Sculpin

I need to get some falconry gauntlets, or at least break out the welder’s gloves. One of our chickens, the Delaware — we’re calling her “Trouble” — likes to hop up on your arm. And when Trouble wants something, she’s hard to stop; “want” hardly covers the ferocity of her desires. It’s not so much because she loves you. (Chickens, as far as I can tell, are not cuddly. At most, they’re docile.) It’s because she wants out of the box, and you are her ticket out of the box.

I haven’t seen any physical signs of her being a rooster, though I’ve wondered. As far as I can tell, she’s just a hen with an oversized personality.

So every time I reach into the chick box for something, there she is, running for my arm at top speed. This was adorable at week 1 or so, but now that the chicks are almost four weeks old, it’s beginning to become a problem. And when she reaches her full six pounds or so, it’s going to be a problem indeed. Chickens, it happens, are sharp. My forearms are covered in scratches; it looks like I’ve been raising a dozen kittens. Which is to say, it looks like I’ve been sticking my arm in a food processor.

I bet Trouble would be a good trained attack chicken: very aggressive, extremely fast and agile, tremendously food-motivated, an excellent flyer. Perhaps I should consider taking up chicken falconry.

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