Not long ago I read a book by Sy Montgomery about another farm animal that is not especially appealing to me. That one was about a lovable pig; this one works to convince people of the appeal and intelligence of chickens. I can’t say that either of them moved me to think I might be fond of either of these animals. Though I am persuaded that other species in the animal kingdom have much greater intelligence and deserve more respect from humans, I can’t imagine cuddling up with a chicken. When I was a small child I was terrified of chickens: it was their scaly legs, their feathers, the strange sounds they made. My mother cautioned us to be wary of roosters and so it is interesting to read that if you pick up a rooster and hold it close, it will learn to be friendly.
The author tells about coming to visit her chickens. Even when she doesn’t bring food, “The Ladies don’t seem disappointed at all. They mill at my feet, cheerful and excited, for they know I have a different treat in store. They are waiting for me to pick them up, stroke them, and sometimes—yes, I admit it, despite medical warnings of the slight chance of contracting salmonella—kiss their warm, red rubbery combs.” I hardly know what to say to that.
There was a lot of interest to me in this very short book. In Australia a psychology professor and his wife identified twenty-four distinct calls the birds use to communicate specific information to other birds in their flock. They determined that chickens use a variety of alarm calls, depending on the size, shape, speed, and location of the predator.
She tells about someone who rented from her who had her own beloved flock of chickens. They were able to accommodate those chickens, called the Rangers, keeping the two flocks separate. Elizabeth named all her chickens and while turned away from them could distinguish their different voices and often even what they are doing when they spoke. And of course they responded to Elizabeth when she called them by name. The two flocks did not like each other and while they did not fight, the Ladies retreated from their former territory. The author says “The Rangers peck one another frequently and sometimes even peck Elizabeth—one pecked her by her eye, bruising and breaking the skin. Mine peck my palm when food is on it, but in my two decades of raising chickens, none has ever pecked my face.” The difference between the flocks was evident; the Ladies are calm and peaceful while the Rangers are vocal, more aggressive, and more domineering. The author says her chickens are gentle and subtle while the Rangers are drama queens.
Chickens, Sy says, like all birds are “feathered dinosaurs. Unlike we mammals, their bones are hollow, their bodies are filled with air sacs; they are creatures made less of flesh than of air. And yet we share a fundamental talent: a need for companionship, a capacity for affection.
Sy Montgomery, What the Chicken Knows, Atria Books, 2024, 70 pages (I read the Kindle version). Available in the public library.