The family is all gone. Moms first day at in-service days for teachers and the boys and dad are out pouring concrete. I was stuck taking care of the chickens on my own. Oh well, someone has to do it. As I was shooing them out the coop, filling waterers I found myself pondering. I wonder, do they know the end is coming for their short lives? I know that probably sounds morbid, but it would explain why they are getting so ornery. The minute you step in the fencing they begin to peck and squawk at you. One even drew blood on my brother. So I have to wonder, do they know? Are we one morning just going to wake up to armed chickens, ready to fight back with pitchforks and rakes? Okay, that probably won’t happen, but a girl has to wonder.
In honor of my soon to be gone, 60+ chickens, I wrote a little poem.
Out the door, it’s time for the fresh air.
Few days left to enjoy,
Take full advantage.
Run to the troughs as if you’ve haven’t eaten in days.
Fill yourself up good,
Enjoying the taste you’ll soon forget.
Four more days left to go.
Three left to be fed, three left to gorge.
Weeks of tending and maintaining you have passed.
Have even grown tiresome.
A sacrifice for others to eat, and grow,
Continuing on without you.
Enjoy the breeze my red feathered friends.
It’s almost Sunday.