All three of my Faverolles are happy to come take treats from my hand, peck at my toes, or sit at my feet and look up at me. When I pick them up to return them to their pen, however, they pitch fits. Then again, they all spent at least a week or two of their fluffybutthood having their bums rinsed in the bathroom sink and then greased up with Vaseline, so somewhere in their little chicken minds they probably consider being picked up by me to be on a par with being abducted by an alien bent on probing them.
I have to go grocery shopping tomorrow. Blueberries are now on my list!