The Problem-Solving Skills of a Little Red Hen
I could see her little chicken brain trying so hard to solve the problem
The ground is covered in a mix of snow and sleet — mostly sleet. It looks like snow, but you don’t sink in it when you walk. Most of my chickens are refusing to leave the coop.
But Dark Red Henny is braver than the other chickens. That’s why she moved out of the coop in the first place. Several months ago, she flew the coop and moved in with the goats. She’s a free spirit — fierce and independent.
But, sometimes, she’s also a little stupid.
Yesterday, we discovered that the meaner goats — three-legged Dolly and tiny Margaret — were not allowing the other girls to come inside the barn. This is normal goat behavior, so we weren’t surprised by it. Our solution was to give them space to spread out by letting them use the main part of the barn in addition to their stall. We removed anything a goat might decide to eat from inside the barn, and then we opened their stall door — and had to close the outside gate so they wouldn’t escape the barn. This closed gate would be problematic for Dark Red Henny later in the day.
Dark Red Henny left the barn at one point, probably by going through the girls’ stall, into their outdoor pen, and through their fence. She travels this route every day, multiple times a day. I looked out my kitchen window and saw that she was out, hiding under a table we use for cleaning fish. Dark Red Henny often hangs out under this table when it’s raining. I threw on my boots, scarf, and hat and went outside. I grabbed a scoop of chicken food and tossed it to her under the table — because I can’t feed her inside the goat barn. Anything a chicken will eat, a goat will also eat, with the possible exception of insects. But I didn’t have any insects to feed her.
I went back in the house. Later, I looked out and saw Dark Red Henny puzzling over the closed gate. Normally, we leave it open during the day (I close it at night because one time, a dog went in the barn in the middle of the night and scared the crap out of all the goats and their chicken roommate).
I watched. The gate is short enough that she could easily fly over it. After all, she can fly out of the coop with its six-foot fence. There was also a wheelbarrow next to the fence that she could have used — she could have hopped up on the wheelbarrow handle, then hopped over the gate. Or she could have gone back in the way she got out, by going through the fence, through the pen, and into the stall.
Does my chicken have problem-solving skills? I was about to find out.
She stood in front of the gate, puzzled. She took a few steps backward, then walked up to the gate once more. And there she stood, helpless. Finally, I saw her give up. She walked away and stood in the sleet and snow, raising first one cold foot, then the other. At that moment, I assume she had given up on life. She was going to die out in the cold; there was just no help for it.
I put my boots, hat, and scarf back on and went outside.
“Do you want to go back in the barn?” I asked her. She looked up at me with one eye. Normally, she doesn’t like to be picked up, but she didn’t even try to run away. I picked her up with no fuss or trouble and tossed her over the gate. Later, I brought out some pita chips for her. She had to share them with the goats, of course.
