Mark Dickson's Blog
November 27, 2023
Of Chickens and Choking
“Get your ass in the house, now!” read the text from my beautiful wife.
I had been enjoying the warm sunny afternoon on my old red Massey Ferguson tractor, planting the fall cover crop mixture of ten different species to hopefully nourish my cows and horses deep into the winter.
After two months of blistering, boiling heat, the temperature was pleasant in the 80’s. A half-inch of rain had fallen over recent days, and I was relishing the change. I was truly living the Irish blessing “...May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rains fall soft upon your fields…”
Life was perfect.
After the third reminder buzz in my pocket, I finally decided to pull out the phone to check the message.
Oh boy. What have I done now?
I dutifully shut down the tractor and climbed down, speed-dialing my beautiful wife. I bet one of the dogs tore up something in the house.
She answered the phone, “Did you let…?” Click.
Then it hit me. We have a chicken coop and run enclosed within our backyard, and we let the chickens out of their run to free range in the yard daily while keeping the dogs inside the house. I had taken a break from planting for lunch, after which one of the dogs asked to go outside, so I obliged without thinking.
My pace quickened as I anticipated a massacre of Getttysburg proportions in my yard.
I entered the house and called for my beautiful wife--no response. I passed through the back door to the patio to see a huge amount of black feathers covering it. Not good. Some of our chickens are very pretty iridescent black copper Marans, which just started laying for us a month earlier. No blood or bodies were immediately visible though, so that was good.
I walked out the patio door to the yard and saw a dead Maran on a low table. It was the one with the feathered legs. Just then, my beautiful wife came through the gate with eyes that could have doubled as Direct Energy Weapons.
She had come from the shop, where she had taken the big rooster for medical care. The black feathers on the patio were his. Did he put up a valiant fight against the giant white four-legged monster that had gone after his flock? Or was he just the next slowest chicken? I’ll never know.
More Direct Energy Weapons were released as she stormed past me. I opened my mouth, then closed it as the door slammed shut.
Oh boy. I didn’t know until then that FeatherLegs was her favorite.
I had one job. Keep the dogs away from the chickens.
I choked.
I had been enjoying the warm sunny afternoon on my old red Massey Ferguson tractor, planting the fall cover crop mixture of ten different species to hopefully nourish my cows and horses deep into the winter.
After two months of blistering, boiling heat, the temperature was pleasant in the 80’s. A half-inch of rain had fallen over recent days, and I was relishing the change. I was truly living the Irish blessing “...May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rains fall soft upon your fields…”
Life was perfect.
After the third reminder buzz in my pocket, I finally decided to pull out the phone to check the message.
Oh boy. What have I done now?
I dutifully shut down the tractor and climbed down, speed-dialing my beautiful wife. I bet one of the dogs tore up something in the house.
She answered the phone, “Did you let…?” Click.
Then it hit me. We have a chicken coop and run enclosed within our backyard, and we let the chickens out of their run to free range in the yard daily while keeping the dogs inside the house. I had taken a break from planting for lunch, after which one of the dogs asked to go outside, so I obliged without thinking.
My pace quickened as I anticipated a massacre of Getttysburg proportions in my yard.
I entered the house and called for my beautiful wife--no response. I passed through the back door to the patio to see a huge amount of black feathers covering it. Not good. Some of our chickens are very pretty iridescent black copper Marans, which just started laying for us a month earlier. No blood or bodies were immediately visible though, so that was good.
I walked out the patio door to the yard and saw a dead Maran on a low table. It was the one with the feathered legs. Just then, my beautiful wife came through the gate with eyes that could have doubled as Direct Energy Weapons.
She had come from the shop, where she had taken the big rooster for medical care. The black feathers on the patio were his. Did he put up a valiant fight against the giant white four-legged monster that had gone after his flock? Or was he just the next slowest chicken? I’ll never know.
More Direct Energy Weapons were released as she stormed past me. I opened my mouth, then closed it as the door slammed shut.
Oh boy. I didn’t know until then that FeatherLegs was her favorite.
I had one job. Keep the dogs away from the chickens.
I choked.
