About 30 years ago my elementary science teacher wife arranged for about a dozen and half fertilized chicken eggs and an incubator to be delivered to her classroom. The purpose was to expose a bunch of city slicker second graders to "farm life". They did some scientific analysis each day and eventually the kids got to experience the creation of life. The cute little chicks pecked there way to freedom. The kids loved it.
We brought the chickens home and kept them in a box in the utility room until the smell got too bad to tolerate. During that time I managed to build a small pen behind the barn. The kids named all the little chicks. We had Chicken George, Chicken Little, Joe Chicken, Attila the Hen, Foghorn Leghorn,
Louise, Sam and an assortment of other names. The chicks grew up quickly and and we had to juxtaposition some names as Joe Chicken turned out to be a hen and Chicken Little a rooster. Soon the hens started laying eggs. Yard eggs are the best. You eat well in the country.
It wasn't too long that I noticed some of the chickens missing. One evening I went to feed them behind the barn and a really large owl was having his way with one of the hens. It was a hungry Great Horned owl, not a horny Spotted Owl. Apparently, some birds of prey were reducing the flock. Efforts to protect the hens produced only minimal results. Eventually, we were down to one hen and about three roosters.
Soon the roosters had gotten really big, and MEAN! Chicken George, a white leghorn mix, would come after you if you turned your back on him. Once I was going in the barn to feed the horses. Something told me to turn around and Chicken George was bearing down on me. I drop kicked him about ten feet. He got up and gave me a "you got me this time, but you better watch out" look. From then on Chicken George and I kept our distance. The other two roosters disappeared. Chicken George was too big for the owls and hawks to fool with. The neighborhood dogs left him alone. He was one "Bad Ass" Chicken.
One day while I was at work, my wife went to feed the horses. She failed to give Chicken George proper respect. When she turned her back, Chicken George flanked her and flogged her from behind.
The spurs of a roster can be large and sharp. He drew blood and frightened my wife. She had already gotten fed up with the chickens. Attila the Hen, the last remaining female, was laying her daily egg on the work bench in the garage. This made gathering the egg easy, but it also increased the amount of chicken poop that had to be cleaned up.
With blood dripping down her leg, she summoned our neighbor, A.J. Henderson, to relocate Chicken George. AJ quickly brought an end to George's aggression and his short reign as King of the Farm.
Not long after Attila ventured too far from the garage and met her demise. And we returned to buying our eggs at Market Basket.
On most evenings a large owl can be seen in one of the trees near the barn searching for some prey.
The squirrels and snakes hide. The sudden appearance of this great bird can send chills up your spine. I wonder what would happen if Chicken George were still alive. If I were betting man, my money would be on Chicken George.
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