Beyond the feathers

Leo has chooks. He loves his chooks, spends quite a bit of time trying to understand them. So much time in fact that I have come to believe that the rest of world has misunderstood chooks for their whole existence and Leo has been put on Earth to be their saviour and help the rest of the universe realise their ignorant chook ways.

He sits beside the chooks while they lay their eggs, then once a perfectly brown, oval and warm egg has been placed in the nest and the chook takes off for another peck around, Leo takes the egg carefully in his four-year-old hand and goes and thanks the chook for providing his breakfast and wishes the hen a good day. He then comes running inside to tell me the glorious news of a fresh egg, pulls a chair to the fridge and places it in the egg holder.

He can tell which chooks have laid which eggs and is not afraid to provide some constructive criticism, especially if one of his three beloved chooks has been off the lay. He encourages them to give each other cuddles and spent quite a bit of time counselling them over their archaic "pecking order" system when the third chook was introduced to the other two, constantly explaining the sharing concept at feed times.

Leo's chook giftedness (I am pretty sure that is an offical term) was discovered very early. His grandmother (a chook wrangler from way back) accidentally stumbled upon him having a quiet chat with one of her hens atop a 44 gallon drum when Leo had still to turn two. He was looking the chook in the eye having a serious conversation and somehow, the chook actually looked interested. It was then that mum told me he had the way with chooks like she had never seen before.

Funny really given that I am quite afraid of the things myself despite being a farm girl. I can clearly and wholly pin the blame of my broken leg when I was four on chooks, they broke my leg. And don't get me started on clucky chooks, talk about strike the fear of God into you.

In a Douglas Adams-type way I think Leo reckons chooks actually rule the world and we are just here to service them. That one day, they'll just say "thanks for all the scraps" in a bok-bok kind of way and that will be it.

He has instilled an excitement for his feathered friends in his little sister to the point where first thing in the morning, frost or no frost, I have my work cut out restraining the little sister before she is standing in the chook yard in nothing else but a nappy. They do have disagreements over whether the chooks should be let out of their very sizeable yard to roam the entire backyard or not. Delilah is a "free the whales at all costs" type whereas Leo is more concerned at what is best for the welfare of the animals concerned. In the chooks' case, he doesn't trust the visiting cats.

Leo came to me yesterday and said "Look what I can do Mummy!" and promptly bootscooted his way across the loungeroom in perfect steps, thumbs in belt keepers and all. Of course in a surprised and impressed response I said "Where did you learn that Leo?" His response? "The chooks taught me."

Another day when Grandma was here for one of her many exciting visits she asked Leo what book he would like to read. In his usual hilarious manner he brought her the atlas. In trying to outdo Leo's smartness, Grandma opened to a map of the world and said "Ok, where's Australia?" And Leo pointed straight to the correct country. So turned to a different map and asked the same question. And of course he again got it right.

So in amazement I of course ask "Where did you learn that, Leo." His response? "In the chookhouse!"

Hmmmm, so these chooks of Leo's are quite incredible, they have taught him so many things, including some naughty words which I told Leo to let the chooks know aren't acceptable. I hope he passed the message on.