Clucked! - 5 (Patreon)

Being a hen in a chicken coop isn’t much fun. There wasn’t anyone to talk to, the other hens only seemed concerned about eating, sleeping, and walking around clucking.

Food was twice a day with all of us scurrying around trying to peck up as much of it as we could before the rest could get it. I was slightly bigger than some of the other hens, but I quickly learned this was not an advantage; being closer to the ground helped a LOT.

I learned to anticipate the feeding times. I’d hear them in the shed, early in the morning, then just before dark. That was my cue to stop whatever super interesting thing I might have been doing and make my way to the yard. 

I’d stand just at the edge of the yard, and wait for the first swing. Sometimes, if I timed it just right I could actually catch a seed in my mouth when it rained from the human’s fingertips.

I knew Felicia wasn’t at the farm or Alton. At least I didn’t think they were. It became difficult for me to tell one human from another. At first, I knew one of the people was female, and usually collected our eggs and spread our feed.

I had a lot to learn at first.

Everyone had an area that they patrolled. If I encroached on another hen’s area she’d flap and peck me until I flew off, or challenged her back. I also was concerned about bathroom matters, but quickly learned that A: I had zero control and B: the hens pretty much went anywhere they were standing. Pretty soon, my nest looked like any other hens with white droppings and streaks.

The first few days, I pretty much kept a running mantra in my head. ‘Felicia and Alton will figure out a way to get me out of this. Felicia and Alton will figure out a way to get me out of this.’ Over and over. However, on the third day, I’d completely forgotten their names. On the fifth day, I couldn’t remember my own.

The rooster had come back, and that took up most of my time. His feathers were so long and sleek, it made my own feathers rustle as I watched him. He’d chase us around, and we’d all play hard to get, but we all couldn’t take our eyes off those long glistening feathers.

I glanced back at my own tail feathers, making sure they were arranged just perfectly, fluffing them out to attract as much attention as I could. By watching the other hens, I learned if I used my beak I could keep my skin free of lice and other itchy critters that loved to feast on my tender inner flesh. I could also care for my feathers, making sure they were arranged correctly and not full of mud or other stuff that plagued me daily. Caring for my feathers was almost a full-time task.

The brown hens in the coop were pretty mean. I stayed away from them as much as I could. If I came near them they would lash out at me, pecking, aiming for my eyes or other sensitive areas. There was one mixed white and brown, and a few all white like me. We tended to stick together, and the rooster favored us. He’d follow us around, then without warning, he’d jump on my back and bounce up and down a few times, hitting my tender spot. It always surprised me when he did it, but I think I must have been a favorite of his as he sought me out almost every day.

Eggs came shortly after I arrived, and I would pop out two or three per day. After the chicken started bouncing on me, I found I wanted to sit on them longer, but without fail, the eggs were taken from me.

I noticed at times, some chickens would be taken from the coop and never returned. This frightened me, and I didn’t want to be dinner one night. I hoped…my friends…would make sure I’d never end up as a Chicken Hut original recipe.

Even those thoughts faded as time went on. I remembered not being myself, being something else, but the image of me being Jimmy Goldsmith, washed away in the daily grind of avoiding the browns, grooming my feathers, strategically aligning myself for the best food each day, and the almost ever-present pressure in my nether regions as I laid eggs.

The strange thing was…I wasn’t unhappy. Sure, I was bored, and sure at times, I missed my life, being able to dance, catch a ball, run, watch a movie with Mom, learn all the things at Westwood High School. But each day those memories faded. I was a chicken, a hen, and I had a routine; up before dawn, eat, drink, wash on warm days, hide in the coop on cold days, stay away from the browns — though I did find ways to make their lives miserable, like eating their eggs when they weren’t looking — avoid threats like snakes, the humans, the dog, the cats, other (meaner) chickens. My life was full, peaceful. I did miss being outside at night, but after the light in the coop went out I was essentially blind. There wasn’t much else to do except tuck my beak under my wing and sleep.

At first, I kept track of days by making a scratch with my beak in the old wood next to my perch each night. Then I forgot one night. Then I saw the scratches and worried some cat or other predator had been in my perch. Intellectually, I’d tried to maintain as much of my human intelligence as I could - reciting the roster of the DiamondBacks, counting by twos, fours, sixes, nines, the lyrics to old songs. I told myself stories of distant planets, raiders in Midkemia, and tried to remember the plots of every movie I had seen. As the weeks turned into months, these exercises became harder and harder. I reached a point of reciting the abc’s, and counting as high as I could go. Each night I remembered less and less. Until one night, I forgot the routine entirely, I was too focused on where the brown’s slept, staying vigilant for a predator, and my desire to feel the eggs underneath me.

Humans scared me. I’d taken to finding a spot behind the coop, and walking back and forth pecking at the ground, hoping to catch a worm, or some seed that had blown in, or eggshells from the broken ones in the coop. The back also looked out on a wide meadow that grew sunflowers in the spring and was covered in unbroken snow in the winter. There was an electrical junction box about three feet above the ground on the back fence, and I’d taken to flapping up there and staring out into the meadow. It was my favorite spot, a perch I was willing to defend, or attack if any of the other hens came near. The human found me on my spot one afternoon. I’d been snoozing a little and it scared me when it picked me up suddenly. I squawked and flapped, startling it, and it dropped me, making loud noises as well.

I skittered away from it, clucking and squawking, trying to sort my feathers back into their perfect order that had been so rudely disturbed. The human chased me, picking me up again, but it wasn’t the right way and I squawked and flapped some more. It made soothing noises as it held me, stroking my feathers, and I eventually calmed down, my heart beating fast. I wondered if it would strike my head off, strip me of feathers, and put me in a pot.

It had darker skin than the usual humans with curly feather tendrils coming from its head. I think I might have known it once before…but every time I tried to remember things from back then I drew a blank, literally. I didn’t like being held, didn’t like the smell of the humans, and it was getting on my feathers which would keep the rooster away. It held me for what seemed like forever but must have only been a few minutes. I had no time sense anymore, days, minutes, hours, weeks…they all mixed into the ever-present now and what I felt now was that I was going to die.

It put its face very close to me, and I knew those teeth were going to bite my tiny head off any minute. I panicked, trying to flap and get away, succeeding in pulling a wing free, and then she put me down. I waddled over to my favorite spot, clucking and flicking my feathers, trying to get her smell off of me.

I flapped back up to my perch but could see it watching me. I preened my feathers, clucking softly, my heart finally slowing down a bit. Somewhere, I knew I should be having feelings about the human, that…had I really been one? Regardless, I was definitely not one now, and I wanted to preen, sit, and eat sometime later, then sleep on my perch inside the coop. I was a hen, and that’s all I ever would be or wanted to be.