How she got her name
Photo courtesy of Virginia Martin
So this one year I was at the poultry auction about 1 1/2 hours north of my home. Having bought more birds than I knew what to do with, including one very cantankerous Brown Leghorn cock, I loaded up the car and started off for home.
I was about 15 minutes into the trip when I see all the cars in front of me slowing up and swerving. There, calmly walking down the road is this big Barred Rock hen. I pulled over, got out and figured I'd spend the next half hour chasing her around. On the contrary--when I went out in the road by her she calmly followed me onto the shoulder and let me pick her up. I immediately named her HitchHiker and stuck her in the crate with all the other large chickens and started off, once again.
(My guess is that someone had bought her at the auction and was carrying her home in a box in the back of a pickup, and the box opened.)
Within 5 minutes it sounded like Desert Storm back there. I pull over again, determined to rescue my new hen from that mean rooster. Well . . . she had beat the living tar out of every bird in that crate. So she ended up having her name changed to BitchHiker and traveling home with a very large tom turkey.
She's one of my tamest birds. She doesn't like to be picked up, but she'll walk over and let you pet her.
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