There are two things that make a person popular with chickens. Food and treats. The fact that I bring food to them every morning makes me their friend. The fact that I am rarely without a pocket full of bread makes me their god.
Creatures that do not know enough to come in out of the rain, who can and do occasionally get lost in the front porch, who, if given a warm bath, will get so relaxed that they will fall face first into the warm water and drown to death, these creatures will gladly learn to jump through hoops for a few bits of bread.
No, my chickens do not jump through hoops. But I have seen them jump over the dog. And fences. And each other. All for treats.
When they hear my voice, their little heads pop up, they drop whatever they are doing and they come running. If I am outside, they follow me around. The hens will walk so close to me, sometimes I have to fall over myself to avoid tripping over them. When this happens, they jump and squawk. Then Bruce gets all testy because his girls almost got stepped on, and he'll start puffing up and sharpening his spurs. Beast.
It is a bit like having my own little band of disciples. Sure they're dumb as dirt and only interested in one thing, but let's face it, I'm not exactly an A-list god. More like F-list, if even that. One can't be picky when all one has to offer is a pocket of stale bread bits.
All I can say is raising a flock of chickens is really good for the ego.
There. I have spoken.
:)
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