And then there were two...Bonnie and Violet, the old guard, sadly adrift without their demanding, over sexed, frilly yet protective quasi-male counterpart (sorry Oli, you know what I mean). No more pirouettes, sonatas, romantic dinners and lusty "get with that 2 seconds in heaven is better than 1 second in heaven, i'm bouncing girl, get your own jiggy on" interludes. What to do? What to do?
I quick search on Craig's List and I would soon be three eggs a day richer, cuz even though I love my girls, they are working girls let's face it. Uh huh, that's what this pimp mama says! Making my way out to the wild's of Rhode Island via a requisite stop in Providence for a face stuffing fest in Federal Hill (um hm), I burped and smacked my lips across the tiny state to choose a few teenaged chickens. I was done with the peep thing and really just wanted to roll right into hormonal rage inspiring egg production, which has nothing to do with my hysterectomy. So, I picked out two beautiful black and iridescent green, shimmery birds known as Jersey Giants...and just because they were still small, and jersey girls, and a bit overly made-up, we named them Deena and Snooki. I was also offered a rather irritable older gal of one year, golden in hue, a bit speckley, definitely a loner who reminded me of Lindsey Lohan, but out of respect I named her Milly, because she is a Millefleur.
Enter THE PECKING ORDER! Yep, chickens invented it. They have mastered the art, cold and with no regrets. You're in or you're out. Knowing that the introduction of new birds onto another's turf could end in gang wars, I prepared well for the event....I queried the internet. Most integrated flock owners agreed the best way to mix and match two tribes was to initiate it at night, while everyone lies peacefully sleeping, under the light of only the stars, casual like. So around 10 PM EST, or 22 hundred for Navy Seal purposes, I snuck the new girls into my roost and placed them stealthily and quietly next to the snoozing "guards". I heard a few rustles, ahumpfs and perhaps a teedle peep and then, TA DAH! It appeared to work. Until daybreak.
Awakened by a flurry of excited bawks and okay I'll just say it, chicken screams, I flew to the coop to find everyone in a tizzy and more than a few feathers scattered everywhere. I freed the tumbling, mangling mass by opening the run-door through which they promptly rolled out and squawked at high speed. Once outside on the freshly cut lawn, they disentangled themselves. Even though they were highly embarrassed they refused to show it and stomped away indignantly as though it was each others' fault entirely.
Not to belabour this tedious subject further, suffice it to say after two more weeks of brawling, pecking, flapping and harumpfing, they all settled into a new pecking order, with surprisingly mild mannered and snuggley Bonnie at the top, and little snippy Milly at the bottom, while the Jersey Girls weaved in and out of various "positions", kinda like they do on The Jersey Shore with Pauli, the Situation and some other dude.
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| The Jersey Girls in an unretouched photo, sans body glitter. |
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| Snippity Millie |
Next up: Who's in a time out!?
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