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The Chicken Diaries

March 28, 2011

It’s no secret that I’m afraid of chickens.  They scratch.  They peck.  They stink.  They’re birds.  They have scary, black beady eyes.  What’s not to fear?  The only thing that could make them worse is to put a big clown nose on the end of their beaks.  I’d need a straight jacket and a sedative.  stat.

After six years of the “Chicken Debates” in our house, the hubster went out and brought home 12 chickens.  I took one look at the crate of cute, Easter-esq fuzz balls and thought, ‘They’re not so bad, I guess.’  Two seconds later one of those cute little fuzz balls pecked another in the eye. 

Two words:  Allure, dead.

The munchkin does not share my qualms.  In fact, she was in love from the first patch of yellow down she saw.  She didn’t even care that they pooped on her jeans.  I however, saw them for the kamikaze death beasts they are from that first eye-pecking moment.

It didn’t take long for their feathers to start coming in and with the first inkling of spring, we had them outside for a bit to get some fresh air.  At this point, they were starting to look like awkward, mangy, beaked instruments of pain and my wariness began to grow.

I try to ignore them as much as possible, but this weekend when the munchkin insisted on seeing them, I gave in.  As we’re sitting around their pen, three of them hopped up and she held out her cute little hands full of feed.  The two larger chickens began to eat happily but the little one began bobbing it’s head this way and that. 

It inched closer as it examined the kid and she of course thought it was cute and funny.  Right at the very moment I began to think, ‘I don’t like the way it’s looking at her.’ another chicken launched forward and flew like a kamikaze at my face.  While I was *ahem* momentarily distracted, the little beast saw it’s opportunity and pecked the munchkin in the eye.

Tell me they’re not diabolical, evil beasts.  You just try to tell me.

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