INSPIRATION FROM MY OTHER "LADIES"

After a long hiatus from posting a new blog entry, inspiration finally hit and now my fingers are literally flying on the computer keys as I type this new post. That inspiration has come from my little feathered offspring that are now running in my yard, decorating it like many colored rainbows in the sky. Except they are on land. Their wide assortment of colors adds life to my otherwise drab-looking yard in the summer when the sun’s heat has mercilessly turned the once-verdant grass to a lifeless withered brown. I know I wax overly romantic and sentimental when I describe my little ones and I make no apologies for that. When it comes to my hennies, I can profess a love that I am sure all breeders and true-blue cockfighting aficionados will understand. Thankfully, my wife understands—on the condition that when I step inside the house, all my attention is fixed on her and her alone. I, of course, am very amenable to this arrangement.

So let me go back to the object of my affection in my yard—my hennies. I have hatched quite a good number this year when demand spurred me to finally buy an incubator for the first time in my life. You will know from my previous posts that I am a staunch believer of the natural method—that is, hen-hatching and hen-brooding all the chicks. But I finally had to give in to technology when I realized that I couldn’t possibly keep up with the need to produce more of my Ironladies if I simply relied on my hens.

Although I still believe in the merits of the natural method, I am thankful for the incubator because of the many, many hennylets (my term for small hennies born last December, January, and February) that are now gleefully running around in my small range area. Imagine seeing hennies of all shapes and sizes; with toppies (thanks to Calvin Randall of Paradise Gamefarm Bacolod for the materials) and without; greys, reds, whites, buliks, gold, blacks. It’s literally a feast of the senses for me.

The best part is when I call them to give their daily rations. The minute I give the “call,” they spring like canons from wherever they happen to be resting to run to me like wildfire. Most gather around my legs, but the few whom I have a special affinity for fly up to my head and shoulders, as if to tell me that I should give them extra because they are special.

Feeding is a family affair as my son and daughter excitedly go out to help, fetching water in their small pails and watering the chickens. I don’t let them handle the feeding part, though, because they have the propensity to overfeed—something that the chickens welcome but my feed budget doesn’t. Driven by the innate curiosity of childhood, my (human) offspring are full of questions that I sometimes find difficult to answer: Daddy, why did God create chickens? I was tempted to answer: To give joy to the cockfighters, sweetheart. But then I realized that it would lead to more complicated queries so I settled for: So that our yard will look beautiful. They seemed content with that.

Taking care of my baby hennies makes me forget time or some depressing concern. Just seeing them each day lowers my blood pressure and feeding the older cocks gives me the exercise I need. When they are fully-grown, I know I will be able to see if they are the deadly warriors in deceptive hen feathers that I bred them to be. But for now, I am content to watch my hennies run and play and embellish my yard with colors.

I would not trade this kind of life with my chickens for any riches in the world. Of course, if I can have riches and my chickens at the same time then I would be very happy man indeed. But then, where’s the fun in that?