Chasing Chickens

I do some of my best thinking in bed as I wait for sleep to overtake me, at least that’s what I tell myself. I may fall asleep thinking of the events of the day, things I should have said (or left unsaid), things I should have done (or left undone), or something I want to write about.

At night the bedroom is dark except for the yard light and the monthly moonlight, and the room is quiet except for the sounds from the dark such as a dog barking, an owl calling from the woods, or a truck on the highway below the hill.

A couple nights ago I awoke to what I thought was a rooster crowing. Just in case I might have been dreaming, I lay there and listened. After a few rotations of the clock I concluded it was a rooster, a little early for my liking as it was still dark. But perhaps the rooster was right on schedule.

I grabbed my glasses and looked at the clock – quarter to two. Any time that includes 2 in the morning as part of its description is way too early for just about anything, and that includes being awakened by a rooster.

I got up and went to the window. There underneath the yard light was a bantam hen and rooster. I thought of grabbing a gun and realized that would only increase the noise level, if only temporarily.

Those two idiots had not found there way back into the barn for the night and now sitting in the glow of the artificial light they, or at least he, thought it was time to announce the light of a new day.

I grabbed a denim button-down shirt to ward off the cold night air. I shuffled downstairs in the dark on a mission to try and keep the neighbors happy. Slipping on my Crocs (never worn off the property) I went outside to see what I could do.

The quickest and easiest solution was to open the gate so they could cross the yard to get to the other side. As I herded them down the fence line, I assumed they would take advantage of the open gate.

What I didn’t know is that chickens can’t see very well in the dark; they walked right past the gate, circled around a large fir tree and returned to the security of the light. It was shortly after the fifth trip around the tree that I thought it best to consider another option before sunrise. Grabbing a chain saw and cutting the tree down seemed a little extreme, yet I considered it.

By then the two cats in the yard had joined the fun and made life so hard. Herding cats is an idiomatic phrase used to describe attempting an impossible task; herding chickens is also very difficult, but cats herding chickens is just wrong. When I began to curse both fowl and feline I knew it was time to get the landing net.

A man chasing chickens with a net makes for an insane scene at any hour, but it’s more acceptable when done in the privacy of your own yard at two in the morning. Once I had the net the chickens were cornered and caught in just a few minutes.

With the exhausted chickens secured in the dark barn and the cats off in search of new sport I crawled back into bed. As Grandfather Clock announced that 2:30 had come, I tried to relax. I lay there and mulled over culled chickens, what I should have done (or left undone), and something to write about.