Psycho Hermaphrodite Chicken Attack!

We raise chickens and I'm not sure why.

I remember when the idea took hold. My best friend Kristie was explaining to me that she and her husband had raised chickens in Northern Idaho and they were going to set up a coop in their back yard in Boise.

Immediately I imagined myself in a cute vintage apron scattering chicken feed around my yard while my adorable, docile chicks peeped and scratched around me. During this hallucination, I fancied my rosy-cheeked children to be gently patting the birds while my husband looked on -eyes full of adoration and esteem at my obvious skill in both the house and yard.

Then I woke up... and it smelled.

It smelled like chicken poop.

A lot of chicken poop.

My adorable chickens are not chickens at all. They are fertilizing machines. Sexually confused fertilizing machines. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

It took 12 baby chicks for us to successfully raise 4 adult hens. Of the first batch of 6 chicks, we lost all but one to cats. The second batch of four produced one survivor after an untimely heat-lamp malfunction. The last two we purchased have both made it to maturity, but we never let them forget they thrived on the backs of those who hatched before them.

Our first chicken, Chicken Jane, was our clear favorite. Red, robust, and affectionate. She used to fly out of her coop to sit on my husband's lap. But like most adorable babies, who grow into precious toddlers, Chicken Jane hit her teenage rebellious years and raised hell against the one who loved her most - ME.

Our chickens free-range in our back yard because it is so entertaining to watch them peck and scratch. Grazing the yard means they enjoy an excellent diet, and we enjoy fewer bugs, spiders and grubs. Although I tried to raise them accustomed to my hands and being held, it never stuck. For the most part the flock keep to themselves.

Then one morning I stepped out onto the porch to throw some feed and give them a cheerful "Good Morning!" and I was attacked! I understand that not everyone can be a morning person, but this was unacceptable!

Chicken Jane came flapping and puffing onto the porch, screaming an ugly chicken scream and bobbing at my feet. Her creepy bird eyes were watching my toes like juicy grubs. The gutteral sqwaks and yelps kept getting louder and louder until I was sure my neighbors were going to turn me in to PETA. It was the ugliest sound I have ever heard. If I could understand chicken, I'm sure this hen had a mouth like a sailor.

I turned and ran back inside, slamming the glass patio door behind me. That cocky little sucker started pecking at the glass! It was like a scene from "Night of the Living Dead" where the zombie starts hitting the windshield of a car to get to the people inside, and the glass slowly starts to crack. Luckily for me, I have opposable thumbs and upper body strength. It seemed to be enough to keep her away... for now.

This continued for three long days. Everytime I stepped onto the porch, the chicken tried to assault me. For awhile I convinced myself that this was loving chicken behavior, perhaps a sign of respect.

The sqwaking continued to intensify to the point that I thought my eardrums would shatter. She started honing her beak against the deck boards in the same manner that a chef would sharpen a butcher knife with a stone.

This was not loving behavior.

I started researching "aggressive chicken characteristics" online. There is a definite pecking order amongst the flock themselves, but it doesn't usually apply to the handler. There is very little information about hens being hostile towards humans, especially in a group as small as mine. The most obvious answer was that I had a rooster on my hands.

I checked my "How to Raise Chickens" book (thank you Connie Schurr in Sherrard, Illinois) and compared pictures of Rhode Island Red hens and roosters. Chicken Jane did not look like a Chicken Joe. Next, I had my poultry authority, Kristie, take a look. Definitely a hen. Then I stumbled upon the most profound, mind-altering information about chickens I had ever read. In some cases, you may have a HERMAPHRODITE CHICKEN!

All the good looks of a lady, and the biology of a gent. Aggressive, non-egg producing pain in the butt chickens that chase you and vie for Alpha Chicken status.

Who knew?

One way to show dominance over a chicken of indeterminate gender is to pick it up and carry it around until it stops thrashing. Nope. You could also grab it by the feet and hang it upside down until it stops fighting. Uh-huh. I can't even look this chicken straight in it's beady little sadisitic eyes, much less grab it's feet and razor-sharp nails and flip it like an omelet.

My only alternative was to show it who's boss by being the bigger chicken.

I marched out onto the back porch with newfound authority. Chicken Jane-Joe hopped up from its fox hole immediately, blood thirsty and eager for the fight. It puffed up its feathers and slapped its beak against the deck boards. I flapped my arms at it and mimicked the ear splitting screams! I threw in a "shoo! shoo!" and shook my feet at it for good measure! It clucked, jumped, ran in circles and then ducked under the porch.

It's been just under a week and I still have ten toes, both eyes and all my hair. Chicken Jane hasn't come near me. I can only imagine how that scene must have played out from a chicken's point of view. Bizarre, seizure-like arm flinging, stomping and sqwaking. It never tastes good to get a swig of your own medicine, does it chicken??

I did, however, figure out that Chicken Jane is indeed a female. I know this because women have a tendency towards emotional outbursts, spats of jealousy and jockying for attention. But most off all I came to my conclusion when I stepped into a giant pile of chicken poop waiting for me by the patio door.

Passive-aggressive. That's my girl!


(c) 2009, Kelsey Robbins