I just washed the poo off my fingers so I can write. (Bird poo, not mine.) I sit here, typing as quietly as I can as to not disturb the six sleeping babies inches from this keyboard. Despite my efforts, the quiet rat-tat-tapping of the keys draws 12 alert eyes, six at a time, from fuzzy, erect heads.
Um, scratch that. They all just fell asleep. Simultaneously.
That's just it: they're such - babies. 'Narcoleptic babies' may be redundant, because I think most babies sleep and wake at will, at times without direct obvious cause. I've declared it my favorite thing about these birds - that they run around with such an extreme sense of urgency and purpose - until they literally fall asleep. And I mean, fall over. Like they're dead.
It's like the rapture hit the brooder cage. One second, they're running about like mad, frantically searching for the thing they're - about - to - find - - - and the next instant their wings drop to floor and they melt sideways into the soft hay, or on top of the feed hopper, or beak-first into the water trough, or onto each other in one great soft mass. It's so terrifically funny, so inexplicable, but really - why not fall asleep whenever the urge strikes them? They're babies after all.
I really love them. All six of them, even the few I can't tell apart. One is smaller than the rest and has a subtle dark mark on her head tip. We call her 'Runt.' One is just huge, and seems to be developing about a day ahead of the rest, so we suspect she is exactly that - one day older. The other four are very similar, made all the more similar by the impression that the six of them share one tiny bird brain. We call it the 'hive mind,' because it's uncanny how they all want to do exactly the same thing at the same time. Sleep, drink, run around, peck something. It's like some announcement alerted them that water is on Sale Sale Sale! in aisle seven. And the sound that emanates from the cage is one big cloud of 'peep.' Somehow their chirps float around and defy acoustic law, and the effect is calming and dazzling.
Speaking of the pecking - it's constant and they're indiscriminate. They obey the following criteria:
1. Is there a value contrast (light to dark)?
2. Is it nearby?
That's all they care about. If it's a speck, or anything like a speck, or not even a speck but something that looks different than the stuff around it, it's peckable. That includes fingers, sleeves, pieces of hay, dried pieces of poo stuck on a fellow bird, parts of the brooder wire, their own feet - and on and on.
As for their temperament, I now understand two idioms in a way I never have before: 'bird brain,' and acting 'chicken.' I'll take the latter one first:
Being chicken. Chicken shit. Chicken-livered. You know; scared. It's funny, though; they're not timid. The opposite is true - they're intensely curious creatures. But they have hair-trigger orienting responses to absolutely everything. Rustling paper, a slight breeze, the squeak of a chair, a voice, even the clicking of keys on a keyboard. Everything is cause for instant alarm, but unless it's an immediate threat, they calm down as quickly as they get fired up. These birds can go from full panic to asleep in 5 seconds. I've seen it repeatedly.
That brings me to 'bird-brained.' Any creature that can freak out and fall asleep in the space of a few breaths must not think over-much about any one thing. They're not burdened with the concept of cause and effect or even sequential events. It's always now for them - like really now - all the time. Which is why it's so captivating to watch them for hours on end, which is exactly what Erik and I have been doing for the past week.
The brooder sits atop what used to be the dining room table, and has now turned into the bird and veggie nursery. Two chairs are drawn to the edge of the table, inches from the brooder, so that we can easily do all sorts of things while watching the girls. Tooth brushing, shoelace tying, coffee drinking - all happen in immediate proximity to the brooder cage. But mostly we just sit there together, Erik and I, like awestruck sports radio announcers, calling the play-by-play as we see it.
"Look- Runt's charging that other one! Did you see how high she just jumped?"
"Oh, that's definitely a poop squat. Good thing we change the litter to hay; it's a much better color now."
"Now that's one's falling asleep - can you believe it? She just fell over!"
The television in the other room talks to no one. Dirty dishes wait in the kitchen sink. Our cat wonders what happened to his once loving family.
Meanwhile, we just sit and watch, in wonder at it all.
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