Bottom of the Brood

broody

adj broodier, broodiest

1. moody; meditative; introspective

2. wishing to sit on or hatch eggs (when hens "go broody" they will stop laying)

brood

v.intr.

1. To sit on or hatch eggs.

2. To hover envelopingly; loom.

3. a. To be deep in thought; meditate.

b. To focus the attention on a subject persistently and moodily; worry:

c. To be depressed.

Neil Young has been broody for quite some time. "Kids these days don't even know who I am," she frequently says to herself (as none of the other hens will talk to her or allow her to eat with them). "I made Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young what it was. Everybody knows that. Without me they would have been just a bunch of ordinary hens, a bunch of None Hit Wonders..."

A nearby hen let out a cluck of protest, but then quickly went back to ignoring the Ameraucana.

"Ok, ok," Neil Young continued, "CSN had two top 40 singles before I joined them and successful solo albums, but where are they now?" Neil looked glumly around the coop and decided not to continue with this train of thought.

She also refuses to lay eggs.

It happened to me, too!

Emboldened by Deirdre's abduction story, MechWarrior stepped forward today with a similar tale, lending credence to what most had dismissed as a wild fabrication.

"It happened a few weeks ago," Mech Warrior said. "This time, they came during the day instead of at night, and snatched me right out of the run. Either the other hens didn't notice, or the aliens had some of those Men In Black wands they waved around to make everyone forget what they'd seen... Come to think of it, both aliens were wearing black!" MechWarrior's agitation noticeably increased as she continued her tale. "They took me into their pod and put me on a cold white examining table, more like a bin actually, with a drain... I shudder to think what the drain was for..."

"Go on, go on!" Deirdre said.

"Then... one of the aliens held be down by the neck... and the other... did things to my... my..." here her voice dropped an octave... "my egghole!"

Deirdre and the others hens gasped.

"I don't know what they were doing back there, but it took them a long time. I tried to escape once, but they captured me again." MechWarrior fluffed up her feathers and stamped around a bit. "They're lucky I wasn't wearing my Power Armor with HarJel. I would've zapped them with my Jump Jets! They should know better than to mess with a MechWarrior from the House of Liao!"

"What happened next?" Deirdre said, egging her on.

"Well, then they took out this weird silver lazer thing, and blasted my rump with it! I was suddenly flushed with heat. And embarrassment. Luckily after that they let me go back home."

Mr. Pants happened to be scratching for worms nearby and looked up at MechWarrior. "Hey, what happened to your poop?"

"What poop?" MechWarrior said.

"That poop stuck to your butt feathers. You've been dragging it around all month."

"Oh, that poop... It's not there anymore? They've taken it! They've taken my poop! It's not just the neighbors wanting it for their compost, now the aliens are after it too." MechWarrior looked bewildered and proud at the same time. She muttered something about DNA samples and cloning, and then got distracted by a corn cob that was thrown into the run.

"Corn! Corn! Corn!" was her final statement on the matter.

Bollyweird Aliens

Deirdre McCluckskey claims she was abducted by aliens last Friday, and her comments caused quite a stir in a coop already shaken by allegations of ghosts and zombies.

"They came in the night and snatched me while I was sleeping," she said. "There were bright lights and strange sounds... and... and... they put me in this little cage and put me on this table... There were aliens with big eyes and even bigger hair and they all gathered around me and... did... strange things..."

A clique of believers gathered around the hen, eager for more details, while some of the other hens were quite skeptical. Dierdre is more known for her right-leaning economic theories than for wild tales of supernatural occurrences (although the two are sometimes synonymous, such as in the case of "trickle-down" economics), but she didn't let the naysayers ruffle her feathers. Although she seemingly lacks the empirical evidence she would need to prove her point (not that this bothers most economists, most notably Alan Greenspan), Deirdre was undeterred in her tale-telling. "There was one alien who said he was going to come again in the night and turn our coop into a frothel and casino! I don't know what that means, but we'd better watch out. Next time they rest of you may not be so lucky. They could beam us all up into the light and... and... probe our egg holes while they do their weird alien dances!"

Lee Smith chuckled to himself in the corner.

MechWarrior looked alarmed.

