front entrance. I leave the “people” door wide open as I count the chickens 10.…11.…12...13.…
Oh, &$#@, as oh yes, I have 14 chickens present and accounted for except that one has now entered through the “people door” and flown up to the top of the chicken coop out of the reach of...well, me.
More things I did not know about chickens that I know now?
They can fly - high enough to be out of reach. But surely if “she” flew up - and if it is true that what goes up must come down then this is just a temporary dilemma, right?
“She” has now found a happy place between the top of the wire mesh roofing of the chicken coop and the wooden rafters of the chicken coop enclosure. It is a no-man’s land where no mere human can reach. I find a broom and think, “I’ll just swat her back down to ground level” or she can climb onto the broom and I will lower her back down. “She” flew up there so just fly back down!
Another thing I now know about chickens that I did not know before…Chickens forget. It is fair to say that although “She” flew 20 minutes ago, she has now forgotten that she knows how to fly.
It becomes a game of tag as all “She” does is run from one side of the roof to the other and back again. I get up on a chair. Yes, I suppose I could just reach out and grab her but I am too chicken to do so. I now understand how that phrase came to be.
Now Mom comes out to the chicken coop. Without her saying a word, I can read her mind.... “Matthew did tell you to close the door behind you so this very thing wouldn’t happen”. Mom puts some food and water where “She” can get to it and calls it a night. “She” will come down when she’s hungry.
The next morning, “She” is frolicking on the floor of the structure…eating, drinking water, clucking with her friends but as soon as Mom comes close to the coop, up “She” flies to the rafters again. “She” has also been kind enough to leave evidence of her lofty night’s stay as “She” has laid an egg - literally - that is now sitting on the top of the chicken coop mesh roof. I am not sure any human being can reach the egg but there it is for all to see - mocking me in a way. I have been outfoxed by a chicken. I will never live this down.
Mom does try motivating her to move by poking a closed umbrella through the chicken wire. All that accomplishes is that we now owe John and Matthew a new umbrella.
It is fair to say that there is a certain tension in the air on what is now Day 2 of the Great Connecticut Chicken Caper. Here we are in this bucolic setting but oooohhh, things are not feeling very idyllic. Our friends have entrusted us with certain responsibilities. I have screwed up. I know it. Mom does not want John and Matthew to come home to a chicken that, although “She” has not flown the coop, she has certainly flown “up” it. I need to correct this…now.
Mom, exercising incredible restraint, finally says what I already know, “Well, if you hadn’t left the door open…..”
Up to now, I have tried asking any of our Connecticut friends to come over, grab the chicken and put her back in her proper place. I figure it must be in every rural/country person’s DNA to be able to grab a chicken. Really, I believe this to be true J . They all agree it would be easy but do not think it is that big a deal; after all, “She” is eating and drinking and safe. But I was taught that if one is a guest in someone’s home, one is meant to leave things as they were found or even better. To simply leave “She” there until Matthew and John return home is not an option. Mom taught me well.
What to do?
Dropping off Mom to visit with her brother around lunchtime, I tell her, “I am not coming back to pick you up until “She” is back in her proper place.” I can’t handle the chicken stress longer.
First stop? An animal hospital. Closed on Sundays.
Second stop? Applegate Farms. Closed.
Third stop? Come on, I am in rural Connecticut. There has to be a farm somewhere. I wish I could say I have a more definitive plan but I don’t. I just start driving. I do not have a plan other than divine intervention. I assume a big neon sign will magically appear that says, “Chicken-Catchers-R-Us”.
Driving down yet another country road, I see a barn. A beautiful, red painted, weather-worn, haystack-laden, bona fide barn. There are two men standing outside of the barn. Whether true or not, I have decided that they have to be chicken farmers and they love catching wayward chickens. Stopping my car, I bring the window down…
“Excuse me, I know this is going to sound strange but….” and I tell them my tale of chicken woe. How I am house-sitting, I have a Mom who is going through chicken coop stress because of me. I am a city person who is too chicken to touch a live chicken and can you help me?
Bill of Hickory Ledges Farm turns out to be my chicken coop guardian angel as he says, “Is that the house with the beautiful garden that was part of the Garden Conservancy tour a few weeks ago?”
“Oh, yes - one and the same”.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes”, he tells me. Those words are music to my ears. I drive back to the house. Bill is there mere moments afterwards.
“I didn’t know there’s a chicken coop here. Where is it?” he says as we walk toward the chicken condominium.
“Right here”.
“Nice coop,” he mentions as he enters the coop. “She” is playing on the floor. No time to fly back into the rafters this time. Bill grabs her and pops her back into her proper place in the coop in about 30 seconds flat.
“Oh wow. Thank you so much. Can I pay you? You have no idea ….”
“No, don’t worry about it. No problem. You’d be surprised how often stuff like this happens”.
I think to myself - maybe in these parts - but not in Brooklyn.
