Peter Davies and Mark Scherzer are the owners of Turkana Farms in Germantown, NY. This week Peter writes: He was displaying already in early April, a brilliant, luminous arc of blue and green, virtually enfolding in his vibrating tail feathers the sole object of his desire—our dainty white pea hen. Troilus, our resident peacock, and Cressida, his mate, began their rite even before the weather warmed, making them one of the earliest heralds of spring. Troilus’ beautiful tail feathers, lost in last year’s late summer molt, had taken almost eight months to grow back, but the glorious tail was once again the farm’s most elaborate courting costume, the main attraction of the most ritualized and prolonged courtship at Turkana Farms. His courtly display will continue to go on for hours every day until finally, at the end of July, his tail feathers, once again drop one by one to the ground. Throughout the lengthy courtship, Cressida, like all pea hens, will affect a cool indifference, pecking nonchalantly on a piece of lettuce, or looking off, lost in thought, in the opposite direction, sometimes even walking off to another part of the pen on some errand, seemingly oblivious to the magnificent daily feathered spectacle enacted for her. But eventually, but very eventually, the pair will connect. In complete contrast to the aristocratic refinement of the peacock pen, is the very common, plebian world of the chicken coop where sexual gratification comes fast and furious with no courtship, no elegant rituals, and no post coital lingering. With no preliminaries the strutting rooster will, without a howdy do, jump a hen, push her roughly to the floor, and have his way with her. It is over as quickly as it started, and he is gone. It seems to me sometimes that the chicken coop is nothing more than a venue for serial rape. While there is no come hither courtship, there is sometimes a kind of crafty guile as a rooster pretends to find something tasty, makes the clucking sound of pleasure associated with a food find, and then, as the hens come running, jumps one, seemingly at random, and has his way. Did the thousands of years of domestication, I wonder, erase whatever sexual rituals chickens once had?
The contrast between these two worlds set me thinking about the sexual antics of the rest of our farm menagerie. Our turkey toms, for instance, come in second after the peacock in terms of their elaborate display of feathers, and the pride they seem to take in them. Once they reach puberty the toms daily gather together into a dense, milling flock, their tails beautifully fanned out, and strut about resembling nothing so much as a disorganized Shriner’s parade. But the strange thing is that the male display seems more for the other males, and for us their keepers, than for the tranquil turkey hens who tend to remain apart, hanging out together like a forgotten harem, waiting patiently for the male’s display to finally turn their way. Besides fanning their tails and strutting, the excited toms, their red wattles, snood, and neck engorged with blood, will break into a strange, restrained, stomping dance very reminiscent of flamenco, accompanied by partly open wings kept close to the sides, which quiver as they sweep lightly along the ground. These elaborate rituals seem to have more to do with establishing the male pecking order, and maybe turkey pride, than it does in exciting the hens. But could it be, perhaps, that the seemingly indifferent hens are only biding their time, coyly watching -- and calculating.
Our karakul sheep, I have noticed, have their own unique rituals which in our herd seem to take place only in the fall, once the summer heat has passed.. When the mood strikes him, Suleyman, our suddenly randy ram (center), will sidle up beside a chosen ewe, rubbing against her seductively, making plain his desires by curling back his upper lip, revealing his full set of teeth, meanwhile stretching his head forward and arching his neck up. To respond, the ewe, of course, must be in heat and receptive to him, which she indicates by squatting with her back to him and urinating. Apparently finding this irresistible, the ram wastes no time in mounting her. Once bred, the ewe vanishes into the anonymity of the flock, and the ram proceeds to the next conquest. A ewe is not, however, always entirely passive. For instance, a ewe has been known to jump a fence, pass quickly through a field containing rams not to her taste, only to jump yet another fence, to join a ram that has obviously struck her fancy. Perhaps, it is only when she is confined with only one ram available to her that she is so undiscriminating. However, the ram appears to be always undiscriminating, though a pattern is emerging that suggests the favoring of a certain order in his choices.
Of all our animals it is the pigs that in matters of the heart seem to be closest to us-- to humankind. With them, apparently, there is no special season for love. Our lusty boar, Vernon, is always ready and never bashful about showing it. He will seem to smile gleefully, and playfully bump up repeatedly against Patty or Laverne or Carmen or Miranda—indeed, anyone who is available to him. He will playfully nudge the chosen sow, rub sexily against her, even give her playful love bites on the jowls or maybe an ear. Meanwhile he vocalizes continuously with snorts and grunts and what we call “oinks” in a seductively good natured way. But whether things go any further is the sow’s decision, and, if not in heat or not in the mood, she will enforce her rights with a counter attack ranging from gentle to ferocious. The sows, it seems, are actually more loyal to each other, and readily pair off, apparently for life, as in Carmen & Miranda, and Patty & Laverne, the boar’s visit being only an occasional exciting interlude in what seems like a porcine same sex marriage. But we have seen an instance in which it was actually the sows who initiated the rites of Priapus. But only once. When, a few years ago, Patty and Laverne, still snow white virgins, we thought, were introduced to our new young boar Barbarossa, also a novice , the sows made no effort to conceal their pleasure, excitement, and anticipation, and proceeded, like brazen hussies, to lavish him with attention, assiduously licking his genitalia while expressing unmistakable squeals of pleasure. Barbarossa was not slow in picking up on the lively cues, and penetration was not long in coming. For this rite of spring, apparently the wedding night of a ménage à trois, there seemed to be absolute unanimity. —Peter Davies
