6th June.
Chickens, just like many of us, have a desire to reproduce and in some of them and us human beings it seems to transcend anything else.
They will go to any lengths to have their babies and I have seen some remarkable acts of commitment occur between a cockerel and a hen in an effort to fulfil that instinct.
Often (because I’m used to observing fowl) I’ve been alerted to where a hen is laying her eggs based on the cockerel’s unwillingness to move away from the box or undergrowth where she is. He just hangs about outside like the expectant father awaiting her safe delivery of another one of his eggy babies and sometimes becomes overwhelmed with pride when she gives the shout that the job is done.
He will call and cackle, strutting around with pride as she emerges from her hidey-hole. They always remind me of the new dad, down the pub, buying a round in and handing out the cigars.
It’s quite lovely to watch and makes any argument about their lack of emotion, inability to form relationships or conceptualise life’s bigger picture to be a waste of oxygen. Whilst one might argue that it’s merely instinct then I really have to laugh. The cockerel becomes so excited that he can actually give the game away as to where his wife is, inadvertently putting his family in danger but it’s as if he is so swollen with pride as to find the emotion overwhelming.
A pint and a cigar, anyone?!!!
Thank God all birds are very clever about their nests (with the exception of some cocky cockerels, of course!) and many females will sneak off, make a nests and then cover her eggs when she’s done. That will go on most days until she has a clutch to sit on and then she will simply disappear. This can be rather a problem when the animals roam completely free over a large area and, inevitably, they will successfully sit from time to time.
I remember once again a time when a different species of male gave the game away. This time it was a goose. A female had disappeared and we didn’t have a clue where she was.
When birds are sitting so their nature changes. They won’t move, no matter how close you are. They don’t make a noise unless you become a serious threat and it’s unbelievably easy to walk within a foot or less of them and not see them sitting there. It seems ridiculous but, believe me, nature can make a multicoloured bird disappear into a green and brown background as if it’s invisible!
Anyhow, this goose was gone and then suddenly, a few weeks later, the gander started to hang around this spot in the field and just wouldn’t leave it. It was only on closer inspection that we found his mate sitting on eggs which she successfully hatched the next day.
My question is, how did he know that they were about to hatch? He hadn’t indicated that she was sitting until she was ready to leave the nest with his babies so I guess that they didn’t meet up till we weren’t looking (Romeo and Juliet… ahh!). Did she tell him – you can hear the chicks calling in the egg some hours before hatching?
It’s all a beautiful mystery to me and I love the fact that they have these wonderful relationships with each other that, frankly, are non of our business.
Sadly, we do have to take measures to prevent our birds breeding but I have to say that they are more a question of nature’s forces rather than us.
Since we have very few hens but lots of cockerels then dealing with the breeding of the chickens isn’t a major problem. Every day the pigs and dogs hunt out the nests and eat the newly laid eggs. They love them and seek them out, sometimes removing the hot-off-the-press egg from under the disgruntled hen. It’s a lovely idea to let them sit but we have no place in the breeding business.
I used to take the eggs away myself as I thought that if we had room for more chickens then we should rescue them and not breed more. I would break the egg open to be sure that the animals wouldn’t eat a chick (thank God I never found one) and that would salve my conscience. It wasn’t until one day when it did my usual cracking open trick that I saw something that I will never forget.
Inside the egg that looked so innocent existed a mass of cells that you couldn’t identify as anything in particular. It was very vascular with a mass of blood vessels networking over the area. There was however, right in the middle of the mass, a tiny beating heart. I watched it, helplessly, as it thumped rhythmically for about ten seconds and then as it’s final attachments to the shell broke away so I watched the vessels tear and the blood run from its little heart as it stopped beating.
I had killed it.
From that day I have never removed an egg from an established nest.
