The car door slams shut. She charges into my arms, her large comb and wattles as red as raspberries. She looks expectantly at my hand, as if she knows that I’ll give her those large, airy, hollow mealworms, smelling like moss and soil. A brisk breeze puffs a pink cherry blossom into her face, and she jiggles her head, a little confused. Her orange eyes seem to glow even more than usual. I think she learned from my little sister, who uses her “puppy eyes” to beg from my strict parents. Her white feathers brush against my skin, and I squeeze her tight. No one could ever replace her.
She is running around the backyard, occasionally stopping to dig in the foliage. Stripey and Sammy follow her, but they can’t keep up with her rapid pace. Sammy, smaller than the others, tries to fly, but her wings weren’t meant for that. They decide to take a dust bath together under the large, green bush. Patches of dirt fly into the air, their path creating a parabola. Sunshine, Stripey, and Sammy squirm and jiggle in the soft earth. Sammy’s golden feathers turn dull as the soil wiggles in between each one, brushing away the microscopic mites and lice. Stripey’s eyelids seem to relax as she lays down in the ground. But Sunshine seems to command the others. Don’t relax now! After this dust bath, it’s time to RUN AROUND (poor Stripey and Sammy)!
One beam of sun shines down on a green patch of grass, alive and thriving. Sunshine is happily munching on worms. Chestnut, younger than Sunshine, decide to try to snatch a few. A worm ends up in Chestnut’s beak for only a millisecond, and then she squawks in pain. The worm drops to the ground. One of Chestnut’s brown feathers ends up in Sunshine’s sharp beak. Sunshine glares at Chestnut, challenging her to make a peep. Sunshine’s eyes are so friendly and bright, but she is willing to fight others to keep her place as the alpha hen.
A fox. An abhorrent, hideous, horrendous fox. I can hear it laughing at me. The monotonous sound of Ha, ha, ha rings through my ears. White feathers are scattered across the yard. A gust of wind blows the feathers into a miniature tornado before whisking them away, scattered once more. One drop of red blood, still fresh, is on the gray patio. The tears come before I know they are there. I double over and collapse onto the ground where Sunshine lays. She is not, and will not be running around the backyard. She is not, and will not be digging for bugs. She is not, and will not be taking a relaxing dust bath. My eyes cloud, and I hear a cluck from behind me. I wipe my eyes and look back.
Stripey and Sammy found me. I try my best to cover the body of Sunshine, but their eyes seem to look straight through me. They walk over next to Sunshine, sit down, and stare at her. They relax their eyelids and stay close to her.
It felt comforting looking at those two. It felt like they were consoling me and saying their goodbyes.
How much can one chicken know?
She is running around the backyard, occasionally stopping to dig in the foliage. Stripey and Sammy follow her, but they can’t keep up with her rapid pace. Sammy, smaller than the others, tries to fly, but her wings weren’t meant for that. They decide to take a dust bath together under the large, green bush. Patches of dirt fly into the air, their path creating a parabola. Sunshine, Stripey, and Sammy squirm and jiggle in the soft earth. Sammy’s golden feathers turn dull as the soil wiggles in between each one, brushing away the microscopic mites and lice. Stripey’s eyelids seem to relax as she lays down in the ground. But Sunshine seems to command the others. Don’t relax now! After this dust bath, it’s time to RUN AROUND (poor Stripey and Sammy)!
One beam of sun shines down on a green patch of grass, alive and thriving. Sunshine is happily munching on worms. Chestnut, younger than Sunshine, decide to try to snatch a few. A worm ends up in Chestnut’s beak for only a millisecond, and then she squawks in pain. The worm drops to the ground. One of Chestnut’s brown feathers ends up in Sunshine’s sharp beak. Sunshine glares at Chestnut, challenging her to make a peep. Sunshine’s eyes are so friendly and bright, but she is willing to fight others to keep her place as the alpha hen.
A fox. An abhorrent, hideous, horrendous fox. I can hear it laughing at me. The monotonous sound of Ha, ha, ha rings through my ears. White feathers are scattered across the yard. A gust of wind blows the feathers into a miniature tornado before whisking them away, scattered once more. One drop of red blood, still fresh, is on the gray patio. The tears come before I know they are there. I double over and collapse onto the ground where Sunshine lays. She is not, and will not be running around the backyard. She is not, and will not be digging for bugs. She is not, and will not be taking a relaxing dust bath. My eyes cloud, and I hear a cluck from behind me. I wipe my eyes and look back.
Stripey and Sammy found me. I try my best to cover the body of Sunshine, but their eyes seem to look straight through me. They walk over next to Sunshine, sit down, and stare at her. They relax their eyelids and stay close to her.
It felt comforting looking at those two. It felt like they were consoling me and saying their goodbyes.
How much can one chicken know?
