Editor’s note: This segment was rebroadcast on May 12, 2025. Find that audio here.
Sy Montgomery has written more than 34 books about some of the world’s most mysterious and beloved creatures. Her 2015 book “The Soul of An Octopus” was a love letter to the intelligence of the ocean’s mysterious dweller. Now she tackles a bird you may recognize — the humble chicken.
“What the Chicken Knows” is a warm exploration of the charming individuality and delightful smarts of the domesticated fowl. Montgomery joins us.
By Sy Montgomery
“Hello, Ladies!”
Even if there is no one in sight, I call out to them whenever I round the corner of
the woodpile to enter the barnyard. For even if they’re scattered over several acres
of lawn and woods and brush—some hunting in the com- post pile, others
patrolling the neighbor’s blueberry patch, some scratching in the leaves by the
stone wall—I know they’ll come running. A dozen foot-tall, black and black- and-
white figures, holding their wings out like tots spreading their arms to keep
balance or beating their wings to propel themselves even faster, come racing
toward me on scaly, four-toed feet, showing the wild enthusiasm of fans catching
sight of a rock star. It’s a welcome that makes me feel as popular as the Beatles—
even if my personal fan club is composed entirely of poultry.
At times, I suppose, I am less a celebrity than the moral equivalent of the
neighborhood ice cream truck. For often, I come bearing food—vegetable peelings
from the house, the trimmings from pie crust dough, and sometimes an entire tub
of fresh cottage cheese that I buy just for them. My hens, like many pets,
particularly enjoy being fed by hand. The lead chicken, standing before me front
and center, tilts her head to examine my offering with one skeptical orange eye.
Then she seizes the first morsel in her hard black-and- amber beak—and the crowd
goes wild. Everyone pecks with great enthusiasm, hard enough to hurt my palm. If,
among the buffet, there is one particularly big treat to be had—a single apple core,
a baked squash skin—at some point, somebody will seize this. The victor will run
some distance, chased by her sisters, until the prize is either stolen or swallowed. This is usually good for about ten minutes of entertainment.
But often, I don’t come bearing food. I come just for a visit. I relish these
encounters even more. The Ladies don’t seem disappointed at all. They mill at my
feet, cheerful and excited, for they know I have a different treat in store. They are
waiting for me to pick them up, stroke them, and sometimes—yes, I admit it,
despite medical warnings of the slight chance of contracting salmonella—kiss their
warm, red, rubbery combs.
They also like me to run my hand along the sleek length of their backs. Each will
squat, wings slightly raised, neck feathers erected, welcoming my caress. I start at
the back of the neck, and when my hand has completed half its journey, the hen
will arch her back. I gently close my fingers around her tail feathers until my
stroke swoops into the air—rather like the way you would stroke a cat. Then it
starts all over again, until the hen has had enough and has reached what we call
“overpet.” She fluffs her feathers, shakes, and, fortified by affection, strolls off to
continue her chicken day.
When I crouch to pet one hen, another one might hop up to perch on my thigh,
patiently waiting her turn. I talk to them. “Hello, Ladies! How are my Ladies? Did
you find good worms today? What was in the compost?” They keep up their end of
the conversation with their lilting chicken voices. Visitors who witness this for the
first time are amazed. “I’ve never seen anything like that!” they say. “I always
thought chickens were stupid! Is it possible,” they wonder, “that they actually
know you?”
Of course they know me. They know the neighbors, too. In the more than two
decades that I’ve been living with chickens, they have formed deep bonds with
some—and not with others. Certain individual chickens adored our pig,
Christopher Hogwood, who lived for fourteen years in the pen next to the coop in
the barn. Some even chose to roost with him, perched atop his great prone bulk,
instead of spending the night with flock-mates. But none of the hens has ever
bonded with our border collies. They never visit the neighbors across the street—
but they adore the retired couple next door. When the Ladies hear Bobbie and
Jarvis Coffin’s screen door slam, the hens hop over the low stone wall separating
our yards and rush to greet them. When Jarvis relaxes in the backyard hammock
on summer days, they gather beneath him, and some leap into the air, attempting
to join him in his day roost. (So far they haven’t succeeded.) The hens mob the
couple whenever they try to enter their cars. Usually Bobbie and Jarvis get them
some cracked corn, which they keep in their shed just for our hens, and make their
getaway while the birds are eating. Sometimes, Bobbie confesses, when she’s in a
hurry, she sneaks out the door and tiptoes to the car, to avoid a protracted visit
with our chickens.
Sometimes, the Ladies don’t wait for the Coffins to make the first move. A few of
the bolder hens have been known to mount the flight of wooden steps leading to
Bobbie and Jarvis’s second-story back porch—quite a feat considering the birds are
only twice as tall as the steps are deep. They gather, softly discussing their plans,
outside the porch door, looking in through the glass panes, trying to catch the
attention of their human friends and entice them to come out and play.
Occasionally the hens come over while the Coffins are hosting a gathering. Their
guests are invariably impressed. “I didn’t know you had chickens!” people exclaim
—and then seem dumbfounded that, like themselves, our chickens simply enjoy
visiting their lively, kind neighbors.
Folks use words like “astonishing” to describe such friendships between people
and poultry. What’s more astonishing, though, is not that these birds know so much
about their human neighbors, but that we humans know so little about our neighborhood birds—even one as common and readily recognized as a chicken.
“Birds Are Individuals” from Birdology copyright © 2010 by Sy Montgomery. Audio excerpt courtesy of Simon & Schuster Audio from the audiobook WHAT THE CHICKEN KNOWS by Sy Montgomery, read by the author, published by Simon & Schuster Audio, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. Used with permission from Simon & Schuster, Inc.
This article was originally published on WBUR.org.
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