Thursday, April 20, 2006
Four-Legged Chicken?
Did you ever watch two birds going through a courtship ritual? We saw several pairs of albatrosses in the Galapagos doing exactly that. They cross and clack their beaks and dance with one another in an elaborate ceremony. Other species have their own courtship protocol. But what happens if a male forgets to say "May I?" Plenty, apparently. Researchers in Canada have discovered that over the last decades an increasing number of roosters are acting as if they just got off the turnip truck. The males are forgetting to peck at the ground pretending that they are eating and have eliminated the old two-step where they kick up shavings to get the female’s undivided attention. They are then supposed to waltz around the female with the outside wing extended. This is where the real trouble begins. This part of the ritual is very similar to what a normal rooster would do if he were about to attack another rooster. Something in his brain goes awry. He is no longer sure if this is a romantic interlude or the prelude to a full-fledged donnybrook. There is total confusion on his part. So he assumes that he is supposed to do both. Ouch! The feathers begin to fly. He has suddenly become an aggressive sociopath.
Much of this could have been predicted. After all, there is a long history of misconceptions about chickens and appropriate chicken behavior. Remember Foghorn Leghorn and his tiny nemesis, Henery Hawk? One day Grandpa Hawk decides that it is about time to have a little birds and the bees talk with Henery. "Well, Henery, you’re a big boy now. We’d better have a little talk." "Okay, pop. What do you wanna know?" Eventually they get around to the subject of chickens. "I’ve told you, Henery, why you’re too little to hunt chickens with me." "You mean on account of what you was telling me that chickens are great, big monsters?" "Yep." "They got big, sharp teeth and they live in caves?"
In another episode Foghorn confronts Henery. Foghorn tries to distract the young chicken hawk by pointing to Barnyard Dog. "There’s a chicken—I say, there’s a chicken for you – Boy doesn’t pay attention. Nice four legged chicken. Go on over. I say, go on over and taste him, kid. You’ll like him."
In the Lovelorn Leghorn Foghorn endures a head banging experience with Prissy who is searching for a husband. "Let me guess, dearie. You’re looking for a husband." "Yes!" "Well, you’re going about it the wrong way, sister. You don’t bat ‘em on the bean with a rolling pin. That comes later."
Now, how does all this misinformation translate from the reel world to the real world? Many years ago before anyone had thought of researching sociopath roosters, my niece Sheila was visiting my mother. Mom asked her to get the eggs from the henhouse. In a few minutes Sheila was running around the house with the rooster right behind her. Rita, my other niece, screamed. Mom ran out of the house with a broom and began to chase the rooster. Sheila was in the lead, followed by the rooster, who was followed by mom and the broom. They ran around and around the house.
That was the final straw. Dad decided the rooster had to go. He said something to the grocer next door, and in a few days a family that lived a short way down the road inquired about the rooster. They needed one to help build the flock. Dad warned them about the rooster’s bad disposition. They were bound and determined and the rooster changed hands. Whenever Dad would drive by he would always look for the rooster. One day it just vanished—never to be seen again. After a week or so Dad asked what had happened to the rooster. "Mr. Ernest, that rooster was meaner than we took him for!" No one would argue with that. He was no Cornelius the Rooster, that loveable fowl who has adorned the Kellogg Corn Flakes box since 1957. He was not even a Rocky Rhodes, the misguided hero of Chicken Run. He was simply one of the first sociopaths of his breed. He was a Leghorn.
Did you ever watch two birds going through a courtship ritual? We saw several pairs of albatrosses in the Galapagos doing exactly that. They cross and clack their beaks and dance with one another in an elaborate ceremony. Other species have their own courtship protocol. But what happens if a male forgets to say "May I?" Plenty, apparently. Researchers in Canada have discovered that over the last decades an increasing number of roosters are acting as if they just got off the turnip truck. The males are forgetting to peck at the ground pretending that they are eating and have eliminated the old two-step where they kick up shavings to get the female’s undivided attention. They are then supposed to waltz around the female with the outside wing extended. This is where the real trouble begins. This part of the ritual is very similar to what a normal rooster would do if he were about to attack another rooster. Something in his brain goes awry. He is no longer sure if this is a romantic interlude or the prelude to a full-fledged donnybrook. There is total confusion on his part. So he assumes that he is supposed to do both. Ouch! The feathers begin to fly. He has suddenly become an aggressive sociopath.
Much of this could have been predicted. After all, there is a long history of misconceptions about chickens and appropriate chicken behavior. Remember Foghorn Leghorn and his tiny nemesis, Henery Hawk? One day Grandpa Hawk decides that it is about time to have a little birds and the bees talk with Henery. "Well, Henery, you’re a big boy now. We’d better have a little talk." "Okay, pop. What do you wanna know?" Eventually they get around to the subject of chickens. "I’ve told you, Henery, why you’re too little to hunt chickens with me." "You mean on account of what you was telling me that chickens are great, big monsters?" "Yep." "They got big, sharp teeth and they live in caves?"
In another episode Foghorn confronts Henery. Foghorn tries to distract the young chicken hawk by pointing to Barnyard Dog. "There’s a chicken—I say, there’s a chicken for you – Boy doesn’t pay attention. Nice four legged chicken. Go on over. I say, go on over and taste him, kid. You’ll like him."
In the Lovelorn Leghorn Foghorn endures a head banging experience with Prissy who is searching for a husband. "Let me guess, dearie. You’re looking for a husband." "Yes!" "Well, you’re going about it the wrong way, sister. You don’t bat ‘em on the bean with a rolling pin. That comes later."
Now, how does all this misinformation translate from the reel world to the real world? Many years ago before anyone had thought of researching sociopath roosters, my niece Sheila was visiting my mother. Mom asked her to get the eggs from the henhouse. In a few minutes Sheila was running around the house with the rooster right behind her. Rita, my other niece, screamed. Mom ran out of the house with a broom and began to chase the rooster. Sheila was in the lead, followed by the rooster, who was followed by mom and the broom. They ran around and around the house.
That was the final straw. Dad decided the rooster had to go. He said something to the grocer next door, and in a few days a family that lived a short way down the road inquired about the rooster. They needed one to help build the flock. Dad warned them about the rooster’s bad disposition. They were bound and determined and the rooster changed hands. Whenever Dad would drive by he would always look for the rooster. One day it just vanished—never to be seen again. After a week or so Dad asked what had happened to the rooster. "Mr. Ernest, that rooster was meaner than we took him for!" No one would argue with that. He was no Cornelius the Rooster, that loveable fowl who has adorned the Kellogg Corn Flakes box since 1957. He was not even a Rocky Rhodes, the misguided hero of Chicken Run. He was simply one of the first sociopaths of his breed. He was a Leghorn.
