May 3rd, 2010    Capturing Wild Child

Most of our chickens have respectable names, and they're respectable chickens. There is Lucinda, and Isis, and Sunshine, and Copper. Then there is the rogue. The rebel. The outsider. Her name? Her name is Wild Child.

Wild Child seems to have an innate distrust of human beings, and though we've tried to win her over with treats and songs and kind words, she continues to spurn us. Every evening, when the other chickens come in to roost, Wild Child retreats instead to the forests, where she finds a tree branch and roosts, alone, through the night. At least she lays her eggs in the coop, unlike Isis (but that's another story).

This might have gone on indefinitely, except that my cousin in Missouri recently called and offered Rebecca and I two hens who were being picked on. They needed a new home, and our peaceful flock seemed just the place. So transport was arranged with my aunt, who had quite an adventure bringing them back to Minnesota (that's also another story), and we drove over to pick them up.

As we drove them home, we pondered the situation. You see, the proper thing to do when you get some new chickens is to keep them confined in the coop and fenced run for a few days. That way they come to recognize the coop as 'home', and when they are released to go free-range, they come home each night, and lay their eggs right where we want them.

   This photo of the elusive Wild Child is practically our only proof that she exists.
Our plan was to herd our existing flock into the coop, seal them in, and then introduce the two new hens. This was a simple enough process, and ten minutes after we got home everyone was safely ensconced. Everyone, that is, except Wild Child.

Our problem now was that Wild Child would be separated from the rest of the flock for a few days, and would more than likely start laying her eggs in the woods. Once that habit was established, we had little hope of ever having a relationship with Wild Child. Clearly, something had to be done. Wild Child must be captured, we decided.

Now, as a not-quite-yet-famous turkey chaser, you'd think this would be a piece of cake. But capturing a chicken in our valley isn't all that simple. We began to give chase in the usual, senseless way that humans do: running after her and trying to 'head her off'. This involved running up and down the hill to the stream, scampering through nettles, and stumbling through undergrowth. Wild Child was always a step ahead. Or to be honest, more like fifty or sixty.

Then something odd happened. As we tried to trap her in a pincher formation with Rebecca on one side of the yard and me on the other, with the house as a wall, Wild Child ran up to the LP tank and disappeared. Just like that, she was gone. Both of us thought we had been keeping watch on her, so we were dumbfounded. Wild Child clearly had to be renamed Chicken Ninja.

We gave up. This was useless. Meeting by the LP tank, we both gave long, heavy sighs.

That's when we saw her. She was hiding, tucked neatly under the tank in the high grasses. We were only a few paces away.

I fumbled for a plan, and if it wasn't for Rebecca admonishing me to 'be decisive', we'd probably still be out there trying to come up with the perfect method for capture. Rebecca was dispatched to get a blanket, and I positioned myself to swoop in for the capture. On the count of three, Rebecca ran forward with the blanket to block the rear escape, and I lunged in.

Wild Child bolted, and there was a flurry of wings as I grabbed her. She let out a piercing squawk, but the deed was done. Wild Child was ours.

She kept up the squawking, over and over as we carried her to the coop. A moment later we stood outside the fence and admired our handiwork. Wild Child was one with the flock.

The result of all this excitement is that hopefully Wild Child will reunite with the flock, and Isis will begin to lay her eggs inside again. There are now seven chickens in the flock, and if we can get them all laying, we might actually have enough eggs to give away to friends and family. One can always hope.

For now, though, the hens will have to suffer with being enclosed, at least for a few days. Rebecca and I? Sitting down to lasagna to celebrate Wild Child's capture.