Chickens and I

It's legal to have chickens within Portland city limits. For a while now I've considered getting chickens so that I can be eating fresh eggs from a source I know all about. Plus, it'd be fun to tell folks that I have chickens. Offer to trade them eggs for something. Like a pie. Or cookies. Maybe a kombucha creature. However, the last couple of weeks here on this farm are causing a rethink. It's been a reminder to me on the nature of chickens and the oftentimes incompatibility of our natures. They like to cluck constantly, making noises that serve no logical purpose. I, on the other hand, experience a cause of the fantods (which occasionally howl) at this. Especially when said noise happens before 7am. Which has been happening fairly consistently lately. Anywhere from 5:15 to 6:30am this silly black chicken (I'll call her Deep Fried, DF for short) decides to waddle around the ohana, clucking and squawking repeatedly. The other chickens ignore her until they get fed up and chase her off making their own ruckus. Some lucky mornings DF will jump into the coffee processing area which happens to share a wall with the bedroom. In there she'll let loose, creating an echo that isn't slowed in the least by the blinds.

She's a chicken, they make noise and I can't hate her for following her nature right? That makes sense now but not in the morning. I've banged on the wall. I've popped through the door into the processing room, scaring the poop out of her (literally) which only drives her up onto the roof, adding scratching to the noise. Once I chased her out across the yard but the owners of the farm saw that and didn't look overly impressed.

On other unfortunate mornings, the turkeys wander into the yard. They have no problem getting into it with DF. And there are more of them. And they are louder. Who knew turkeys could sound like tortured women? I didn't know and wish I still didn't. To the credit of the other chickens on the farm (all 20-some of them), when the turkeys begin their harassment of DF the other chickens come to her defense. Which makes a gawd-awful noise that is impossible to sleep through. At least I've stopped trying to call 9-1-1 at the first shrill screams. One misreported call was all it took.

I guess the bottom line is that I'd better rethink my chicken obtainment plan. Maybe my yard in Portland, if I ever have one, doesn't need any chicken inhabitants.

Food for thought.