Haunted Coop

An unexplained event occured last week which led many of the chickens to suspect that perhaps the their coop is haunted.

"It was a dark and stormy night," Mother Clucker began. "We were all lined up on our bench, cozy and warm, when we were awoken by strange sounds coming from the far side of the coop. It was almost like a cluck or a coo, but with a bit of a moan mingled in."

"Like the sound a chicken makes. But not," Bartleby Pollywollydoodah added.

"We listened to these sounds all night, off and on, and were quite unsettled by morning," Mother Clucker continued. "The biggest shock of all came when the door was opened and there, on our bench, were two pale creatures who looked like chickens, but much smaller, and sounded like chickens, but with a most unearthly tinge."

"They bolted when sunlight hit them and raced to the far corner of the run," Lee Smith said. "I'm sure that's empirical evidence that we're dealing with supernatural beings."

"We mobilized ourselves into action!" Mother Clucker proudly boasted. "We're not about to let any little chicken ghosts get up in here and contaminate our food with their ghostly essence. We rallied around the feeder and wouldn't let them near our precious grains."

The leghorns, who most resembled the intruders in color and size, were eager to dominate the smaller creatures whether they were ghosts or not. They managed to get in a few good pecks before one of the humans showed up and whisked the chicken-like beings away.

The leghorns disagree that the beings, who called themselves Gladys and FeatherPants, were ghosts.

"You can't peck a ghost," Rampage! said. "I think what we've got here are zombies. Zombies are well known to frequent these parts. Why, just last year there was a zombie infestation and Kid Chaos had to get 'em all in the brain pan. Probably one of those zombies took a bite out of one of these neighborhood chickens and turned it into a zombie chicken! Zombie Chicken! Zombie Chicken!" Rampage! was quite worked up over her theory, almost enough to go on an actual rampage. Most of the chickens still hold to the ghost theory.

"How did they get into the coop while we were sleeping, smarty-pants?" Mother Clucker said tauntingly. "Zombies can't pass through walls."

"Zombie Chicken! Zombie Chicken!" Rampage said, running around in circles.

The New Chicken Steward

Daji the Fox, the newest member of the Masala co-op, has graciously agreed to be the new chicken steward. The details of the stewardship have yet to be worked out, but for now she will be taking on a supervisory role and making sure the chickens basic needs are met. She volunteered to go out back every day and check the perimeter of the coop, just to be sure there aren't any little holes that the chickens might use to escape. "From what I can tell, the perimeter is secure, but if one of you would like to open the door for me, I'll go in and inspect further... to... ah... make sure the chickens are safe." Daji is particularly concerned that predators might get a hold of one, or more of the hens. "If some dastardly creature was able to get in the coop, it would be the end for these plump feathery juicy little birds. All the predator would have to do is dash in, with lightening speed, and sink her sharp teeth deep into the bird's plump... delicious... What was I saying? Oh, yes! It would be a disaster. We must protect the helpless little chickens at all costs!" Daji will give us a report at the next house meeting as to the success of her endeavors.

The Stash

A hidden pile of eggs was unexpectedly found yesterday during a routine search of the coop. One white egg was spotted nestled in the straw on the floor of the coop, behind the leg of the bench, and during its retrieval a total of five white eggs were found. Crystal Meth could be heard moaning in the background, "They stash! The stash! They found the stash!" which only further incriminated the Leghorn, who is known to lay eggs in odd places along with her sister Leghorns (The Knife excepted, of course). The discovery prompted a full-scale raid by BHC officials, who entered the coop later in the day armed with a giant rake and snow shovel. DNA samples, in the form of chicken droppings, along with all lose straw and bits of food were collected and taken to Masala's compost bin, where they will be further analyzed by a team of worm detectives. An undisclosed source said the eggs were probably being hidden from Lee Smith, a notorious egg-pecker, who many of the chickens suspect is actually a human in disguise. The Whig Party, considered to be a key witness, ignored the whole fuss and plopped herself into a hole and gave herself a dirt bath during the raid. When asked to give a statement to BHC officials, she declined comment.

Who's Poopy Now?

MechWarrior still has a poopy butt, much to the delight of Mr. Pants, who spent her formative years being mercilessly teased by the other chickens for that very same condition. Mr. Pants spent the afternoon following MechWarrior around, calling attention to the larger hen's rear quarters. This is a sad case of the bullied becoming a bully. It's amazing what a little taste of power can do to a chicken.

