Part 1 of 2
Hi, I’m Connie. That’s what the farmer calls me when he pats my head. I consider myself a country chicken. My life’s pretty calm. Eat, lay eggs, walk about the yard pecking at bugs. Come to think of it, life’s pretty amazing. Every now and then we get some excitement.
My favorite spot is sitting on the fence. I have an amazing view of the yard. These things go by from time to time kicking up dust. I know what dust is. Giggle, who doesn’t like a good dirt bath?
The farmer; I guess he has a name. It’s never been spoken around me. He has been bringing in more chickens. Most of them are diddlers. They are so cute with their fluffy baby feathers.
Today was different. Today we got some new adult chickens. We all know what’s gonna happened to those mean ole roosters. What of these hens?
This one hen has decided she doesn’t like me. When I sit on the fence; minding my own business, she starts making noise until I move. No matter where I sit on the fence, here she comes. “Bawk, bawk.” Flapping wings. Noise. Just leave me alone.
Yesterday, she had the equivalent of a chicken stroke. The farmer patted me on the head. She was at the far corner of the yard, chasing a June bug. The noise. Getting right up in my beak. What the corn?
On his way out, the farmer played with the diddlers. And named 3 of the new hens. She didn’t get all up in their feathers.
There is nothing special about me. I’m a chicken. In a yard full of chickens. We all have beds of straw. We eat the same mash. We are different in our feathers. There are chickens here much fancier than me.
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