I feed them. I water them. I protect them from harm.
Okay, sometimes I kill them and eat them, but technically they don’t know that. So why do they all hate me?
These are my latest babies. I’m down to four, one died under mysterious circumstances but I definitely didn’t do it. They’re cute and fluffy and they’ve been around humans since they hatched and none have ever harmed them. But they think I’m the Big Scary Monster.
These are Landlady’s Brahmas, plus a couple of Rhode Island Reds. They’ve known me since they were pullets. I come to them twice daily. I feed them. I give them treats. I speak to them softly. They think I’m the Antichrist.
These are the Red Ladies, my own laying hens in the Fortress of Attitude. These, at least, appear happy to see me when I show up in the afternoon. Until I actually enter the yard, of course. Really they’re happy to see the coffee can full of scratch. Because they think I’m the Devil Incarnate.
Same deal, of course. I’ve never harmed one of these chickens. But there’s no buying their trust.
I really don’t get it.