What's in a Name?

Shakespeare waxed poetic about the beauty of Juliet. In the story, of course, Juliet was in love with the handsome Romeo, who also dearly loved her, even though their families were bitter rivals. Juliet pined about the fact that her only love (Romeo) was sprung from her only hate (the family Montague). It is her famous "What's in a Name..." soliloquy that many eager young thespians memorize and recite. Yesterday I, too, was thinking of Juliet (well, at least a Juliet) and, like her, pondering the nature and meaning of names.

See, we have three kinds of chickens in our little flock. Our old hens (which are a breed known as Production Reds) were purchased from a neighboring hen house after their peak function was past. They had been housed with 1200 other Production Reds and lived only to eat, poop, and (of course) lay eggs. These kinds of ladies are known, without any effort at romance or honor, as 'spent hens' after they are around 18 months old. Remember, there is no glass ceiling or social security program for poultry. They were lucky to have been brought to our green yard and cozy hen house, where they have been allowed to live out their days eating bugs, being given swing and sled rides (sometimes against their wills), and laying the occasional egg as they chose to do so. Since arriving here, my girls have called this batch of chickens Henny Pennies.

Why Henny Pennies? I don't know. Though some of them did have their own names (including Le Morte and Mr. Chicken - I am not making this up), it is rather difficult to tell one spent hen from another, so it made the most sense to my girls to name them as a group. Plus, it distinguishes them from the two other types of chickens we have. Besides the Production Reds, we also have two white hens. One is a Leghorn, and the other a Californian. We came by both of these gals separately and in a somewhat strange fashion. Tracy came first. She had been purchased along with 29 other tiny, day-old white chicks by a friend of ours. The others in her group quickly grew fat and sassy, since they were Cornish Rock Cross - a breed that grows 6 pound birds in 8 weeks. Alas, there was one lone, mis-sorted Leghorn chick in the bunch. It soon became apparent to my friend that 'Mini-Hen' (as she had been dubbed by the resident namer at their house) was better suited for a hen house than a freezer. So, she came to live with us, and was promptly renamed Tracy.

The other white hen was part of group that we chicken-sat for over the Christmas holidays. (Hey - don't laugh. You would do the same for your dog or cat, right?) When the owner of this bunch came to pick his ladies up, he couldn't tell the difference between our Tracy and his white hen. (I find it incredibly insensitive of him to not be able to tell one white girl from another, and am infinitely glad that we got to keep this hen so she didn't have to go back to her obviously racist owner.) Anyway, her new name is Not Tracy. So, we find ourselves having conversations like this:

Me: Did you put the chickens in tonight?
Child: Yes, all the Henny Pennies are in, but not Tracy.
Me: Do you mean not Tracy, or not Not Tracy?
Child: Yes.
Me: But which one did you...
Child: [re-donning shoes] I'll just go out and put her in so I don't have to explain, ok Mom?

Our last group, which started out as a batch of 15 half-grown, mixed-sex (11 hens and 4 roosters) Rhode Island Red chickens purchased from Craigslist, have been affectionately known as Juliets. (I told you I'd eventually be talking about Juliet...)  Their numbers have since dwindled to six. We lost four hens to predators and cold this winter. One rooster was hit by a car. The other three had to be 're-homed' after they got a bit aggressive with the girls. And, alas, we lost one Juliet hen to a hawk yesterday. So, we're down to just six Juliets now. Our Henny Pennies have suffered some serious losses this past year as well, and now number only two. With those eight, along with our pair of white hens (who, of course, each already have their own names) it is looking more and more like we could move from group identity on to individual monikers for my lovely laying ladies.

Since it is my children who come up with the names (and spend the most time with the chickens) I'll have to check with them and see what they think. I'm inclined to keep things simple. And, since I'm able to both distinguish between and remember the names for Henny Pennies, Juliets, Tracy, and Not Tracy, I'm content to keep to keep things the way they are. Plus, as amusing as it can be, the process of getting the girls to agree on a name is rather like giving birth. There is much yelling, fist clenching, and the occasional Lamaze-style breathing through pursed lips. Just yesterday we travailed to bring forth names for our two new goats, which had to be agreed upon by three young girls. The process is harder than you might imagine. But, at the end of the labors, we were presented with our bouncing, brand new names - Marshmallow and Kid. The girls are happy, and the goats are indifferent, so I think it was a success. But, I'm not sure that our insurance will cover another naming for at least a year, so perhaps the hens will keep their current classifications after all.