Bugs and tender new grass are scarce this time of year, and the other day I noticed my laying flock starting to argue at their morning feeder. That, of course, inevitably means that the hens on the lower end of the pecking order get shortchanged.
Keeping the feed supply steady keeps egg production steady, so I added a couple big dog bowls to the pen and started to fill them too each morning. By nightfall, they have been emptied and kicked around, and are usually sitting upside down. When I go out to lock up, the big feeder goes in a metal garbage can (it’s a rat abatement thing) but the empty dog bowls sit out all night.
This morning, I had hung out the big feeder, but not filled the dog bowls yet, when I let the flock out of the coop. Twenty-five ravenous little feathered dinosaurs ran outside, eager to break their fast, and David Cassidy, my sweet, petite Swedish Flower rooster, immediately started making a big fuss. First he let out his “Look ladies! Tasty morsels!” call, but quickly switched to his “hey, what the heck???” complaint.
I turned around to find him glaring right at me, indignant as only a proud rooster can be, as he used his feet to try to flip over the purple dog bowl. It looked for all the world like he thought if he could get it right side up, it would magically fill with food for his ladies.
Oh, and also? It was all my fault. Apparently expectations have been set, and I need to do better and get breakfast served! Yes Sir Mr Cassidy! Right away, Mr. Cassidy!