She Persisted-- Chicken Run, part two

   

                        It’s been a rough couple of weeks on the Chicken Escape front. Rosie and Aussie keep getting out, desperate to lay eggs in the day lilies and under the empty rabbit hutch. The third young chicken, Amelia, has settled into the nest box/pollinator habitat that I created from an old hive.  I stalked them one day and closed gaps, but that did not work.  I clipped a wing on both, which reduced how high they could fly (no more over the eight foot trellis), but they still got out. I moved all of their launching pads. Still out.  I clipped more severely, but they were out the next day.

      

          On Saturday, I settled  into a few hours of yard work, planting out the tomatoes, determined to catch the escapees.  For a while, all was quiet. When I turned my back and went into the greenhouse, Rosie made a break for it. I caught her dashing across the lawn and put her back. Five minutes later, she was out—a gap near the gate. I closed in. Out again. Close the gate gap. She started to pace. Amelia settled into her nesting spot, looking smug.  Meanwhile, Aussie began the assault on another section of fence. I closed gaps. Toss and close. Toss and close.  Finally, I was tired of the game and the frantic, panting pacing around the fence. I put Aussie into the coop and shut her in. There, I told her. Lay your egg. She gave in. Twenty minutes later, she was out and Rosie was in. Another egg. I let everyone out and they all climbed over the trimmings around the compost pile for the rest of the afternoon. This morning, they are not coming out until they have laid their eggs.

               After all this was over, I realized I was wearing my “She Persisted” tee shirt. The irony was clear. Here I was, the dominant creature in the back yard, tossing the interlopers back over the fence every time they broke through. I closed gaps to make it more difficult for them to get out. They persisted. They created spaces, squeezing out where I was convinced they could not. They watched each other, seeing where each had success.  They talked to one another. They yelled at me. The other chickens looked on; two are too old and plump to take action.  Meanwhile, I worked on my side—clearly the better, bigger side—of the fence. In the end, I tossed each one back into her house, saying “Go to work there.”  Today, they are not even allowed out.

                Maybe there is a lesson here.