I thought chickens were meant to be timid creatures, which is why cowardly behaviour was referred to as ‘being chicken’.
So what the hell is a bird I’ve known for only a couple of days doing jumping onto, and then proceeding to sit on, my head?
If they are supposed to be scared of humans then I can only assume that they view me as sub-human, equal to a rock or a bit of wood.
The one in the picture isn’t even the confident one of the chickens we got last weekend. That title goes to Goldie, my youngest son’s Golden Star who doesn’t seem to mind his often violent affection.
The chicken’s lack of fear does worry me a bit. If a fox turned up, they’d probably invite him into the coop for a cuppa and a chin-wag.
However, as in my mind the fox would be wearing a tweed waistcoat, plus fours and a monocle, I‘ll admit I’m no wildlife expert.
Chickens can be a bit creepy too. There have been a couple of times when I’ve been working in the garden, when the feeling of being watched has come over me. I’ve looked up to find the beady eye of a chicken staring at me from some just-out-of-sight perch only a couple of feet away.
This afternoon I was working in the greenhouse when the three of them began circling the outside, occasionally pecking at the glass. I wonder why Hitchcock didn’t feature chickens much in The Birds.
Imagine you’re sitting on a bench by a playground, enjoying a quiet cigarette. Gradually the skies darken and you begin to be aware of a growing rustling sound. Suddenly there is a squawk, and you spin around only to see CHICKENS ON A CLIMBING FRAME.
Ridiculous or terrifying? Like so many things (Loose Women, my cooking, Etonians.) chickens can be both.