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| One of two new girls in the flock, a bantam barred rock, name still pending... |
We were heading to the Rocky Mountain Feather Fancier’s show
in Brighton, about an hour away.
Yes, that’s right: A chicken show.
Can you imagine a better reason to get up early on a
Saturday? Me neither!
We jumped in the car and were on our way. L had her Pocket Poultry guide with her, just in
case there was an exotic breed that we needed to identify in a jiffy. She
chattered all the way down to the show as we braved Denver traffic and found
our way to the Adams County Fairgrounds.
We have, sadly, lost a few hens over the past year: Clover,
Pearl, and Betty Boop. Bossy Clover and sweet Pearl from old age. Betty Boop,
the funny Polish Crested who had yet to lay an egg, was found lifeless on the
coop floor several weeks ago. This made me sad. She was a young pullet that had
started following me everywhere, and she had been perfectly chipper the day
before. Once again, we were reminded that chickens are fragile.
We still have Violet, the Grand Dame of the flock. And Oreo,
Thelma, Louise, and Pip. Young pullets Nettie, Hazel and Rosemary have yet to
produce an egg. But we were heading to the show to see if we could find a
Bantam Cochin pullet for Lydia, and maybe one other hen.
We hadn’t spent one-on-one time together in a long time. We
talked chickens and horses and music and books. It was good.
Pulling into the parking lot we wondered if this was the
right spot. Our questions were answered when we opened the car doors and heard
roosters crowing. We both looked at each other and said, “We’re in the right
place.”
The fiercely competitive tension crackled from the fair
buildings.
Well, ok, not really. Poultry peeps are fairly relaxed folk.
There were a couple of horse trailers parked in the front of
the building. They were filled with cages and stereophonic with quacks. Ducks for
sale. Poultry pushers. Oh, so tempting. We glanced longingly at the little Call
Ducks, but we both knew what we were there for, and ducks weren’t on the list.
Kids strolled around with hens tucked nonchalantly into the
crooks of elbows. Rows of cages housing birds entered in the show filled half
the building. I asked where the sale birds were, and we were directed to the
north end of the building.
Four people were sliding a floorless pen along the cement
floor to relocate it to a different spot. Inside about a dozen adult ducks
waddled along, their webbed feet making little slap-slap noises as they walked
along, like a bunch of kids in flip flops at the pool. We waited for this
little procession to pass by, then got down to the serious business of bird
buying.
I liked a nicely colored Ameraucana hen. Housed with her was
a pair of very nice cochin bantams—a hen and a rooster. We really can’t have a
rooster in town. The owner wasn’t sure she wanted to split them up, which I can
understand. She had a box full of young chicks, bantam cochins, but their
coloring was iffy for showing, though we thought maybe 4H would be more
lenient. Then we saw three little bantam barred rock hens. Hardly exotic, but
appealing. Violet is a barred rock, but she’s a full sized hen and her
feathering wasn’t as fine and barring wasn’t as crisp as these birds.
We knew we didn’t want to introduce a solo bird to the
flock. But just about every cage held a pair (hen and rooster) or trio (rooster
and two hens). We hemmed and hawed and decided to go have a coffee at Starbucks
and think about our choices.
We chatted and enjoyed the time together, then headed back
to the show. Someone had brought in a bunch of speckled Sussex hens, reminding
me of Mabel. L didn’t really want another Speckled Sussex—because they reminded
her of Mabel. We made a decision. We’d get one of the barred rock bantam hens,
and one small chick. We talked to the owners, L made her selections and we put
our new flock members in the small crate we’d brought. As we pulled out of the
fairgrounds…. The naming game began, punctuated by peeps and clucks all the way
home.
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