I was talking to a guy at the gym/PT the other day, and he mentioned that his wife is a dog trainer, and a dog trainer-trainer. One of her techniques for training the trainer is to use chickens as proxies for dogs. I was a bit skeptical, but turns out it’s a thing.
What’s also a thing is the notion that chickens are actually smarter than dogs.
In terms of IQ, I can accept the fact that pigs might be smarter than dogs. But chickens?
Not that I know any chickens, but, well, my thinking runs along the lines of “nah.”
After all, dogs are smart enough, at least in this country, to get fed well, kept indoors, sleep in beds, and – this is the key differentiator – not get eaten. On the other hand, chickens (even the ones who aren’t industrialized in chicken factories to begin with), on tend to live in cramped, smelly coops, eat chickenfeed, have their eggs snatched, and then get their necks wrung and feathers plucked. All in all, if I’m coming back as an animal, I’d prefer the canine life to the galline one. (And, yes, I had to look it up.)
But if I did have to come back as a chicken, there are worse places to hunt and peck than way out west in Silicon Valley:
In America’s rural and working-class areas, keeping chickens has long been a thrifty way to provide fresh eggs. In recent years, the practice has emerged as an unlikely badge of urban modishness. But in the Bay Area — where the nation’s preeminent local food movement overlaps with the nation’s tech elite — egg-laying chickens are now a trendy, eco-conscious humblebrag on par with driving a Tesla.In true Silicon Valley fashion, chicken owners approach their birds as any savvy venture capitalist might: By throwing lots of money at a promising flock (spending as much as $20,000 for high-tech coops). By charting their productivity (number and color of eggs). And by finding new ways to optimize their birds’ happiness — as well as their own. (Source: Washington Post)
I suppose that if you’ve paid a buck and a half for a modest 3 bedroom ranch, $20K for a chicken coop is, well, chickenfeed.
And you don’t put any old chicken in a $20K shed, or even – if you’re going to cheap out (cheep out?) – a lowly Williams Sonoma chicken coop that goes for $1.5K:
While the rest of the nation spends $15 on an ordinary chicken at their local feed store, Silicon Valley residents might spend more than $350 for one heritage breed, a designation for rare, nonindustrial birds with genetic lines that can be traced back generations. They are selecting for desirable personality traits (such as being affectionate and calm — the lap chickens that are gentle enough for a child to cuddle), rarity, beauty and the ability to produce highly coveted, colored eggs.
Desirable personality traits, eh. Lap chickens, eh.
Tracing back generations – and I thought that’s what ancestry.com was for – so that you can take pride in having a:
…Dorking, an endangered British breed with a sweet disposition and roots that stretch back to the Roman empire.
Yet again, eh.
As for “highly coveted, colored eggs”, I guess when everything is being roboticized, autonomously-driven, and voice-activated and commanded, who wants to spending precious time – time better spent charting chicken productivity or having a convo with your neighbors about optimal personality traits for their flocks – getting out the 10 year old teensy-tiny bottles of Paas or McCormick food dye and coloring your own eggs. When you can have an Easter Egger clucking around that produces pale blue eggs. (Yes, but can these “highly coveted, colored eggs” come in multi-colors with swirls and rick-rack striping? Do they come with decals? I think not.)
And lest you think that for a Silicon Valley moment that these pricey, fancy, high-living chickens are eating feed out of a Purina bag, these chicks breakfast, lunch and sup on:
…a steady diet of organic salmon, watermelon and steak.
Not surprisingly, owners have cameras set up so that they can watch their flocks by night from the comfort of their living room. And, naturally, there’s an app for that. From your smartphone, Coop Tender is controls coop temperature, ventilation and lighting. (Among the features: “predator motion detection.”)
Everyone’s not in it for the long haul. There’s one owner who has plans to, at some point, turn her upscale coop into an Airbnb.
“My timber framed, Gingerbread coop is gorgeous: wired for electrical, plumbed for water, incorporating vintage windows and doors,” Laura Menard, a proud owner from an upscale Silicon Valley suburb, noted over email.
Eww…
Anyway, these are some pampered chickens. Literally. There are chicken diapers that let your chickens free-range in your home without having to worry about slipping on a tiny little leave behind. (Is there an app or Roomba for changing chicken diapers?)
And, by the way, a “chicken whisperer” can command $225 an hour. (Am I in the wrong business, or what?)
The theory is that it’s not so much health or back-to-nature that’s driving the chicken keepers. It’s being able to demonstrate where you sit in the pecking order.
[Chicken whisperer Laura] Citroen’s 19-year-old son, Luca, who grew up around the family business, puts it this way: “Being able to say you have chickens says, ‘I have a back yard,’ and having a back yard says, ‘I have space.’ And having space means you have money, especially when it comes to Silicon Valley real estate.”
That, and being able to show up for dinner and bringing a six-pack of your own bespoke eggs, instead of a bottle of wine. Which might be an okay host/hostess gift if it comes from your own vineyard.
As I say, if I do get reincarnated as a chicken, please, please, please let it be in Silicon Valley, pushing out pale blue eggs, and not within the chicken industrial complex.
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