OK, maybe I was wrong about Avian American intelligence. I am still reluctant to see them as stupid, so don't get your hopes up, but it's clear that my evaluation of what is and isn't of interest to chickens needs tweaking.
Often when I watch them and think about how they were designed and what they were designed for, it strikes me that they are elegantly suited to eat continually, to rearrange the pieces of the landscape that weigh less than a pound and to distribute heat efficiently around their immediate personal space. Sometimes that tiny little head on the big round body makes me think that they are mobile one-handed creatures. If they need more than one hand, they engage their feet and don't feel as though they are in any way deficient. Try fending off an enraged chicken with 2 hands. Until you get the hang of it, they win. Their wings create a distracting disturbance while they come down hard with their toes, following up with a beak that is attached to a telescope and has tracking devices on either side of it.
Aside from having a sticky memory for the important things, their vision is astonishingly good. If I come out of the house with food in my hand they will all look up and run over from 50' away. I wonder if they also have a fine sense of smell. They know the difference [from a long way off] between romaine and cabbage. They can be starving, having only eaten commercial chicken food and what they have scrounged but if I put down nice fresh big green cabbage leaves they regard them with question marks hovering over their heads.
"What are we supposed to do with these?" They ask.
They will toss them in the air, they will trample them, they will nest on them but they will not eat them unless the leaves have first been run them through the cuisinart.
I could use the whole leaf to line the nesting boxes...... someone laid an egg on one this morning.
Except for the vinca, which I am told, has the same components as some chemotherapy meds, they have destroyed years of established perennials. They have done in one season what it takes global warming many more seasons to accomplish. The desertification of my yard ought to alter the tax base but that is a faint hope.
Trouble and expense has been gone to for their comfort and convenience, but they turn all efforts to their own ends.
I bought a heater that goes underneath the galvanized water feeder so that they would not have to be thirsty while waiting for me to get out of bed in the morning to let them out.
Now I have to change the water every day because Mae has decided that the waterer is the warmest place to roost. Of course it is. I'm sure that installing a designated place for her to poop instead of down the side of the water dispenser would be met with the usual suspiciousness.
Yesterday was warm enough for Buck to think that his ladies should go to the summer location under the house and chatter to each other. I went out on the deck to drink tea and read, but as soon as they heard me, they all clustered enthusiastically around and went over the food that they had earlier decided was not worth finishing. I have noticed that they like to come and do whatever poultry things they enjoy near my feet if I settle somewhere. They aren't interested in being touched, but respond well to being talked to. They even present me with facial expressions that are skillful enough to fool me into believing that not only are they listening but that they understand.
And I'm concerned about chicken intelligence?
Often when I watch them and think about how they were designed and what they were designed for, it strikes me that they are elegantly suited to eat continually, to rearrange the pieces of the landscape that weigh less than a pound and to distribute heat efficiently around their immediate personal space. Sometimes that tiny little head on the big round body makes me think that they are mobile one-handed creatures. If they need more than one hand, they engage their feet and don't feel as though they are in any way deficient. Try fending off an enraged chicken with 2 hands. Until you get the hang of it, they win. Their wings create a distracting disturbance while they come down hard with their toes, following up with a beak that is attached to a telescope and has tracking devices on either side of it.
Aside from having a sticky memory for the important things, their vision is astonishingly good. If I come out of the house with food in my hand they will all look up and run over from 50' away. I wonder if they also have a fine sense of smell. They know the difference [from a long way off] between romaine and cabbage. They can be starving, having only eaten commercial chicken food and what they have scrounged but if I put down nice fresh big green cabbage leaves they regard them with question marks hovering over their heads.
"What are we supposed to do with these?" They ask.
They will toss them in the air, they will trample them, they will nest on them but they will not eat them unless the leaves have first been run them through the cuisinart.
I could use the whole leaf to line the nesting boxes...... someone laid an egg on one this morning.
Except for the vinca, which I am told, has the same components as some chemotherapy meds, they have destroyed years of established perennials. They have done in one season what it takes global warming many more seasons to accomplish. The desertification of my yard ought to alter the tax base but that is a faint hope.
Trouble and expense has been gone to for their comfort and convenience, but they turn all efforts to their own ends.
I bought a heater that goes underneath the galvanized water feeder so that they would not have to be thirsty while waiting for me to get out of bed in the morning to let them out.
Now I have to change the water every day because Mae has decided that the waterer is the warmest place to roost. Of course it is. I'm sure that installing a designated place for her to poop instead of down the side of the water dispenser would be met with the usual suspiciousness.
Yesterday was warm enough for Buck to think that his ladies should go to the summer location under the house and chatter to each other. I went out on the deck to drink tea and read, but as soon as they heard me, they all clustered enthusiastically around and went over the food that they had earlier decided was not worth finishing. I have noticed that they like to come and do whatever poultry things they enjoy near my feet if I settle somewhere. They aren't interested in being touched, but respond well to being talked to. They even present me with facial expressions that are skillful enough to fool me into believing that not only are they listening but that they understand.
And I'm concerned about chicken intelligence?
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Glad to hear from you, but criticisms will be ignored. It's the beauty of the web. I will answer all friendly remarks. Buck handles the rest.