The Best Cubby

The Knife spent a good twenty minutes sitting on Neil Young's head today, while the erstwhile musician attempted to squeeze out her blue egg (in a cubby this time). This cubby, the top left, appears to be a favorite with quite a few of the hens. Penelope was observed later in the day trying to spend some Alone Time in there, when Lee Smith approached and pecked her mercilessly on the head. Eventually Lee Smith snapped Penelope's comb so hard she went tumbling out of the coop. Lee Smith then hopped into the favored cubby and snooped around, probably looking for an egg to eat. Disappointed, she strolled along the perch to make it clear whose territory it was. The Knife hopped up on the perch and was quickly shooed away with a few well-placed pecks to the torso. She flapped away, but not before vowing revenge. The Knife is clearly below Lee Smith in the pecking order, but is quite well respected by the other hens for even attempting to enter the coop after Penelope's awkward displacement. Lee Smith remains unperturbed by any revenge vows, hexes, or stink eyes. "This is my coop, ya hear? I tole you already: I HAVE THE DEED!"

Talk To My Agent

Neil Young laid her blue egg in the middle of the run yesterday. She thinks she can do whatever she wants because she's a rockstar? One of the Leghorns, Rampage!, responded by pecking her on her sideburn, effectively kicking her down a notch in the pecking order. "Not fair," Neil Young clucked. "These Leghorns lay their eggs wherever they want. Every day there's a white egg on the long bench in the coop." The Knife interrupted and said she objected to this unfair generalization of all Leghorns. "I laid my egg in a cubby just this morning. Ask the human if you don't believe me. The unemployed one, the one who is always lurking around here. She saw me do it." The Knife then pecked Neil Young on her other sideburn, causing her to slip even further down the social ladder. "Talk to my agent," Neil Young said as she sulked away. The Leghorns cackled behind her back.

Meet the Folks with the Yolks (redux)

Welcome to the chicken blog of the Masala Co-op. We're a housing co-op (that's short for co-operative, note the hyphen) and in our backyard we have a chicken coop (no hyphen) and inside our coop there is a drama played out daily in which our chickens vie for supremacy in the pecking order. This drama is known as The Chicken Coup (note: the "p" is silent). We're a co-op with a coup inside our coop. Got it? Ok, let's meet the chickens.

MechWarrior

I Am MechWarrior. I'm the biggest Black Star hen in the coop. I am from the Inner Sphere, governed by the Great House Liao. We're known for our manipilative, unstable leaders and great military losses in the interstellar wars of successsion. My feathers aren't as dark as the other Black Star hens because after I do battle, my Elemental Battle Tech armor gets acid washed. One day I will rule this coop with an iron fist. Mark my words.

Lee Smith

I'm Lee Smith. I'm a Black Star hen. I have a masters degree in Physics and you can sometimes catch me in a top hat masquerading as Jonas P. Wilkerson. I flew the coop last year and took off to Hawaii, but now I'm safely back in Masala's yard where I enjoy eating the eggs of my fellow hens. Probably because I have this degree in physics, I'm the only chicken who figured out the ideal beak trajectory necessary to break open an egg in fewer than five pecks. You simply take the square root of the diameter of the egg at its widest point and adjust for variables such as the outside atmospheric pressure and the thickness of the shell based on the calcium intake of the hen in question, then multiply that by the length of the vector between the point of my beak and the meridian of the eggshell. You can easily tell me apart from the other Black Stars because I always wear this orange anklet.

P.S. I have the deed!

Mother Clucker

I'm Mother Clucker (formerly known as Phoenix). I'm a Black Star with a big comb that folds in the front, no anklet, and very black feathers. I'm the most photogenic hen, as you can see, and I'm not just a pretty face, I'm smart too. If you hang a corn cob from the roof I'll probably be the first hen to make the necessary leap (cognitively and literally) to get that corn into my gizzard. And I don't even have a physics degree. I'm street smart.

