The status of things again

Mottled Javas

Mottled Javas

Occasionally a person gets wind, through digital media, social circles, telegrams, et al., that at any given space on this vast earth there happens to be something of interest about chickens. Javas are one such breed of these dinosaur-like fowl, and are classified as “threatened” by the American Livestock Breed Conservancy. Us students are often left with the responsibilities of caring for these lovely ladies at the student farm (or “land lab” colloquially). They live in a polyvinyl chloride pipe structure wrapped in chicken wire and tarps. It fits over 10 feet or so of a garden bed at a time and is moved daily. The chickens thus have access to relatively healthy vegetation for snacking every single day of their short, clueless, service-filled lives.

Anyway, the Javas usually lay eggs which we later take, clean, and put into specialized cardboard containers (appropriately named “egg cartons”) for later applications of heat and consumption, exchange for American currency, or safe keeping until hatching. Although I am given to certain bouts of caprice, and indeed enjoy doing so, I affirm here that there is ample cause for my adding of the word “usually” in the first sentence of this bombastic paragraph. There’s a rooster living among the tarped and wired hens which we added with the express intention of fertilizing those eggs, which is all well and good, but upon my arrival today, and with subsequent investigation of the logs thereof, I found the hens to be laying statistically less eggs than usual. Usual being, of course, in the absence of a fertile avian male.

There is a lot of mystery to a man and woman alike. One of these mysteries is the absolutely balderdash notion that everything under the sun, plastics and chemicals included, must have some significant message which reaches down to the depths of the soul, provides some sort of direction or hint, a sense of knowing. That being a personal matter entirely (albeit perhaps a valuable one) I believe it is much too grandiose–and certainly off topic–for such a humble student blog. Let it be known that I apologize for this paragraph, but I’m afraid it must stand as is for I have lost track of both the “backspace” and “delete” keys.

Apparently female chickens are quite different in their ovulations, among other things, than female humans. Female capons, for example, do not ovulate on a monthly cycle, and the outcome–you’ll have to trust me here–is an infinite number of times more edible, or at least manageable. Upon doing some admittedly shoddy research in the matter of egg production I have come upon the following somewhat obvious information: When the fertilization of the egg occurs, by some wonder of nature (call it magic, hormones, whimsy…) female chickens then have the urge to, upon laying a few eggs, stop completely and sit on them for as long as it takes and refrain from further egg laying! So, although we’ve been doing that for them by placing them in a safe room with an elec1-astronomical-clock-michal-boubintrical source of heat, they seem not to notice.

Newton long ago enlightened the world by proving that every object in motion stays in motion. Perhaps the same can be said of the soul of a chicken.



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