quiet
4 stories filed under quiet on Alektorophobia. The newest of them: “When thunder claps and the coop door fails, two feathered friends are gone”, “Blue feathers, copper wings: is your sapphire gem a roo in disguise”, and “When you try to keep it business and your heart clucks anyway”. Oh, that thunderstorm really did a number on your heart, didn't it? You've got a blue-feathered mystery on your hands, and I feel your cluckin' frustration. Chickens. Everything there is to know about chickens and the fear of them. The list below is every quiet story on Alektorophobia, newest first.
When thunder claps and the coop door fails, two feathered friends are gone
Oh, that thunderstorm really did a number on your heart, didn't it? When the coop door fails and the claps of thunder send everyone scattering, it's a special kind of fowl play from Mother Nature. I'm so sorry for your loss, it's absolutely gutting to wake up to an eerily quiet garden and find your feathered friends gone. You get so used to seeing them from your window, petting them, that their absence leaves a void that feels impossibly big. It's a pain that's both ridiculous and completely valid. For anyone who's ever had a chicken steal their heart, reading "Dolly left the coop yesterday, and our hearts feel strangely egg-shaped" might hit just the right note of shared sorrow.
Blue feathers, copper wings: is your sapphire gem a roo in disguise
You've got a blue-feathered mystery on your hands, and I feel your cluckin' frustration. A supposed hen that flashes copper wing feathers, sports a shiny black head and neck, and lets out a "temu" crow only when snack time calls? That's enough to make anyone question their fowl ID skills. At five months old with round tail feathers and no spurs, your sapphire gem is playing hard to get. But that morning crow, even if it's just a whisper, leans toward rooster territory. If you're tired of AI and forum photo guesswork, you're not alone. We've been down this road before.
When you try to keep it business and your heart clucks anyway
There's a special kind of quiet the morning after you process your first meat birds. No rooster crows, no funny clucks when you bring breakfast, no beady eyes watching you from the tractor. Just silence. This first-timer did everything right to keep it business, moved the Rangers every night, fed, watered, skipped the names. But hearts don't follow chore lists. Processing was long, hard, and emotionally draining, just as expected. The unexpected part? That hollow feeling when the flock's gone. The internet says it's part of the experience, but I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts.
Ruby's Eye Is on the Mend and Her Purrs Are Pure Joy
Ruby's eye is on the mend, and honestly, that's the best kind of update. She can open it now, even if it's still cloudy, and the bruising and swelling are finally backing off. She's such a little lovebug, too, purring up a storm every time someone holds her or lets her perch on a shoulder. Quiet as a mouse, that one. My only worry now is keeping her cozy and infection-free before she heads back outside. That room's got a vent so cold it could chill a blanket right off the floor, poor thing. She's a trooper, though. For anyone who's dealt with a banged-up bird, you know the drill. And if you need a smile, check out "Chickens Got Her Good!