Bartleby/Pollywollydoodah

I'm a Black Star hen and I think my name is Bartleby. When Cedar comes over to visit, he calls me Pollywollydoodah. I don't really care, because I'm a chicken and I don't respond to the sound of my own name. Sometimes the other hens try to get me to proofread their chicken scratch or rearrange the straw in the cubbies, but I'm like, "Uh, I would prefer not to." I sometimes respond to bribes in the form of food, especially corn cobs and melons cut in half, but mostly I keep to myself. You can tell me apart from the other Black Stars because I have a small comb, no anklet and very black feathers.

Rampage!

I'm Rampage! My full name is Rampage! Baloney Presley. I have the biggest, floppiest comb of all the Leghorns. When I run, which is often, my comb splays out over my face like a jagged piece of balogna. Some people think I look like my cousin Elvis. In my spare time I used to enjoy pecking at and eating styrofoam, but now that the humans have taken it away (grrrr...humans...I mean, squawk... humans) I like to peck at my own poo. I also enjoy laying eggs in inappropriate places.

Mr. Pants

I'm Mr. Pants. I have a big floppy comb that hides my face like a bonnet. I don't like to look you in the eye because I often poop in my pants and it makes me embarrassed. I like to hide under the coop and give myself dirt baths when nobody is watching.

The Knife

Look out! I'm The Knife. I've got a medium-sized comb with uniformly jagged peaks. I'm more likely to let you pick me up than the other Leghorns, but that's probably only so that I can twist myself into your gut. Heh heh.

Crystal Meth

Hi. I'm Crystal Meth. I've got the smallest comb of all the Leghorns and I'm the most addictive. I can run really fast between your legs if you try to catch me. Most photos of me are blurry because I'm that fast. I'm wily and I might escape from the coop when your back is turned. Some of my nicknames are: Ice, Crystal, Glass, Crank, Meth, Shabu, Tik, Piku and YaaBaa.

Neil Young

Hey there. I'm Neil Young (note my distinctive shaggy muttonchop sideburns). I'm a rock star and I lay pale blue eggs. I'm the only hen with a brown body and a black head, and my legs are bluish/gray. I might be an Ameraucana or some variety of Easter Egger, but I'm probably not a true Araucana. I may not be pure bred, but my falsetto tenor drives the groupies wild.

The Whig Party

Hello. I'm The Whig Party. I support the supremacy of congress over the executive branch and I think Andrew Jackson is a dangerous maverick on horseback with a reactionary opposition to the forces of social, economic and moral modernization. In my spare time I like to jump on the backs of other chickens while they're laying eggs and when I get tired of that I corner Deirdre and talk right-wing politics. I'm a Rhode Island Red and I'm fairly uniform in color, with just a bit of white around my ruff.

Deirdre McCluckskey

I'm Deirdre McCluckskey. I'm a transgendered economist extraordinaire with undergraduate and graduate degrees from Harvard University. My latest book, The Bourgeois Virtues: Ethics for an Age of Commerce, is the first of a projected four-volume magnum opus. I'm combs and wattles above the rest of these dumb clucks. You can tell me apart from the other Rhode Island Reds by the distinctive white mottling all down my back.

Old Paint

I'm Old Paint. I stand out from the other Rhode Island Reds because I have beautifully distinctive white feathers in the ruff around my neck. Also, the feathers on my body are darker red than the other hens. I have a small shotgun that I keep in my cubby to ward off the other chickens who might want to eat my eggs. Nobody messes with Old Paint.

Penelope (Penny)

Hi! My name is Penelope. You can call me Penny. I'm a Rhode Island Red and I'm the friendliest of all the chickens. You can pick me up and not worry about getting your eyes pecked out or getting slapped in the face with a wing. You can easily tell me apart from the other Rhode Island Reds because I'm the one that's the lightest, most uniform red. I've got a few small spots of white on my rump and, unlike the other Reds, I don't have any white feathers in the ruff around my neck.

Meet the Folks with the Yolks

Welcome to the chicken blog of the Masala Co-op. We're a housing co-op (that's short for co-operative, note the hyphen) and in our backyard we have a chicken coop (no hyphen) and inside our coop there is a drama played out daily in which our chickens vie for supremacy. This drama is known as the chicken coup (note: the "p" is silent). We're a co-op with a coup inside our coop. Got it? Ok, let's meet the chickens.