The Great Chicken Escape
“Just pick it up in your hands!”
“Me? Why do I have to do it?”
“You’re good with animals. Besides, chickens aren’t very smart.”
“Yeah, but I’ve never picked up a chicken before.”
Christmas 2002 was The Great Chicken Escape. We spent the holidays on Pender Island house-sitting, cat-sitting, and chicken-sitting for our seriously organic friends. Our friends were especially concerned that their four prized Rhode Island Reds got the proper care and attention while they were away.
We read the Chicken Care Instruction Sheet, we really did, but something went wrong. Those chickens just didn’t like us.
On Christmas Eve the they started to misbehave. Two of them staged a rebellion by camping out on the woodpile under the porch and refusing to return to the coop. There they sat, like a couple of fancy feathered tea cozies, squinting at me down their beaks. I think they knew I was roasting one of their distant cousins for supper that night. This was the beginning of a serious grudge.
Source: Chicken Soup for the Soul: Christmas in Canada, October 2014