Winiferd in the Burbs: When John Became Jane

The chicks have grown into small chickens. And, well, what we thought were newly-developing rooster noises were really just your average chicken noises.

And John Proctor's spur was actually his extra toe, Silkie Bantams having an extra toe and all. (Interesting side-note: Silkie Bantams have blue feet, bones, and skin. Ours has a delicate blue face and crazy blue feet).

And what we thought was growing into a giant rooster forehead was actually a giant Silkie Bantam Afro.

And what we thought was John's protective rooster nature was actually a Silkie Bantam's inherently gentle and caring nature:

"Silkie Bantams are a fantastic breed for individuals who enjoy birds that are docile [and] good with children. They make excellent mothers."

Silkie Bantams, called "the lap cat of the chicken world," are darling creatures. And Ian and I had no idea what we were dealing with, so we stupidly called John a rooster.

Well, John's a girl. We now call her Janathan or Jane or Janie. Her full name is now Janathan Fuzzy Proctor. We have 100 percent girl chickens.

It's a huge relief because after dealing with Jessup Hush'up, we worried that Jane would grow into a crowing nightmare and we'd have to get rid of her. And neither of us wanted to get rid of her.

If it had come to that, we'd have given her to my parents who live deeper in the country and could get away with a crowing rooster.

Fortunately, our Janie is a girl. She's the smartest of the chickens by far.

Ian will pull off old tree bark and give the grubs to the chickens, who gobble grubs the way I gobble chocolate pie. Jane's the only one with the smarts to go to the bark itself and pull off the grubs directly.

She's also the only one who runs straight into the hen-house when a loud noise or movement spooks the chickens. She runs directly to safety, while the others run in ridiculous, flapping circles.

The Sad Finale of Maybelle

Then there's Maybelle. Poor, poor Maybelle. Maybelle was one of the four chickens we acquired a couple of weeks ago.

One night last week, Ian slept fitfully.

He kept thinking he heard the distant sound of chicken screams but decided he was suffering from your average poultry-induced anxiety.

At the crack of dawn he headed outside and found that a fox or raccoon had pulled Maybelle from her cage.

Ian followed a trail of white feathers into the neighbor's yard where he spotted some of Maybelle.

The fox had scurried off with as much of Maybelle as he could carry, for Maybelle was a big, fat chicken.

Maybelle in happier times

Ian woke me up to tell me. As he recounted the story, we both giggled because we're horrible people

Laura: "Did you remove the piece of Maybelle from the neighbor's yard?"

Ian: "No, I left it there."

Laura and Ian: <Giggle manically>

Our original 5 babies are doing well. Janathan is the obvious favorite around here, but my second favorite is Marjorine:

Ian's second favorite chicken varies between Sal and Bernadette:

Sal

Bernadette

Ian has nicknamed Bernadette "Goldie," while I've been trying to enforce the nickname "Birdie."

Hester Prynne is our quietest chicken. She hangs back during playtime in the yard. She sits quietly and watches the others run in circles and flap their wings:

A reflective Hester