He Will Call You Home

The recent rains and flooding have really destroyed our largest chicken coop. Hubby and I were trying to support the sagging structure a couple of weeks ago when two hens escaped. (I won’t say who left the door open). One of the girls is friendly, so I caught her in no time. But the other one is skittish, and the more we tried to catch her, the more she ran–in fact, she ran into this tall stand of ginger that borders the ravine, and I knew we could never follow her in there. Finally we humans retreated to let the chickens do their thing.

But what followed was amazing. The chickens go into their coop at dusk, because that’s where it’s safest, so the rooster was inside the coop calling to the chicken who hadn’t made it home. She was outside, lost as could be, and she was tut-tutting, trying to find her way home. He called and she tutted for about half an hour. Realizing that I wouldn’t be able to catch her, I opened the door through which she had escaped, and finally, as the rooster called, she walked through the door and into the coop.

Well. During Hurricane Hellene, I moved those chickens to another coop on higher ground. Last night I decided to put them back in their home coop because the roosters weren’t getting alone. I managed to get all of them except that SAME chicken. This time, I tried to grab her with my net (because I knew she wouldn’t let me get close enough to grab her with my hands), and she flew right out of the first coop and was roaming around in the jungle.

I walked through jungle and trees and palms for nearly an hour, sweating like a mechanic under a hot car, tired, and a little cross. Then I remember what I’d done a couple of weeks before. So I opened the back door through which she had escaped, then I settled back to wait.

Lo and behold, she remembered the way home (chickens have good memories!). The rooster was calling her, and suddenly everything went silent. I hadn’t seen her go into the coop, so I opened the door and counted heads–seven. They were all present and accounted for.

That particular skittish chicken is an Ayam Cemani–a completely black chicken–black wattle, black skin, black organs, black bones. I’ve decided to name her Elvira, after the Queen of the Darkness on those Saturday afternoon creature features. I’m just glad I was able to catch her in daylight. And I’m glad that rooster was faithful to call her home.

I have often said that roosters are like Jesus–they will lay down their lives for the flock, they lead them to food, they warn of predators . . . and twice now I have seen that when chickens are lost, the rooster will call and guide them home.

Just like Jesus.

Thank you, Mr. Roo, for being so faithful and diligent. And thank you, Jesus, for taking care of your flock.

Angie