THE HATEFUL HEN
XI
The following inquiries and replies have been awaiting publication and Ishall print them here if the reader has no objections. I do not care tokeep correspondents waiting too long for fear they will get tired andfail to write me in the future when they want to know anything. Mr.Earnest Pendergast writes from Puyallup as follows:
"Why do you not try to improve your appearance more? I think you couldif you would, and we would all be so glad. You either have a verymalicious artist, or else your features must pain you a good deal attimes. Why don't you grow a mustache?"
These remarks, of course, are a little bit personal, Earnest, but stillthey show your goodness of heart. I fear that you are cursed with thefatal gift of beauty yourself and wish to have others go with you onthe downward way. You ask why I do not grow a mustache, and I tell youfrankly that it is for the public good that I do not. I used to wear along, drooping and beautiful mustache, which was well received insociety, and, under the quiet stars and opportune circumstances, gavegood satisfaction; but at last the hour came when I felt that I mustdecide between this long, silky mustache and soft-boiled eggs, of whichI am passionately fond. I hope that you understand my position, Earnest,and that I am studying the public welfare more than my own at all times.
Sassafras Oleson, of South Deadman, writes to know something of the careof fowls in the spring and summer. "Do you know," he asks, "anything ofthe best methods for feeding young orphan chickens? Is there any way toprevent hens from stealing their nests and sitting on inanimate objects?Tell us as tersely as possible what your own experience has been withhens."
To speak tersely of the hen and her mission in life seems to me almostsacrilege. It is at least in poor taste. The hen and her works lie nearto every true heart. She does much toward making us better, and shedoesn't care who knows it, either. Young chicks who have lost theirmothers by death, and whose fathers are of a shiftless and improvidentnature, may be fed on kumiss, two parts; moxie, eight parts; distilledwater, ten parts. Mix and administer till relief is obtained. Sometimes,however, a guinea hen will provide for the young chicken, and many liveshave been saved in this way. Whether or not this plan will influence thevoice of the rising hen is a question among henologists of the countrywhich I shall not attempt to answer.
Hens who steal their nests are generally of a secretive nature and aremore or less social pariahs. A hen who will do this should be watched atall times and won back by kind words from the step she is about to take.Brute force will accomplish little. Logic also does not avail. Youshould endeavor to influence her by showing her that it is honorable atall times to lay a good egg, and that as soon as she begins to besecretive and to seek to mislead those who know and love her, she takesa course which can not end with honor to herself or her descendants.
I have made the hen a study for many years, and love to watch her evenyet as she resumes her toils on a falling market year after year, orseeks to hatch out a summer hotel by setting on a door knob. Sheinterests and pleases me. Careful study of the hen convinces me that herlow, retreating forehead is a true index to her limited reasoningfaculties and lack of memory, ideality, imagination, calculation andspirituality. She is also deficient in her enjoyment of humor.
I once owned a large white draught rooster, who stood about seven handshigh, and had feet on him that would readily break down a wholecorn-field if he walked through it. Yet he lacked the courage of hisconvictions, and socially was not a success. Leading hens regarded himas a good-hearted rooster, and seemed to wonder that he did not get onbetter in a social way. He had a rich baritone voice, and was a goodprovider, digging up large areas of garden, and giving the hens what wasleft after he got through, and yet they gave their smiles to far moredissolute though perhaps brighter minds. So I took him away awhile, andlet him see something of the world by allowing him to visit among theneighbors, and go into society a little. Then I brought him home again,and one night colored him with diamond dyes so that he was a beautifulscarlet. His name was Sumner.
I took Sumner the following morning and turned him loose among his oldneighbors. Surprise was written on every face. He realized hisadvantage, and the first thing he did was to greet the astonished crowdwith a gutteral remark, which made them jump. He then stepped over to ahated rival, and ate off about fifteen cents' worth of his large, red,pompadour comb. He now remarked in a courteous way to a smallPoland-China hen, who seemed to be at the head of all works of socialimprovement, that we were having rather a backward spring. Then hepicked out the eye of another rival, much to his surprise, and went onwith the conversation. By noon the bright scarlet rooster owned thetown. Those who had picked on him before had now gone to the hospital,and practically the social world was his. He got so stuck up that hecrowed whenever the conversation lagged, and was too proud to eat a wormthat was not right off the ice. I never saw prosperity knock the senseout of a rooster so soon. He lost my sympathy at once, and I resolved tolet him carve out his own career as best he might.
Gradually his tail feathers grew gray and faded, but he wore his headhigh. He was arrogant and made the hens go worming for his breakfast bydaylight. Then he would get mad at the food and be real hateful and stepon the little chickens with his great big feet.
But as his new feathers began to come in folks got on to him, as MatthewArnold has it, and the other roosters began to brighten up and also blowup their biceps muscles.
_He looked up sadly at me with his one eye as who shouldsay, "Have you got any more of that there red paint left?"_ (Page 105)]
One day he was especially mean at breakfast. A large fat worm, broughtto him by the flower of his harem, had a slight gamey flavor, he seemedto think, and so he got mad and bit several chickens with his greatcoarse beak and stepped on some more and made a perfect show of himself.
At this moment a small bantam wearing one eye still in mourning dancedup and kicked Sumner's eye out. Then another rival knocked the stuffingfor a whole sofa pillow out of Sumner, and retired. By this time thesurprised and gratified hens stepped back and gave the boys a chance.The bantam now put on his trim little telegraph climbers and, going upMr. Sumner's powerful frame at about four jumps, he put in some repairson the giant's features, presented his bill, and returned. By nineo'clock Sumner didn't have features enough left for a Sunday paper. Helooked as if he had been through the elevated station at City Hall andBrooklyn bridge. He looked up sadly at me with his one eye as who shouldsay, "Have you got any more of that there red paint left?" But I shookmy head at him and he went away into a little patch of catnip andstayed there four days. After that you could get that rooster to doanything for you--except lay. He was gentle to a fault. He would runerrands for those hens and turn an icecream freezer for them all dayon lawn festival days while others were gay. He never murmured norrepined. He was kind to the little chickens and often spoke to themabout the general advantages of humility.
After many years of usefulness Sumner one day thoughtlessly ate theremains of a salt mackerel, and pulling the drapery of his couch abouthim he lay down to pleasant dreams, and life's fitful fever was over.His remains were given to a poor family in whom I take a great interest,frequently giving them many things for which I have no especial use.
This should teach us that some people can not stand prosperity, but needa little sorrow, ever and anon, to teach them where they belong. And,oh! how the great world smiles when a rooster, who has owned the ranchfor a year or so, and made himself odious, gets spread out over theUnited States by a smaller one with less voice.
The study of the fowl is filled with interest. Of late years I keepfowls instead of a garden. Formerly my neighbors kept fowls and I keptthe garden.
It is better as it is.
Mertie Kersykes, Whatcom, Washington, writes as follows: "Dear Mr. Nye,does pugilists ever reform? They are so much brought into Contax withcourse natures that I do not see how they can ever, ever become goodlives or become professors of religion. Do you know if such is the caset
o the best of your knowledge, and answeer Soon as convenient, and so nomore at Present."