The passage about hens in the Bible didn't hold much meaning for me before this year.
O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a
hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing! Matthew 23
A few weeks ago we gently placed a fertile egg under our broody Silkie and have been privy to her maternal prowess. Since the moment that chick hatched, Popcorn has led her every moment of every day. At night Penny is snuggled beneath her
underbelly, or in the shelter of her wing. If the twins pick Penny up for a minute the cheeping increases dramatically, and before we earned her trust simply reaching into their box triggered sharp hissing and pecking. Yesterday a few of our ten week old chicks were cornered with Penny while the girls were filling waterers and when Popcorn jumped in the ferocity of her attack rendered the four larger birds terrified and leaping frantically to escape her beak.
Since our other Silkie is feeling left out of the mother baby fest, this week I
brought home a two day old chick from the feed store. Pumpkin was sitting faithfully on an infertile egg, and I held the chick for her to see. She growled loudly enough that John heard it in the next room. Apparently this is not how introductions work. I offered the baby to the other Silkie but she was much too busy scratching with Penny to care.
Failed adoption. Now what? Sthe fluff ball seemed content in my cupped hands but I actually have a life outside of chickens and could not devote myself the way Popcorn has. I have a friend who
is in a parallel effort to reward our Silkies and had a chick hatch hours before my bungled attempt. She invited me to bring the orphan over.
Surreptitiously she slipped the chick under the hen awash with maternal devotion. Mama adjusted her feathers for a second lump.
"Twins," she clucked.
Orphan Annie is doing well, and Pumpkin continues to sit hopefully on her hopeless egg.
The devotion of these small birds astonishes me every day. While they seem placid, all it takes is a potential threat to unleash the fury of their protective love.
Last week we went out with a couple who are struggling. They talked about their commitment to fight for their marriage. External problems
involving adult children, money, and jobs peck at them leaving them feeling caged. But they were here, now, sitting with us in one more effort to protect something precious.
How hard do we fight for our relationships? I am chastened by the memory of the ones I gave up on. But watching the devotion of a little white hen invites me to up my game.
