Our chickens make me laugh. When I open up their chicken coop, 2 or 3 of them usually fly out as soon as possible. As if they know the sound I make when I open the front door, crunch snow or grass on my way over to their coop, open the backyard door, brush up against their house, and unhatch the three latches on their door. I open the door, and within a millisecond, they poke their little beaks out into the air, like a cat slipping its paw out into the cold, to see if it’s warm enough to venture outside. Unless there’s snow, they usually hop right now and get to work on the dirt. Pearl takes a bit longer. She’s a lost soul. Am I coming? Am I going? Do I need to lay an egg? Should I stay here?
After the initial hop out of the house, some of them get a running start and try to fly away. They usually jump up as high as they can, fly for about 7-15 feet, then slope down to a grinding halt. They look up, see if anyone was watching them try to fly and subsequently not, then they act as if nothing happens, secretly hoping that next time will go better. I sometimes like to imagine that they’re trying to impress me. These chickens are the closest thing to children, at least in my reality. I need to coax them, talk to them, scold them when they are cannibalistic, and give them a lot of love. They are very sensitive, and love to be held.
Anyway, they all have different personalities, which are interchangeable among them in fact. Each of their movements makes me happy (except for the pecking and reckless jumping the ship when it’s 0 degrees out). They hop around and are playful, burrow in the dirt in their run, peck at each other, run away from each other, spend time alone, follow me around in the yard, run back and forth in the yard, spread their wings, fluff up their feathers, make themselves little nests in the dirt, sometimes randomly lay eggs outside of their real nest on the ground, eat grass, bugs, dirt and leaves, and just generally have a great time being young, healthy and full of eggs.