…and yes, it involves chickens
Just look at that! I am at a loss for words that would adequately describe that glorious eastern sky earlier this week. Nevermind that I am all about pinks and purples…and the brilliant intensity was truly awesome. It was the sort of sunrise that compelled one to drop whatever she was about and get herself to a suitable vantage point for the perfect photo. I thought briefly about grabbing my “good” camera, but settled for my phone which was conveniently in my coat pocket. Who knew how long this display would last?
So, if you are an astute observer, you noticed that the above photo is not my own. An accommodating friend graciously allowed me to use her timely snap of that perfect sunrise. I never got around to capturing the moment, due to a series of strange events.
Backup 30 minutes…
I was wrapping up my morning routine, getting ready to head in to a substitute teaching job that day. I had awakened to the pungent smell of a nearby skunk, and I was thanking my lucky stars that my dog had not gone for a scramble when she did her morning business. It was shaping up to be a busy day, with a half-day at the school, grocery shopping, and some last minute cleaning in anticipation of a luncheon at my home on the following day. It had been a smooth morning, and I opened my garage door at precisely the right time to make it to work on time.
Then I saw it! That sky! The iridescent hues streaked across the southeastern horizon. Our barn and other outbuildings blocked my view somewhat, but I immediately knew that sky was begging to be photographed, captured for eternity on all of my social media platforms. In a split second I had my phone out and strode quickly down the driveway and turned the corner by the barn so that the sunrise loomed over our pasture and woods…and my chicken coop.
But something was wrong with the picture. The chicken coop appeared snugly secure. David and I had spent several hours over the weekend covering the northern exposure of the run with heavy duty plastic sheeting. This keeps the blowing snow from entering the run and greatly reduces the gusty north winds in the run and coop throughout the winter. The problem, however, was with the roof. Well not WITH the roof, but with what was ON the roof.
Perched on the ridge row of the metal roof of the coop, approximately 12 feet off the ground, was a chicken. For a brief moment I thought it might be someone else’s stray. But nope. It was one of my youngish hens – Miss DuBose or Geneva, I supposed, due to the longish tuft of feathers on the top of her head. I ran through the snow to get a closer look. Geneva turned her head and looked down at me…and then turned back toward that beautiful sunrise.
My mind, and maybe yours, too, in the midst of a surprise can be bombarded with multiple inputs. Questions were assailing me: “what in the world…”, “how the heck did this happen…”, “was she out all night…”, “is she okay…”. Then I frantically thought, “How in the world am I going to get her down?” That was followed by, “I’d better text the school principal because I am definitely going to be late to work.” And finally, I sheepishly admit that I thought, “She looks just like a cute little weather vane up there,” and I took this picture.
I texted the principal a vague “might be a little late”, to which he replied “OK”. Now I needed a strategy. Even as I was analyzing how to access that crazy girl, I just could not wrap my head around any realistic scenario as to how she got there in the first place. Geneva was really high off the ground. Even if she first jumped from the ground to the run roof, which slanted from 4 to 8 feet in height, it would still be a challenge to go from there up to that 12 foot pinnacle. All of the roof surfaces are metal…and slippery…and steep. And she has little chicken feet that are mostly claws. There was a little leftover snow on the roof of the run, so that could have given her some traction, but still…
Spoiler alert: I’m probably never going to know that, either.
I dragged a ladder to the side of the coop, and my first plan was to somehow entice her to come to me. I knew she would slide down into my arms if she tried to move, and even as I was gently calling to her, I knew this was a fool’s errand. Geneva ignored me.
My Plan B was a little less gentle and more tough love. I went into the barn and found a piece of scrap lumber, a couple of inches wide and about 6 feet long. As I climbed the ladder the second time, I assured myself that she would be all right because, after all, chickens can fly, and she had gotten herself up there in the first place. As I reached the top of the ladder, I asked Geneva one last time to come to me. And then…I took that little scrap of board and gave her fluffy little bum the slightest little nudge.
I can’t say exactly what happened, as she was out of my view for a few seconds. There were some flapping sounds and a couple of good squawks. I hurried down the rungs and ran around the coop, and there was Geneva, walking gingerly through the snow and shaking her little feathered body. It took 2 or 3 attempts for me to get my hands on her, but I finally managed to scoop her up into my arms.
I looked her over, checking her feet and comb for any sign of frostbite. Her eyes seemed bright, and she was lively enough. I took her into the run to join her awaiting companions, and she made a beeline for the feeder. As I left the run and shut the door behind me, I realized my heart was pounding away. But I was happy to have solved my dilemma and had every reason to think Geneva would be as good as new after she had some food and water and got warmed up.
As I drove to school, I puzzled over those questions that had bombarded me when I had first seen Geneva on the roof. I think I know how she got out of the coop. I recalled that the night before I had left the run door open for several minutes while I refilled the two feeders in the barn. Geneva had apparently escaped then, possibly hiding under the coop…that’s my best guess.
But the other piece…the “how she got up there” piece…that’s the tough one. Maybe…if she was really scared…maybe a predator on the ground would drive her onto the first roof, and then fear might cause her to leap even higher. There was that skunk somewhere nearby. Maybe.
But just like the grinch, my puzzler was sore, so I decided to just be grateful that I had found her when I did. Grateful that she hadn’t had to stay out all morning, especially since our hawks are more greedy in the morning. Grateful that she was able to warm up and fill her crop and get some shuteye.
Grateful for that stunning sunrise that lured me around to the coop in the first place.