The Pecking Order

The first and last

I have just come back in from burying Ninja chicken. A tesco reject she survived two attempts by a fox to have her for lunch and had reached the ripe old age of 7. She was top of the pecking order by a mile and always first in the queue for food, attention and anything else that might be on offer. My happiest memories are of her arriving unannounced in the kitchen and warming herself by the AGA. Of stealing a guest's toasted sandwich- we were having lunch on the patio and in an animated discussion the unsuspecting guest waved her arm in a dramatic gesture. Ninja imediately spotted that the sandwich was raised as well as the arm. She leapt like a salmon and scuttled of with her treasure highly delighted with herself chuckling and chortling as she devoured her booty.
Her full name was Ninja Whinger because she was always whinging and muttering away to herself and to anyone else who would listen. She loved human company as much as her chickens sisters and would often pop into my caravan for a chat and then go on her merry way. If the door was closed she would tap on it with her beak – gently at first and then impatiently if I kept her waiting. One of the funniest moments was when she jumped in and encountered a wellington boot by the door. She mistook it for a chicken raised herself to her full height puffed out her feathers and systematically duffed the poor wellington up. Suddenly it dawned on her that it was a boot and and not an infiltrator and she went all sheepish. I swear she blushed looking round to see if anyone was watching and with as much dignity as she could muster scuttled back into the garden. She was an old battleaxe, the Maggie Smith of the chicken world but I loved her dearly. And when she asked to come into the caravan last night I knew it would be for the last time and so did she I'm sure.

I have a sneaking suspicion that if St Peter was on duty at the Pearly gates when her Ladyship arrived in the early hours of the morning, he would have got a right earful and even as I write I expect Ninja is already running the show!!

In contrast bottom of the pecking order is
Little Pearl. The smallest and by far the scruffiest chicken on the block. In her four years with me, she has laid exactly seven eggs, none of them bigger than a table tennis ball and most nearer the size of a marble. But undaunted, every day off she goes in search of a good spot, wriggles herself about, makes a nest before getting up and coming back terribly proud of herself- even though no resepectable size egg is ever forthcoming!
Each day she goes through the motions – goes off – comes back, not the slightest bit bothered that she is in fact unproductive and in other circumstances may well have ended up as a burger or Macnugget by now. She's happy, I'm happy, we're all happy. Well all except the cook who on occasions is a couple of eggs short of an omelette. But then aren't we all !!
Sitting watching her this morning I found myself asking, which of the two chickens am I most like? Where am I in life's pecking order?

Maybe we all need a bit of Little Pearl in us as well as a touch of Ninja? I don't know. I only know that with my chickens I laugh and cry and watch and learn
and begin again...