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Mark:

So it was evening and I was doing the normal routine of locking the chickens and turkey up for the night in their coop. And, as usual, Andy Bell didn't want to go to bed yet so he was wandering around in the dwindling light. I leaned over and put both hands on his back and guide him slowly toward the coop door.

I love these thoughtful walks with Andy. He's such a presence and it's so still with everyone else in bed and we move so slowly as his normally lumbering steps come with a pause between each one like walking with a hospital patient pulling a rolling IV stand. 

The path to the coop's side door is narrow and single file. I could feel a strange tension in Andy so I moved quickly. I reached past him and pushed open the door. He looked at me with fury in his eyes and lunged at me and snapped at my forearm. Fortunately, I'd worn a padded red flannel shirt so it didn't hurt too much — the strength of his bites is insanely forceful compared to the light bites of chickens, like the difference in power between the bite of a house cat and a mountain lion. I believe the story of the woman who surrendered Andy to us when she recalled how a turkey fought off a coyote to save her chickens.

I suspected that Andy had turned on me because of my red shirt and I meant to share this with Dianne, but I forgot. The next night, Dianne told me she was feeding Andy while wearing a red sweatshirt — I thought, "Uh-oh!" — and he turned on her and chased after her. She ran shrieking from the pen. She thought it might be the red sweatshirt so she threw it over the fence. Andy ran and pounced on it and pecked it and mounted it.

Now that we know red drives him crazy — as does purple and orange — Dianne likes to see what else he will attack. Today it was a plastic trick-or-treat pumpkin. 

One night I forgot and wore down a red sweatshirt but I remembered before entering the pen. I found a black snowboard jacket and put it on over the top. Just a small ring of red could be seen out the back. I didn't think he could see it. I was wrong — and I was in for it. I ran out, completely took off the sweatshirt and came back. Then we were friends and I eased my hand over his warm, soft blue and red head. When he gets angry, his head turns mostly red. Maybe he thinks I'm angry at him when I wear red. Not sure, but I won't let it happen again.