Stupid hen? Think again!
[Introducing you to Aude, mistress of the peep (coop) with me still holding onto an aversion to chickens...]
Aude lived in Paris, but kept a husband and poulet in her apartment. I wondered who she loved best – she adored ‘her hens’.
Longtime friend of Marthe, diminutive in size but with a largesse of a heart, she was unperturbed by her friend’s regular berating. Nothing ruffled her feathers unless it was harm directed at her chickens.
She arrived to mother Marthe’s brood – and in a kind way included me. She slept on the ground with the stars for her ceiling, close to her adopted hens’ peep (coop) after she’d carefully put them to bed.
When Aude briefly returned to Paris to tend to her hens and human rooster, I was informed I was to ‘act as Aude’ in our rehearsals.
This started with letting the handful of hens out of a homespun basket arrangement. That was the easy bit. I’d spent six glorious hours making the prone-to-breaking carrier. The task both boosted my confidence and gave me some desperately necessary solitude.
Second, ‘Mother Hen’ had to lie down and, ‘cluck, clucking’ watch them roost and possibly nibble on a few choice nuggets of corn hidden about her person, roost on her chest. Fortunately the co-directors trusted this to imagination and Aude’s return.
Lastly, they were picked up and put back in the carrier before being released near their peep.
Ah… easier said than done.
I held back. Marthe roared at me to step forward.
How do you do this?
And what happens when ‘Mother Hen’ forgets to put her brood to bed?
The egg of a poetical laid on my return, cheeps the story more succinctly than prose…
STUPID HEN? THINK AGAIN!
I thought hens were stupid, my childhood brain knew they pecked HARD
they pecked my memories open, left them squawking in my head’s back yard
but I’ve learned that if you leave real hens un-cooped to roam at night
they’ll find their own small single place to call their home and
(I’m curious now) why don’t they huddle all together snuggled up tight?
is this instinctive? nature’s kind device reducing doom and deaths?
the price of one hen saving multiple chicken breaths for the sake of the peep?
a scuffle and ruffle of feathers, an á la carte for the fox while other hens sleep?
I don’t know the answers to the ‘why?’ or ‘how?’
and I guess I’ll never know because I’d rather study ‘cow’!
I thought that hens were bête but since I’ve learned they get along
without the strain of family ties,
that personal space is vital yet when it comes to size
of group they’re less het up (I’m curious now) I can’t help query
whether ‘no relations’ makes for anguish or ensures a chicken’s life is cheery?
perhaps ‘family’ comes after that awful pecking order has evolved?
questions fly into my head, nightmare childhood memories dissolved…
I don’t know the answers and perhaps it doesn’t matter
the squawking in my head now sounds like hens enjoying a natter!
I thought that hens were scratchy and they made me feel afraid
I was told to catch a hen –
I knew I’d pick it up with all the fear I’d laid
and coddled year on year on year on year
but there comes a moment when fear is ready to hatch and fly
I learned a chicken will pause as your shadow falls – knows something large is high aloft
is it frozen with fright or just resigned? (I’m curious now) and surprised to find
a chicken’s body feels warm, and plump and soft…
a chicken’s body feels warm, and plump and soft…
a chicken’s body can be warm, and plump and soft…
I know I used to think in terms of ‘stupid hen’
but picking up chickens has made me think again
13th November 2013
Our adventures in France are over, but we have more than memories and clothes in our luggage… all wrapped up in a damp lime sarong.
#chickens #fear #mastery #interspecies #communication #France