Farm Chronicles: In Which I Get Beat Up by Chicken

I woke up this morning and went outside to tend my chickens. Everything was quaint and beautiful. I’m realizing my dream of owning land and tenderly caring for my flock who in turn will provide me for eggs.

I spied the water trough. It was full of sand and debris. ‘That won’t do!’ I thought, rushing to the nearest tap to provide the clear, cool waters from my lands, gushing forth from my well. The chicken pen had been empty but as I toted the water back to the pen, the flock came to me in droves. As I placed the basin on the ground, I turned my back to the mob.

That was a mistake.

Suddenly a weight slammed into my right ankle. I turned to see a blur of orange and red, a feathered and furious canon ball battering my limbs for all he was worth.

I screamed like a girl.

It kept coming.

I kicked it.

It kept coming.

Bob kicked it. His size 13 worked.

I ran.

This was the first of two attacks on my person today. Bob was attacked later in the day and held the murderous sonofabitch off with a dead palm frond.

I’m afraid to leave the porch without a broom and tall boots. I’m being held captive on my own land by a goddamn chicken.

I’m gonna try a couple more things but I think in the end, I’m going to have to eat him.


Yolanda McGee View All →

An escape from the suburbs and corporate America spawned a journey into rural living. Writer, wife, mother, and local chicken lady, join me as I fail, fail, fail! and learn along the way.

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