Friday, September 23, 2011

Henyard Chronicles 3

I promised myself I wouldn't do it again.

The little chickens breed like rabbits, they will hatch a dozen or more, 80% of which don't survive to adulthood and the ones that do make it are all too often roosters. This perpetuates the cycle as roosters do what they do best, often.

The last batch a wily old hen succeeded in raising, two little black pullets made it to adolescence before she abandoned them, as they do. Eggs to lay in places nobody will ever find them, things to do, you know how that goes. Every day at feeding time I look for them and am glad to see them.

Yesterday only one came and I feared the worst. Little did I think, but there are things much worse than worst.

I could see Loa the chicken killer dog being very interested in something so I went to look. Ah! There was the little black body so I bent down to pick it up and dispose of it. I never allow a dog to keep the spoils, that would be a reward for bad behavior. To my horror a tiny beady eye stared at me and slowly blinked. She was a bloody mess but alive.

Cradling her in one hand I went into the house, found a box, lined it with a towel and put her in the box. She would die in a warm dry place. I checked on her before I went to bed and she had moved but was resting quietly.

The next morning, to my surprise she was still alive and the full horror dawned on me as I gently cleaned her up a little. The dog ate off her wing.

I promised myself I wouldn't do it again. I lied.
There is a chicken in my bath.

Y'all come back!

1 comment:

  1. So sorry for that poor chicken. Maybe it's time for the dog to go.