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Home
and Family
Life With Chickens
by Chava Dumas
Life with chickens begins very early in the morning, when a
ruckus erupts in the backyard. This necessitates an instant
human response: eyelids fly open. "Modeh ani," bend
down for the negel vasser, a sprint to the kitchen to
grab a bag of victuals and a dash outside to investigate the
fuss.
As soon as they see you, they flap their cumbersome wings and
run with great speed and expectancy towards you, their happy
provider. Once again, the squawking was just a ploy to get
your attention, their way of saying, "Hey, where's
breakfast?" So I pour the accumulated assortment of leftovers
into their corner and watch as they peck and scratch away at
old cornflakes, oatmeal, rice, beans, burnt cholent bottoms,
melon seeds, cucumber peels, noodle bits, bread crusts, fish
skins, crushed egg shells and unpopped popcorn kernels.
In exchange for all the scraps that they consume, our two
hens, Loolie and Cookie, produce daily an egg each, a white
one and a brown one, respectively. These aren't ordinary
eggs: the shells are hard, the yolks are creamy golden and
each day it is like a miracle anew. There really is no
biological reason for a chicken to lay an infertile egg every
morning. It is simply food from G-d, a gift to humanity.
Chickens possess unique personalities. Take Loolie for
example. Once she gets fixated on the perfect spot to place
her precious egg, nothing will persuade her to lay it
elsewhere. Every day we hear her clucking clamor before
beginning her daily feat of springing 1 1/2 meters in the air
in a gravity-defying leap to catch with her talons the metal
bars enclosing our children's bedroom window. With wings
flapping franctically to keep herself from falling, she
squeezes herself through the bars and into the flower box. A
minute later, there we find her, sitting contentedly, eyeing
us curiously, patiently awaiting the arrival of her egg. Her
admirable persistence is worthy of emulation.
Cookie on the other hand, twice the size of Loolie, never
attempts any gymnastics. She can, however, let out a
trumpeting crow as loud as any rooster. Thankfully, she
usually prefers to quietly nestle her feathers in a warm spot
in the sun, basking, preening and resting between the
exertion of the daily tasks of chicken existence.
In the rare moments when I actually take time to sit in the
garden, Loolie and Cookie follow me and settle by my side.
Now it is I who eyes them curiously, musing about their life
with us: scratching the dirt, searching for grubs, pecking,
clucking, sleeping.
Do they realize our benevolence towards them? And are we
ourselves aware of Hashem's kindness towards us as we live
our lives, working the earth, searching for truth, raising
our young, learning, and growing?
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