Merlin the Chicken – Page 4

Posted on March 19, 2013 by Jessica Dofflemyer · 5 Comments

Daily Prompt: Menagerie

With today’s “Daily Prompt” theme of Menagerie, I couldn’t help but feel right in step with the WordPress DP brainstormers. I’ve been steeped in animal kingdom as of late, and the Archive posts of this last week have reflected our family’s surrender to a chicken we’ve named Merlin.

In honor of today’s Daily Prompt, I hope it’s alright to offer up a collage of recent posts and photos chronicling the arrival of this little chicken in our lives.

It started here with “I Guess the Chicken Comes First” and was followed by “For the Birds.”

Below is a sampling from the family photo album…

2013-03-16merlin_cupholder — photo taken with the iPhone

I Guess The Chicken Comes First

I may be a mother but my newborn-baby-waking-through-the-night skills are less than honed.

So this morning I’m sleepy and my little writing routine a bit altered.

I’ll just say it plainly: I sit here typing with a chicken in my lap.

It’s a small chicken. A baby chick, to be exact. And it seems as though it has become the newest member of our family. With it, comes all of those care taking duties – feeding, holding, poop cleaning-uping. And, as with most little ones, getting up in the night when they cry. Which this one does about twice a night, so far.

To be honest, I’m slightly embarrassed to write this post and publicly admit that we’ve adopted a wild chicken. This was not planned. However, it appears as though my husband bears a streak of St. Francis and he continually finds himself crossing paths with strays.

Last June it was a turtle he discovered under the tree in our backyard (Zelva the Turtle stories here). This past Monday, it was a runty chick, which now chirps quietly within the folds of a towel, warmly nestled, here in my lap as I write.

I’m shy to proclaim our adoption just for the mere fact that our island is over-run with chickens. Every gardener’s nemesis, these pesky, feathered foes, dig up new sprouts, make a mess of freshly mulched trees, and the roosters sound their cocky crows at all hours of the night. My farmer friends have been known to lose all veggie peacefulness, suddenly becoming blood thirsty when faced with the threat of insidious chickens scratching near the garden fence. Needless to say, I have not yet uttered a peep to them about our chick.

Which we think is a rooster, by the way. My least favorite gender of the flock.

But the story goes that the Bohemian was planting trees one day, (surrounded by scavenging wild chickens, of course) when the chirp of one particular bird got his attention. There, all alone, was a small little fluff ball, so weak it could barely stand. Only enough energy to sound its little plea, non-stop. When he went to it, it quickly imprinted on to him. Following him around, trying to get on his pant leg. It even mustered enough strength to climb the three-foot pile of soil in an attempt to get closer to him- peeping all the way.

The Bohemian could see a mother hen with her new babies nearby. He tried to get this little one to go to her. But as he approached, she ran, her babies scattered, and the runt could not keep up.

With more work to do, the Bohemian left the pots and the chick, working in other areas of the farm. But by day’s end, as he and I made our way to home, we stopped by the soil pile one more time to see if the chick was still there. He was, indeed, in the same spot as before, still chirping and barely standing. He ambled to the Bohemian as soon as he came into sight.

At that point, it seemed apparent. Take him home and save his life, or leave him there to die.

I don’t know if I can convey the extent to which this land is invaded with chickens. I am not exaggerating when I say that it would not be uncommon to see a rooster simply walking down the sidewalk, downtown. From this perspective, many would suggest that to “save” a chicken is far from noble. Some would say it is a disservice to the community.

So make fun of us if you will. I’m laughing at myself. When at 3:37am this morning, our little friend is chirping the “I’m cold!” call. The one that repeats in a monotone, much like a mini-car alarm. He has the heating lamp and towels in his little cardboard box, but sometimes in the early morning chill it’s not enough. Besides, he’s a flock-by-nature kind of animal and sometimes wants a little company.

I’m not ready to wake. I was already up with him at midnight. So we wrap him up a little snugger, lower the lamp a bit closer, and the Bohemian suggests music. Maybe he’d feel more at ease with some low sounds.

There I am, in the dark, in bed. The little “I’m content” chirps are now sounding from the chicken box, while Hindustani sarod music plays softly from Bose speakers aimed in his direction.

Good God. Don’t tell anyone.

* Ironically, I wrote a post about two weeks ago using the chicken/egg metaphor and posing the age-old question of which comes first. Was this a harbinger to come?

Posted on March 18, 2013 by Jessica Dofflemyer · 6 Comments

Out of the Box

All free chickens need a break from the box. So we lifted Merlin from the confines of his newspaper-lined container and took him to the beach. Offered up a little expanded world view. Might as well show him all the options.

