Chicken and Egg - Janice Cole [20]
Lulu’s psychotic personality developed early on. She began running and squawking frantically around the box whenever a hand approached. She always acted as if the hand carried a knife instead of the food, treats, or soft touch it offered. I’ve never been able to decide if she suffers from an overactive imagination or actually had a scare right after she was hatched. Unfortunately, those friends who were successful in picking her up were always left with a slimy gift.
Cleo was the runt of the litter. She looked cute with her black stripe running down the center of her golden back. The pecking order began early and Cleo was on the bottom, but she was unperturbed as the other two bullied her. I felt protective of this little one and she loved to sit in my arms, exploring the world beyond her box.
My three swingin’ chicks entertained their guests by dancing in unison from one end of the large plastic tub to the other in the blink of an eye. They formed towers by climbing on top of each other, bouncing down like SuperBalls. They never tired of reenacting the “Walk This Way” scene from Young Frankenstein as they traversed the pine shavings.
These in-the-moment birds would stop suddenly in the middle of a walk and keel over, sound asleep. Two minutes later, one of them would be up running again. Nighttime was particularly entertaining. Their bedtime routine resembled the skillful moves of a con man’s shell game or kids playing pickle-in-the-middle. The chicks nuzzled together side by side. After a few minutes, the outside two would pop up and force their way into the warm center. I could always tell where golden-feathered Roxanne ended up, but the other two had me conned.
I had finally settled into an evening routine with the girls, when Cleo suddenly disappeared one night. I was relaxing in front of the TV, holding and slowly petting her. Perhaps I nodded off and she grabbed an opportunity to escape, or she saw something of interest. Whatever the reason, she bolted out of my arms in a flash, landed on the couch, and then on the floor. I screamed; she ran. Marty yelled, and the other two cheeped frantically. It was a symphony of confusion.
We couldn’t find her. Marty and I quickly got ourselves under control and listened for her peeps as we searched. But it was impossible to hear anything over the bawling of the two girls in the box, who were frightened by the sudden burst of noise. As Marty tried to find the cats to keep them away, I crawled around on my belly, peering under the couch and the bookcases looking for a fluff ball among the dust bunnies. I needed to find Cleo before one of the cats did.
Cats and dogs can coexist with chickens quite easily, depending on the personalities of the individual animals. I’ve seen chickens crawl into a dog’s bed and cuddle up next to the sleeping pooch. I also know of dogs that have snatched up chickens in their jaws like McNuggets thrown up in the air. Chickens and cats get along remarkably well, but cats can easily kill a chick with one quick swipe. So introductions should be made slowly and carefully under close supervision. This wasn’t the time to give the cats a nose-to-nose personal presentation.
I continued to slide along the wood floor, looking for Cleo. Petunia, our sixteen-year-old cat, wasn’t my biggest concern as she was the gentlest cat we’d ever had. When Petunia was eight, she had once helped save our son’s hamster when the exercise ball it was rolling