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A Remarkable Fowl

This article was written by J. Earl Clauson and published on May 28, 1937, in the Evening Bulletin newspaper of Providence, Rhode Island, under the heading “These Plantations.” The untitled piece describes a most unusual bird in Exeter.

We called the other day on Buttercup Turney in Exeter, probably the most remarkable fowl we have ever seen. Up to that moment we had believed that hens have no souls, unlike dogs, horses, elephants and an occasional cat. Having seen Buttercup, we are troubled by doubts.

Buttercup is the prize pet of Mrs. Anna Turney, who lives on the New London Turnpike south a piece from the Victory Highway. Her mistress goes for pets in a large way, others including a mother beagle and penful of offspring, another dog hard to define and we don’t know what miscellaneous animals in the hidden recesses of the farm.

What makes Buttercup exceptional is the way she laps up education. The things she can do you wouldn’t believe if anybody but this veracious department related them. Settle back and we’ll tell you.

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She’s an odd looking creature to begin with. Eight months or so ago she come out of an egg Mrs. Turney procured somewhere along Nooseneck Hill road, she doesn’t remember just where, and as she developed into henhood it was revealed that she had turkey blood.

Now that she is fairly mature this is plainly visible. She has no feathers on her neck and has the deep red comb and wattles of the turkey. She has the large black scales on her legs and typical turkey feet, which as you know are more adaptable to roosting on a tree limb than a hen’s.

For the rest she is Rhode Island Red, which Mrs. Turney thought she was going to have when she got the settling of eggs. Crosses between turkeys and hens are not rare; you will see them in any county fair, rather repulsive looking creatures suggestive of a buzzard, but good eating for all we know. We never tried one.

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It was the lack of feathers on the neck which led Mrs. Turney on chilly days to bring Buttercup into the house and hold her in her lap, nicely wrapped up, while she wove rugs. The hen would lie there quiet and contented, gradually working herself into her mistress’s affections. When Mrs. Turney went to the kitchen door and called her – “Come, Budgy, Budgy. Muddie wants you.” – as she did the other day, Buttercup, or Budgy for short, would say “Awk, awk,” and stroll into the house with an air of expectant deliberation.

From that her education began. Here are the things she will do now thanks to her intelligence and Mrs. Turney’s tutelage:

Jump for a bit of bread held in Mrs. Turney’s fingers. Catch a thrown piece of bread in her bill like a dog. Jump through her mistress’s hands, also like a dog. Walk a rope. At command walk like an old hen – you’d laugh – crouched down as if she had rheumatism in both legs.

In addition, Mrs. Turney swears she’s perfectly housebroken. When Budgy lays an egg she’s so proud of it that she forthwith hastens to the kitchen door and pecks until Mrs. Turney goes to the nest and collects the egg, the hen walking proudly beside her all the way.

Perhaps there are other tricks we’ve forgotten, but these must convince you Budgy is no ordinary hen. She’s still a pullet. Time will take care of that, and if she can transmit her qualities there’s no reason why the New London Turnpike shouldn’t become the habitat of a whole race of super-intelligent hens.

Mrs. Turney agreed with our own pre-conceptions that as a race hens are lacking in the higher qualities. Budgy is the only one she has handled which showed receptiveness. When we asked her whether she would enjoy her pet in a chicken pie she considered the question unworthy of reply, as in fact it was.

We’d like to have a psychological clinic sit on Budgy to determine a number of interesting questions such as whether her turkey blood has improved her mentality. It never seemed to us turkeys by and large were any smarter than barnyard fowl, but there may be something in the mixture.

Original story by J. Earl Clauson, originally published in the Providence Evening Bulletin under the heading "These Plantations". Later collected into a book of the same name that was printed in 1937 by The Roger Williams Press (E. A. Johnson Company).