The Chicken and I

In my early childhood, my father drove a chicken bus delivering baby chicks from the Hamlin Hatchery to farmers in a large area of West Texas. I often heard him say, "Chickens are the dumbest creatures on the face of the earth!"

I suppose that is true. For example when one chick is injured and shows blood, the others, sensing his weakness, will then not rest until they have pecked him to death. But on the other hand, I have seen people with much larger brains do the same thing.

The time I spent around chickens at my grandmother's house was pleasant, especially when the rooster was penned up. He enjoyed chasing and spurring anyone who came around his flock.

I loved the sounds chickens make at dusk and when they trumpeted an egg's appearance. I selected one of the hens as my pet and called her Annie. I called her by name when I entered the chicken yard and petted her when I gathered her eggs.
Imagine my horror and surprise when I walked out on the back porch one morning and saw my Granny Dobbins wringing Annie's neck. Annie had been targeted for lunch.

The fried chicken was delicious with biscuits and white gravy, and I forgave my grandmother quickly. That day I learned a lesson about the balance of our family's eco-system.