“Do you need some eggs, Bill?”, I say laughing because I certainly know where to find at least one as I point out the one that “She” laid on the roof.
“No, I have enough of those”, he laughs as he waves good bye.
I call my Mom and with joy announce, “Mom, the chicken has been re-cooped”.
“Thank goodness but how did you manage that?”
…and I tell her, “Well, I started driving down this country road and a farm found me and….”
I silently think to myself, “Come on, of course, I would close the door behind me. Don’t be silly, Matthew. I know I am a city gal but even I can figure that out.”
More sage and fortuitous words have never been spoken but I did not know this at the time.
Heavy sigh.
Our story starts out innocently enough. Mom and I (okay, actually Mom…I just wormed my way into an invitation) are invited to house-sit for our friends John and Matthew for one week in Connecticut. Their house is a quintessential New England white house with lovely dark green shutters. The gardens are a bloom with flowers from azaleas to zinnias…and grapevines and lilies and phlox. There are birdbaths with birds actually bathing. Gold finch, cardinals, woodpeckers and blue jays make daily repeated appearances at the bird feeder adjacent to the kitchen window. Hummingbirds flit around the trumpet flowers and butterflies and bumblebees are prolific. Their home and gardens look as if they were torn out of a magazine spread from Better Homes and Gardens. Who wouldn’t want to housesit?
The day of reckoning...the scene of the crime started off innocently enough. A gorgeous sunny day - not a cloud in the sky. Mother Nature showing off all her splendor. “Would you like eggs for breakfast…a mushroom omelette?,” Mom asks. Considering after Day 1 of house and chicken coop responsibilities, we have collected 3 eggs, that sounds great.
Collecting the eggs? Very easy. Things I learned that I did not know before? Hens can lay an egg about once every 25 hours.
Roosters can be selfish and nasty and surly.
Chickens, with brains the size of a pea, are not the brightest creatures on the planet and tend to be forgetful - more about that later.
“Sure, a mushroom omelette sounds good,” I say “Should we eat out on the back porch?”
“Oh, I forgot we can eat outside”, Mom says as we start carrying out our breakfast plates and coffee to the back porch table that overlooks those beautiful gardens.
“This is great, isn’t it?, Mom tells me between bites of multi-grain toast with lots of butter.
“Well, it certainly is a bit different from our view at home of fire escapes across the way strewn with old air conditioners, garbage bags and a tattered, weather-worn Puerto Rican flag’”.
“Living the dream, Mom. We are living the dream,” I laugh as we finish breakfast. There is something to be said for starting one’s day wondering whether one should dine on the back porch complete with garden views and bunny rabbit sightings or front porch where one can watch joggers run by or side porch where the hummingbird show often takes place.
The rest of the day passes uneventfully. We run a few errands and little do I know my life is going to be inextricably altered by nightfall.
“I’m going to let the chickens out now”, Mom tells me. Next thing I know 13 chickens and 1 rooster are running around the garden. They run, chase after each other under and around the bushes and create playful mayhem. As dusk starts to settle in, being helpful like I sometimes can be, the following fateful statement comes out of my mouth….
“Mom, I’m going to go to the chicken coop to bring the chickens in for the night”. Cue the ominous music, please.
“Okay,” she responds, “Just make sure you have all 14 of them”.
“Don’t worry - I’ll just have them line up and count off - military style”, I say as I make my way to the coop.
The chicken coop structure, if it was done up to accommodate people, would easily pass for a luxury studio apartment in N.Y.C. It is a beautiful wooden structure with a fan so the chickens are cool and comfortable during the warmer days of summer and has indoor lighting and a swimming pool (okay, I am kidding about the swimming pool), is surrounded by beautiful flowers..right now, multi-colored zinnias in abundance and a vegetable garden with tomatoes, lettuce, arugula, radicchio and more - It’s the crème de la crème of chicken coops - and all the food, treats and water a chicken could dream of ….that is, if chickens dream.
“Okay, everyone - time to come inside”. I say this out loud, truly believing that the chickens must understand. 10 of them come running in through the chicken entrance/exit to the coop and start to settle in…..Excellent progress, I think. This could not be easier. One of the hens, Gertrude, never even left the coop because she is in Mommy mode. Granted she is not sitting on an egg but two of the smaller hens let Gertrude sit on them for hours on end, letting her pretend that she is the Mom and that they, these fully-grown chickens are her children. I am not sure if this is unconditional love or extraordinary delusion but there you have it.
As the chickens enter through their chicken door, I enter through the, lets call it the people door at the front entrance. I leave the “people” door wide open as I count the chickens 10.…11.…12...13.…
Oh, &$#@, as oh yes, I have 14 chickens present and accounted for except that one has now entered through the “people door” and flown up to the top of the chicken coop out of the reach of...well, me.
More things I did not know about chickens that I know now?
They can fly - high enough to be out of reach. But surely if “she” flew up - and if it is true that what goes up must come down then this is just a temporary dilemma, right?
