Life Sketches by Terry Berskon
Peckulating Chickens

The hens I finally found in late spring last year were now laying prolifically. I was feeding them mash but they were scattering it around the coop and yard so I switched to pellets that for the most part stay in the feed pail. Good egg production continued but I noticed that feathers were missing from the necks, breasts and rear ends of some of the birds. It wasn’t Romeo the rooster. He had been a gentle sweetheart. The girls seemed to be pulling each others feathers out — not all of them, just a few. One in particular was missing more feathers than the others. I assumed she was at the bottom of the proverbial pecking order. I didn’t think the feather-pulling was due to a lack of protein because the feed I was using had a high protein content. Also, allowed to free range, the birds had access to worms, bugs and greens that aid in providing them with a well balanced diet.

I took a look on YouTube where there was an English lady holding a half-bald chicken and touting some blue liquid repellant in a spray bottle about which she warned “Don’t be down wind of the mist when you use it.” I was sure that she meant that the stuff really stinks. Pine tar applied to the plucked area was also recommended but I couldn’t find it in town or even at stores down in the Mohawk Valley. A smell that chickens don’t like was possibly the answer.

So, what foul-smelling chemical did I have around the farm to use? Everyone knows a skunk’s main defense is smell. Sometimes when we pass a flattened skunk on the road Alice says that the remains smell like coffee. I half-heartedly agree. So, it may follow that most animals would be repelled by something that smelled like coffee. When I researched the subject it turned out that coffee and skunk spray have a chemical in common. It’s called n-butyl mercaptan. Now, how could I make use of this knowledge? There was a can of extra strong demitasse coffee that I pictured sitting in the kitchen closet. Alice loves the jet black brew, sipped out of these little doll house cups, after an Italian meal. Whenever she goes down to the city she brings back a can of her special brand coffee — that she rarely offers to me. No problem, I don’t often drink the stuff because the strong caffeine keeps me up at night. I didn’t think she’d notice if I borrowed a few scoops but unfortunately the can was almost empty. Pressured by the pecking problem I mixed the remaining black grounds into a small jar of petroleum jelly. Then I stealthily put the empty can back in the closet. Now, when applied the greasy mixture would stick to my chickens. I went out to the coop and one by one caught the birds that had feathers missing and covered the bald spots with my caffeinated concoction. The mixture seemed to work because for the next few days I didn’t notice any newly plucked areas.

When my repellent wore off and I had to catch the birds for another application, the round-up proved to be much more difficult than I expected. Before I greased them, the girls would be waltzing around the yard. Now they were doing a jitterbug and it was much more difficult to bag them. When Alice, unaware of the ingredients in my mixture, saw me chasing after a chicken she commented, “You’re slowing down. You did a lot better rounding them up the first time.”

I couldn’t tell her what I was thinking but I was pretty sure the birds had absorbed the strong caffeine from her beloved coffee that I had mixed with the Vaseline to make the repellent. Now, the chickens seemed supercharged on high test — especially the hen with the most feathers missing which revealed more exposed skin. She was scooting around like the Road Runner with me in hot pursuit. I finally had to give up on catching her. By the time I caught and greased all the others I was exhausted. At night, when she was blindly roosting in the coop was when I got hold of the one that got away. Now, I was just about out of the stimulating salve and couldn’t pilfer any more of Alice’s after-a-good-meal demitasse. I’d have to go downtown to buy coffee. One thing for sure, the next brew I made would definitely be decaf.

When I entered the kitchen the other night Alice was just turning away from the closet that held, unbeknownst to her, the empty can of her coveted coffee. “What’s for supper?” I asked.

She hesitated for a moment and then to my alarm answered, “Chicken Cacciatore!”