Our Buffed Laced Polish has become a nuisance, and that’s not only putting it lightly, but family-friendly.
Sookie thinks she’s a rooster, and in her squeaky little mind somewhere behind all those head feathers (feather-brained?) the hand that feeds her is the biggest threat of all … that’d be yours truly. Evolutionarily speaking, Natural Selection is knocking on the coop door in the form of the world’s worst human predator … that’d also be me.
She pecks the heck out of me, willingly, while jumping and flapping wings. If I run, the chicken runs faster. Sadly, I could sick her on an intruder, and those novelty “attack chicken” tin signs wouldn’t be so jokey. She pecks, bites and has drawn blood.
Yesterday evening I went out to refill the feeder, and was attacked as per usual. She was so aggressive that I couldn’t even put the feeder back into the run. So, I attempted to show her who’s boss, and put my hand on her back until she crouched, and put her on the top of the coop at the opposite end. Then, I bent down and hung the feeder on the hook in the run, only then to be attacked from above, a la Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds.”
My temporary solution is to put her in Sookie Jail while the kids and I are outside. Jail consists solely of the overpriced $60 jumbo play yard. Once purchased for my oldest daughter and hardly ever used, it’s now a mainstay in our backyard landscape, serving as a place to plop our toddler in a pinch … or to imprison a violent chicken. To illustrate her lack of brains, the play yard is 2 1/2 feet high, and she hasn’t figured a way out.
Alas, I cannot kill her. I can’t. She’s a pet, and my daughter would hate me for all time. I’ve thought of looking for a veterinarian to euthanize her, but I’m not a fan of the potential price tag.
Thankfully, I know some farmers. And, if my husband is willing (as our Polish acquisition was his doing), she may meet her most timely end at another Chicken Dinner Workshop in Taylorsville, Ky., and as Farmer Sarah cracked, Sookie would donate her body to science as the instruction bird for workshop participants.
We shall see.
For the time being, Sookie is providing the white eggs I assumed we needed for Easter. I’ve been hoarding them for several weeks without knowing brown eggs create amazing colors. (Read fellow CC Blogger Jennifer Burcke’s post about coloring brown eggs for Easter.) To humor my husband, I’ll keep trying to make friends with Sookie, but I have to admit, I’m rather tired of cleaning chicken wounds on my person.
Do you have advice on dealing with a violent hen without resorting to slaughter? Or, did you find you had no other choice?
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Photos: Rachel Hurd Anger