“She” has now found a happy place between the top of the wire mesh roofing of the chicken coop and the wooden rafters of the chicken coop enclosure. It is a no-man’s land where no mere human can reach. I find a broom and think, “I’ll just swat her back down to ground level” or she can climb onto the broom and I will lower her back down. “She” flew up there so just fly back down!
Another thing I now know about chickens that I did not know before…Chickens forget. It is fair to say that although “She” flew 20 minutes ago, she has now forgotten that she knows how to fly.
It becomes a game of tag as all “She” does is run from one side of the roof to the other and back again. I get up on a chair. Yes, I suppose I could just reach out and grab her but I am too chicken to do so. I now understand how that phrase came to be.
Now Mom comes out to the chicken coop. Without her saying a word, I can read her mind.... “Matthew did tell you to close the door behind you so this very thing wouldn’t happen”. Mom puts some food and water where “She” can get to it and calls it a night. “She” will come down when she’s hungry.
The next morning, “She” is frolicking on the floor of the structure…eating, drinking water, clucking with her friends but as soon as Mom comes close to the coop, up “She” flies to the rafters again. “She” has also been kind enough to leave evidence of her lofty night’s stay as “She” has laid an egg - literally - that is now sitting on the top of the chicken coop mesh roof. I am not sure any human being can reach the egg but there it is for all to see - mocking me in a way. I have been outfoxed by a chicken. I will never live this down.
Mom does try motivating her to move by poking a closed umbrella through the chicken wire. All that accomplishes is that we now owe John and Matthew a new umbrella.
It is fair to say that there is a certain tension in the air on what is now Day 2 of the Great Connecticut Chicken Caper. Here we are in this bucolic setting but oooohhh, things are not feeling very idyllic. Our friends have entrusted us with certain responsibilities. I have screwed up. I know it. Mom does not want John and Matthew to come home to a chicken that, although “She” has not flown the coop, she has certainly flown “up” it. I need to correct this…now.
Mom, exercising incredible restraint, finally says what I already know, “Well, if you hadn’t left the door open…..”
Up to now, I have tried asking any of our Connecticut friends to come over, grab the chicken and put her back in her proper place. I figure it must be in every rural/country person’s DNA to be able to grab a chicken. Really, I believe this to be true J . They all agree it would be easy but do not think it is that big a deal; after all, “She” is eating and drinking and safe. But I was taught that if one is a guest in someone’s home, one is meant to leave things as they were found or even better. To simply leave “She” there until Matthew and John return home is not an option. Mom taught me well.
What to do?
Dropping off Mom to visit with her brother around lunchtime, I tell her, “I am not coming back to pick you up until “She” is back in her proper place.” I can’t handle the chicken stress longer.
First stop? An animal hospital. Closed on Sundays.
Second stop? Applegate Farms. Closed.
Third stop? Come on, I am in rural Connecticut. There has to be a farm somewhere. I wish I could say I have a more definitive plan but I don’t. I just start driving. I do not have a plan other than divine intervention. I assume a big neon sign will magically appear that says, “Chicken-Catchers-R-Us”.
Driving down yet another country road, I see a barn. A beautiful, red painted, weather-worn, haystack-laden, bona fide barn. There are two men standing outside of the barn. Whether true or not, I have decided that they have to be chicken farmers and they love catching wayward chickens. Stopping my car, I bring the window down…
“Excuse me, I know this is going to sound strange but….” and I tell them my tale of chicken woe. How I am house-sitting, I have a Mom who is going through chicken coop stress because of me. I am a city person who is too chicken to touch a live chicken and can you help me?
Bill of Hickory Ledges Farm turns out to be my chicken coop guardian angel as he says, “Is that the house with the beautiful garden that was part of the Garden Conservancy tour a few weeks ago?”
“Oh, yes - one and the same”.
“I’ll be down in a few minutes”, he tells me. Those words are music to my ears. I drive back to the house. Bill is there mere moments afterwards.
“I didn’t know there’s a chicken coop here. Where is it?” he says as we walk toward the chicken condominium.
“Right here”.
“Nice coop,” he mentions as he enters the coop. “She” is playing on the floor. No time to fly back into the rafters this time. Bill grabs her and pops her back into her proper place in the coop in about 30 seconds flat.
“Oh wow. Thank you so much. Can I pay you? You have no idea ….”
“No, don’t worry about it. No problem. You’d be surprised how often stuff like this happens”.
I think to myself - maybe in these parts - but not in Brooklyn.
“Do you need some eggs, Bill?”, I say laughing because I certainly know where to find at least one as I point out the one that “She” laid on the roof.
“No, I have enough of those”, he laughs as he waves good bye.
I call my Mom and with joy announce, “Mom, the chicken has been re-cooped”.
“Thank goodness but how did you manage that?”
…and I tell her, “Well, I started driving down this country road and a farm found me and….”
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