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Chickens have memory, emotions, empathy and a keenly developed consciousness of one another and their surroundings. They deserve our respect and care.

(Photo credit: Engin Akyurt/Pexels)
Most people I talk to are surprised to learn that chickens evolved in a
rugged, tropical forest habitat filled with vibrant colors and sounds to
which they contribute their share to this day. Many are surprised to learn
that chickens are endowed with memory and emotions and a keenly developed
consciousness of one another and their surroundings.
A newspaper reporter who visited our sanctuary was astonished to discover
that chickens recognize each other as individuals after they’ve been
separated. A friend and I had rescued a hen and a rooster in a patch of
woods alongside a road in rural Virginia. The first night we managed to get
the hen out of the tree, but the rooster got away. The next night after
hours of playing hide and seek with him in the rain, we managed to snag the
rooster, and the two reunited at our sanctuary. When the reporter visited a
few days later, she saw these two chickens, Lois and Lambrusco, foraging
together as a couple, showing that they remembered each other after being
apart.
Chickens form memories that influence their social behavior from the time
they are embryos, and they update their memories over the course of their
lives. I’ve observed their memories in action at our sanctuary many times.
For instance, if I have to remove a hen from the flock for two or three
weeks in order to treat an infection, when I put her outside again, she
moves easily back into the flock — they accept her as if she had never been
away. There may be a little showdown, a tiff instigated by another hen, but
the challenge is quickly resolved. Best of all, I’ve watched many a
returning hen greeted by her own flock members led by the rooster walking
over and gathering around her conversably.
The purpose of our sanctuary in Virginia is to provide a place for chickens
who need a home, rather than adding to the population and thus diminishing
our capacity to adopt more birds. For this reason, we do not allow our hens
to hatch their eggs as they would otherwise do, given their association with
the roosters in our yard. All of our birds have been adopted from situations
of abandonment or abuse, or else they were no longer wanted or able to be
cared for by their previous owners. Our two-acre sanctuary is a
predator-proof yard with the wooded areas and soil chickens love to perch
and scratch in all year round.
I broke our no chick-hatching rule on one occasion. Returning from a trip, I
discovered that Daffodil, a soft white hen with a sweet face and quiet
manner, was nestled deep in the corner of her house in a nest she’d pulled
together from the straw bedding on the dirt floor. Seeing there were only
two eggs beneath her, I left her alone. Not long after on a day in June,
while scattering fresh straw in her house, I heard the tiniest peeps.
Thinking a sparrow was caught inside, I looked to guide the bird out, but
those peeps were not from a sparrow: They arose from Daffodil’s corner.
Peering into the dark place where she sat, I beheld a little yellow face
with dark bright eyes peeking out of her feathers.
I knelt down and stared into the face of this tiny chick who looked intently
back at me before hiding himself and peeking out again. I looked into
Daffodil’s face as well, knowing from experience that making direct eye
contact with chickens is crucial to forming an affectionate bond with them.
From the first, a large red rooster named Francis visited Daffodil and her
chick in their nesting place, and Daffodil acted happy and content to have
him there. Frequently, I found him sitting quietly with her and the little
chick, who scrambled around both of them, in and out of their feathers.
Though roosters will mate with more than one hen in the flock, a rooster and
hen may also form bonds so strong that they will not mate with anyone else.
Could it be that Francis was the father of this chick and that he and
Daffodil knew it? He certainly was uniquely and intimately involved with the
pair, and it wasn’t as though he was the head of the flock, the one who
oversaw all of the hens and the other roosters and was thus fulfilling his
duty in that role. Rather, Francis seemed simply to be a member of this
particular family.
For the rest of the summer, Daffodil and her chick formed a kind of
enchanted circle with an inviolable space all around themselves, as they
roamed together in the yard, undisturbed by the other chickens. Not once did
I see Francis or any of the other roosters try to mate with Daffodil during
the time she was raising her frisky chick — the little one I named Daisy who
grew up to be Sir Daisy, a large, handsome rooster with white and
golden-brown feathers.

Daffodil and Sir Daisy (Photo credit Karen Davis)
When I first started keeping chickens, there were no predators, until a
fox found us. We built our fences after eleven chickens disappeared rapidly
under our nose. The fox would sneak up in broad daylight, raising a clamor
among the birds. Running outside I’d see no stalker, just sometimes a
soul-stabbing bunch of feathers on the ground at the site of abduction. When
our bantam rooster Josie was taken, his companion Alexandra ran shrieking
through the kitchen, jumped up on a table, still shrieking, and was never
the same afterward.
It was too much. I sat on the kitchen floor crying and screaming. At the
time, I was caring for Sonja, a big white warm-natured, bouncy hen I was
treating for wounds she’d received before I rescued her. As I sat on the
floor exploding with grief and guilt, Sonja walked over to where I sat
weeping. She nestled her face next to mine and began purring with the
ineffable soft purr that is also a trill in chickens. She comforted me even
as her gesture deepened the heartache I was feeling. Did Sonja know why I
was crying? I doubt it, but maybe she did. Did she know I was terribly sad
and distressed? There is no question about that. She responded to my grief
with an expression of empathy that I have carried emotionally in my life
ever since.
I do not seek to sentimentalize chickens but to characterize them as best I
can, based on my observations and relationships with them over many years.
In the 1980s, I discovered a crippled chicken named Viva all alone in a
shed. My experience with her led me to found United Poultry Concerns in
1990. Little did I know as I lifted her out of the shed to take her home
with me that it was the first day of the rest of my life advocating for
chickens and their rights.
May 4 is International Respect for Chickens Day and May is International
Respect for Chickens Month. We urge people who care about animals to do a
positive action for chickens that illuminates who they are and how we can
help them.
Karen Davis, Ph.D., is the president and founder of United Poultry Concerns, a nonprofit organization that promotes the compassionate and respectful treatment of domestic fowl including a sanctuary for chickens in Virginia. Inducted into the National Animal Rights Hall of Fame for Outstanding Contributions to Animal Liberation, Karen is the author of Prisoned Chickens, Poisoned Eggs: An Inside Look at the Modern Poultry Industry; More Than a Meal: The Turkey in History, Myth, Ritual, and Reality; The Holocaust and the Henmaid’s Tale: A Case for Comparing Atrocities and other works including her children’s book A Home for Henny and Instead of Chicken, Instead of Turkey: A Poultryless “Poultry” Potpourri, a vegan cookbook. A volume of Karen’s writings, For the Birds – From Exploitation to Liberation: Essays on Chickens, Turkeys, and Other Domestic Fowl, will be published in 2019 by Lantern Books.