There is dissension in our happy home and it has come to this. We must hold a vote to decide the new name for The Chicken Formerly Known as Minnie Ruth.
In case you haven’t been following the chicken drama Chez Bumblebee, let me catch you up.
Back in August I purchased three baby chicks for $2 each from the Amish market in Hughesville, about 45 minutes from our home. The fellow who sold me the chickens—who was not Amish, I should add—assured me that the baby chicks had been sexed and that all of them would grow up to be fine laying hens. He explained that the chicks were a white Plymouth Rock, an Arucauna and a Polish chicken. I named these baby chicks after my grandmothers and great aunt: Olive (Olivia), Minnie Ruth and Maxine.
Sadly, Maxine passed away after a few days. But Olive and Minnie Ruth have thrived.
But they also presented a surprise after a few weeks. They are, in fact, roosters. Unmistakably roosters. In fact, they are now in the full flush or their rooster-ness, although the hens, Myrtle and Maude, still boss them around.
Now, it came to me out of the blue one day that I should rename Olive T. Boone Chickens in honor of T. Boone Pickens, who is generally a good guy and whose wife, Madeleine, is working to rescue all those wild horses. My son, Ben, prefers to call the chicken T. Rex because he is so enormously huge and has an audible footstep.
But Minnie Ruth has presented more of a dilemma. No name immediately came to mind, which is why I need your help.
But I believe that the name should fit the chicken. So first, a little background.
As you may be able to see from the photos, The Chicken Formerly Known as Minnie Ruth is a beautiful black, with blue-green hues to his long, luxurious feathers. He is growing some manly facial hair that is sticking out to the sides and will probably grow into a more prominent chicken beard.
He isn’t as large as T. Boone Chickens, although he is much larger than the hens. He is skittish, even though I raised him by hand and have always been a kind and loving chicken mamma. Oh, and he is apparently in love with Maude. He follows her everywhere and, uhm, adores her, shall we say. They currently sleep together at night on the roost bar near the ceiling in the Palazzo di Pollo. He is quite the romancer, although Maude is playing hard-to-get.
In the Twitterverse, I had several suggestions for a new name. So now I’m asking for your help.
Name that chicken!
The choices are (in alphabetical order, so as not to indicate my preferences):
- Al Harris
- Don King
- Elvis
- Fabio
- James Brown
- Johnny Cash
- The Chicken Formerly Known as Minnie Ruth
For your vote to count, you must participate in the poll. It’s to your right at the top of this page. Vote now!
And if you want the chance to win a special prize, leave me a comment about why you advocate for one name or another. If your name is the winner—and I pick your name out of a hat among others who chose the same name—you can win a copy of the 2009 Extraordinary Chickens Calendar. It’s like a pin-up calendar for gorgeous chickens! I got one for myself!
For practical purposes, voting closes on Sunday, December 28. But vote now! And check in to see how the votes are going.
And happy holidays to all!
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For some time we have been a house divided here at Bumblebee.
We had the three laying hens living in one set of accommodations and the younger chickens living in another. They showed interest in each other and occasionally pecked at each other through the wires, but there was no co-mingling of the chickens.
Maxine and Maude on their afternoon walkabout
Since winter is inevitably creeping our way, I started allowing the chickens side-by-side free range time about three weeks ago to prepare them for their lives together.
Predictably, the three hens took one course and the two younger chickens another. There was the occasional skirmish if someone found a particularly tasty bug or worm, but for the most part, the two mini-flocks were separate, but equal.
This week as colder temperatures hit in earnest, I decided to force the integration of the flocks.
Olivia (or Oliver?) has grown out of the ugly stage
After letting all the chickens out for their afternoon walkabout, I closed the Eglu hotel where the younger chickens had been shacked up. Little did they know what was in store for them as they went off to blissfully peck for bugs.
As evening rolled around, the three hens moved back to their Palazzo di Pollo. The two younger chickens began circling the Eglu, making escalating sounds of distress.
“Hey, who closed the door. Let us in!!”
Clearly, they would not just follow the hens into the Palazzo. We had to do a bit of human intervention. Ben and I caught the chickens and shoved them into the Palazzo.
I am very sad to report that my sweet hens did not show their best sides. In fact, they were horrid to the poor chicks. No one was seriously injured, but there were definitely feathers all about the Palazzo when I went to open their door in the morning. The two chicks had taken refuge behind the garbage can where I keep their stash of food and the three hens were strutting about and barking like dogs. It was not their finest moment.
Minnie Ruth (aka Brett Favre) is not a beautiful chicken. But she/he has attitude.
Since no one was hurt—except perhaps for their feelings—I decided to press on with the integration.
Over the next few days, hostilities continued, with the hens asserting their dominance and the two younger chickens cowering in fear. After all, they were out-numbered.
Then one particularly cold evening I left the big door of the chicken house open hoping that all the chickens would find their way inside unassisted because I was busy indoors. To my amazement, when I went to tuck them in, all five of the chickens were huddled together in a warm little ball in the corner of the Palazzo. It seems that hostilities cease in cold weather. Even chickens are pragmatic in their cold weather co-habitation decisions.
I won’t say that all the chickens are now fast friends. But the pecking order has been established and there is now the minimum of hazing of the newcomers.
As for the question of gender in the younger chickens, I can only say that one, if not both, are roosters. Minnie Ruth is the smallest of the birds and exhibits the most animosity to humans. I don’t know what I did to deserve her/his ire. My husband says it’s because I keep calling him Minnie Ruth instead of something manly, such as Brett Favre.
As fall sets in and winter takes its place, we have two nice poultry panel heaters that will keep all the chickens warm and happy. I anxiously await the next developments with the chickens. I am most anxious to learn if I have any more hens—or if I am stuck with a couple of cranky roosters.
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