Once when I was young, I almost killed a greedy chicken.
Who: My brother, a goat, some greedy chickens, and I.
Where: In the barn at my childhood farm in Eastern Washington.
What: I think thats already been established.
Why? Well thats the best part. Milking time was always the most exciting time of the day on our farm. The goats knew they were getting grain, the sheep heard and were jealous, the horse hung his head over the fence in curiosity, the cat came running in hopes of a freebie, and the chickens and geese acted on their stealth attack plan. You see, in the life of an animal, food is everything–especially forbidden food, and unfortunately for us, all the animals knew that if one succeeded in stealing food–the rest of them stood a chance of scoring as well. Furthermore, there was no better time to try than at milking time. (Did I mention most of our animals were free-ranging in the summer?)
So, to make a long story short; Coloray and I head out to the 55-gallon grain bins holding a 5 gallon bucket. One of us would hold the animals at bay while the other one snapped the lid off the barrel and filled the five-gallon bucket. Then, we would race into the barn and slam the gate behind us to keep out the goats and sheep, although unfortunately not the chickens. Next, we would let the first goat in while trying to open the gate just wide enough to get one goat, and not all the goats. The ones outside would be craning their necks and standing on their hind legs to see what would come of that bucket of glorious grain.
Here’s where it went all wrong (or right, depending on who you ask). Since Coloray was milking the first goat up in the stanchion, I sat down on one of the open buckets of grain to keep chickens out while I kicked with my feet around the other bucket. Finally, there was such a cluster of chickens on the second bucket (and even one inside)’ that I decided to switch buckets. In fact, I decided to move fast enough to trap that chicken inside the bucket. I sat down fast and I could feel the chicken flapping around underneath me. I wasn’t squishing it–there was plenty of room, but I figured if that chicken wanted to be greedy, it could be greedy trapped in a bucket of grain–serve the stupid bird right!
It wasn’t long before I noticed the flapping and jumping slowing down, and when it stopped altogether, I decided to see what was going on. When I stood up, I realized the chicken had not been in the bucket after all. It had managed to get out quickly enough that it decided to get one last mouthful before I proceeded to sit down across it’s neck.
Mental Picture: White five-gallon bucket. Girl sitting on bucket. Chicken’s body on the outside. Chicken’s head on the inside.
Don’t worry, chickens are surprisingly resilient. It walked in circles the rest of the day, but after that it was fine.
Does this story make me a bad person?