What’s So Chicken About Chickens?

 

 

 

 

Life around here is never dull.

Never.

I, in a state of lead-filled limbs and numb brain, declared I was going to lay down on the couch for thirty minutes so that I could hopefully gain back an ounce of invigorating energy.  I needed to clean the bathrooms after all and with three boys well… let’s just say it takes some scrubbing and not just a little of motivational self talk!

So, as I laid on the couch, all snuggled down, blanket tucked under my chin and over my head to block out unwanted interruptions, I began to drift into blissful slumber when I heard a blood-curdling scream.

I knew it was my girl and that scream she only let’s loose under extreme duress.

I jumped off the couch, forgetting my glasses and rushed out onto the deck, thinking I would find blood or crushed limbs.

I squinted into the sunlight and through the blurry haze of my absent corrective lenses, I searched for her body.

There she stood in emotional distress ranting and weeping that a chicken had tried to bite her.

She stood there explaining in detail the horror of the event, while the hen loomed behind her considering a second attack.  Caleb, who by this time had joined my side, wisely told her she had better run, because here came that hen for round two.

Lauren looking a bit dazed did not immediately take flight.  She stood there looking side to side as if plotting her best chance at escape.  All the while, the hen advanced upon her from behind.  Finally in desperation both Caleb and I, standing upon the deck 8 feet above her, yelled, “RUN!”

Thankfully she sprinted her way to safety.

As I laid back down on the couch she came to sit with me. Sorrowfully and quite furiously she told me she now hated chickens.  It was at least a five minute monologue over her total disgust in the plucky fowl, which ended with her rather wise deduction, “What’s so chicken about chickens?”