Posted on March 16, 2013 by Jessica Dofflemyer · 6 Comments

For the Birds

Maybe I should have known better.

That if we are crafting our lives through our thoughts and words (and in particular, if we are typing them out into the ether through the internet), then one should be careful what one says.

Two days ago I titled a post “I Guess the Chicken Comes First.” Little did I know that my tongue in cheek remark would have me wishing I could eat my words (no tastes-like-chicken jokes, okay?).

For those of you just tuning in, here’s a catch up:

The Bohemian found an orphaned baby chick last week and try as he might to leave it to its fate with the rest of the tens of thousands of wild chickens that have invaded our island, he just couldn’t let it die. Besides, it immediately imprinted upon him and followed him everywhere, chirping incessantly.

Now it chirps incessantly from a box in our living room. Not because it is unhappy, but because this lone chick misses its clutch. He (yes, Jeb and the Bohemian think it will grow to be a rooster – ugh!) is simply lonely.

Rest assured, our little feathered friend is thriving. He grows daily (pooping more and more by the minute – did you know they say that chickens poop 30 – 40 times a day? Oh goodie!) and has already outgrown one cardboard box and been upgraded to a plastic storage bin.

Everything I’ve read about raising chickens has offered tips on how to get the chickens to let you handle them. The advice is to use food as a means to lure them in to letting you pick them up. Such is not the case with this guy. Whose name, by the way, is Merlin, as in King Arthur and the Grail. (We’ve been using the TV series “Merlin” – a Hollywoodish version of the King Arthur legend – as a reward for Jeb doing nightly flash card exercises. Magic and Merlin are in the air…)

Or in my hand. Which is my point. I’ve been looking for advice on how to keep a chick from crying every time you walk out of the room. Yes, this little one wants to constantly be held and wants to see a body (no, not a shirt hanging on a nearby chair – he knows the difference) at all times. If left alone, he will chirp the distressed peep that repeats in anxious constants and definitely grates the nerves.

During the day, this can be doable – sort of. Yesterday, I worked at my desk from home. I set him up in his clear plastic bin next to me. I even placed a small mirror in his box so he could look (and subsequently peck), at himself. He warmed under his lamp. Pooped on top of the little, stuffed animal lamb I nestled in the corner. He tweeted his low, happy chirps, content as can be.

But leave his side to get a glass of water? It’s loud chirpy “where are you?! where are you?!”

As I said, during the day this is not always pleasant, but it’s at night that it’s intolerable. No one wants to wake to that alarm at 1am. Though, the Bohemian did sit next to him for about an hour in the middle of the night, trying to find some way to soothe him and then sneak away back to bed.

For the last two nights, we’ve managed to get a whole night’s sleep by simply wrapping him up in a towel so that he can’t see. Much like being under his mother. Then we cover the box so it’s dark and put the lamp above so that the heat still permeates his area. So far, it seems that if he’s in darkness, he’s happy – and sleeping.

I am suddenly realizing that I have written many words here on the details of parenthood with Merlin. This I am not necessarily proud of (and did I just refer to myself as a parent to a chicken?). In fact, as I’ve mentioned in my previous post, I’m a little embarrassed that we have a chicken at all. It’s not quite as bad as deciding to hand feed a cockroach as a pet, but on this island, wild chickens are not held in much higher regard. In fact, I’ve heard the locals call them rats with wings. You follow?

So this is how I rationalize it. Jeb has been begging for a dog for three years. For this, we are not ready. Zelva the turtle was no substitute last summer. He could hardly cuddle her and she was always hiding. Merlin can teach him some basic take-care-of-a-pet tasks and he loves to be held (at least for now).

Most importantly, this chicken in my living room scenario is only temporary. He’s got a few more weeks in the box and then he makes the transition to the outside world. We’ll make it smooth and easy for him, but he’s destined for outdoor turf. All I can say, is that if he’s going to rule this roost, he better do it quietly (hah! you scoff…)

I still have a silent hope that he’ll turn out to be a hen. Man, I really don’t like those strutting roosters with big claw spurs and fleshy red, flopping cock’s combs.

In the Merlin series we’ve been watching, the premise is that King Arthur is constantly protected by Merlin. Arthur thinks Merlin is only his simple servant, but really, he is the most powerful wizard in the world. Merlin keeps this secret to himself, but the viewer can see his magic coming to the aide of Arthur in every episode.

I’ll keep this in mind with our newest family member. That sometimes there are forces at work of which we are unaware. Sometimes there is more than what we see.

Right now I do see a pretty cute little chick-a-dee. And I see myself, right there, at his service. I’m laughing in all the ridiculousness. Wondering how in the world it came to be that I am driving down the road with a chicken in a sock.