A Short Story
Hennie waddled out of the chicken pen and into the small yard. Her friends were already there, chattering and pecking away. She loved them so much, each one with her own personality and funny mannerisms. There was Penny, the most talkative of the bunch, she could hardly get a bite of corn in before starting to jabber again. Sadie, with her seven chicks was right next to her, trying to figure out how to keep them all in line and eat at the same time. Gertrude was the quiet one, the skinny, scrawny one, the one who never got enough feed and the one who almost died last winter when the raccoons came. Clarissa was the new hen, an unknown. She had just arrived a few days ago and seemed tough and bossy. But you had to be tough and bossy to make it in a chicken coop, especially when you were the newcomer.
“Henny, you’re late, how are your eggs? “ Penny asked. Always the nosy, chatty type. But friendly, too. Always happy to lend a helping wing, so to speak.
“Eh, I’m good, they’re good, a few days left and they’ll be all ready to hatch, I think.” Hennie started shoveling corn meal into her beak; sitting on eggs made her exhausted and also starving hungry.
“Having chicks is such a blessing. Not everyone gets this joy in their lives.” That was from Sadie and Hennie could see Gertrude’s feathers wilt and droop a bit. Sadie went on. “Mine are so excited. I told them tomorrow’s the big day and they can’t wait, they’ve been practicing all afternoon.” Hennie looked at her in a puzzled way, shaking her head and trying to swallow at the same time.
“What? Don’t tell me you forgot! Tomorrow is the Mice-Dunking Ritual! Really, you are supposed to do it in the middle of the night, that is the optimal hour for our Lord, God of the Poultry, Blessed be His Pulkes, but I am too old to get up that early and Rooster Mack said he would come with me during the day. The chicks are talking about it non-stop.” Sadie was brimming over with joy.
Hennie smiled and sighed. “Of course, I remember, Sadie. When I was a young chick-“
Penny suddenly interrupted with a squeal.
“Oh, me too, me too. I loved dunking the little mice and seeing them struggle. One! Two! Three! And pop, into my mouth you go! What a great childhood memory. My father always used to say the prayers and I can clearly hear his crowing tenor even now. Oh Lord, God of the Poultry, we bless you and beseech you, let the mice be drowned, but let me live, let the mice be eaten, but let me live, let me live. So moving, so powerful.”
Sadie and Henny smiled and clucked. They also had similar memories of the haunting chants and rituals that filled their days during each and every Fall season. Gertrude was pecking at the ground, seemingly oblivious to the conversation, but Clarissa was paying attention to every word. She stomped her leg and starting pecking harder, with an edge. After several moments, she spoke.
“I personally think that there is nothing wrong with using bread crumbs for the ritual and no one needs to practice this barbaric mice dunking anymore. It all ends up being such a waste anyway, all those dead mice all over the creek. “ She looked defiantly at the three hens, daring them to challenge her.
“ Oh, you poor dear. You are just misinformed. The mice do not feel pain. They are treated well and are overjoyed at the opportunity to participate in our special tradition. They have a mission in life and this is it. You poor, poor confused dear.” Penny clucked and shook her head.
“Uh, no, I have seen the conditions that the mice are kept in and I see how each year they are half-dead before we even start to make our way over to the creek. And the chicks! I see how they toy with the mice, bantering them about and pecking at them and enjoying another creature’s misery! And some flocks, did you know, some flocks have a custom of poking at the mouse’s eyes just before it dies, to commemorate the whole Three Blind Mice thing.” Clarissa was angry now, stomping her foot and clucking in a high-pitched trill.
“Our traditions are sacred,” Sadie intoned wisely, as if speaking to a recalcitrant chick. “They cannot be discarded just because some newfangled generation decides that mice are now actual creatures instead of plain vermin. Didn’t Our Lord, God of the Poultry make the mice as well? Wouldn’t He know if they felt pain, if this was wrong to do? Of course, He would! And here He has commanded us to-“
“Well, no, actually He has not.” Clarissa haughtily interrupted. “Did you know that there are some Roosters who feel that this custom is pure foolishness and who explain that Our Lord, God of the Poultry is so upset and disgusted by those who mistreat His creations in this manner? And not even modern or newfangled Roosters, as you might say, but the ancient scholar Roosters, like the ones who authored the Code of Proper Poultry Behavior in Exile!” She waited for the rejoinder, but Sadie just mumbled and looked away. It was almost embarrassing for proper hens to argue like this, their feathers all ruffled, their tails spread out.
A soft voice spoke up. “ Oh, but Clarissa, are you not afraid of raccoons and dogs? I also am uncomfortable with the mice ritual, but I am afraid of the animals that come at night and if I don’t do it, maybe the Lord Our God of Poultry will not grant me His grace this year. “This from shy Gertrude, the most she had spoken in a month or more. Clarissa opened her beak to respond, but Sadie cut in, her voice furious and controlled at once.
“ She fears no one, not even the Lord Himself. Clarissa here has already made up her mind and knows all the answers before she asks the questions. Oh yes. The Mice-Dunking Ritual, done for thousands of years is suddenly too cruel for Clarissa. She thinks she’s so much smarter than us and our Roosters, she imagines that she’s the first one with these questions. The fact that all our wise and holy ancestors have asked these questions and answered them is of no meaning to her. I know her type. She will draw you in, Gertrude, she will suck you in with her pecking and clucking and shrieking, but she is unhappy and miserable and you’d best stay away from her if -“ Sadie was speaking no longer.
She had been picked up and summarily crammed into a plastic orange crate, one filled with several other shrieking hens. Farmer Brown hastily grabbed the rest of the hens and stuffed them into the crate as well. As he latched the lock and tossed the crate on to his pick-up truck, he vaguely heard Sadie’s chicks crying for their mother. The hens clucked and beat their wings furiously against the sides of the cage, all to no avail. Only Gertrude was silent.
“Sweetheart, where are you going with all those hens? Those are my good-egg laying hens you got there!” Farmer Brown’s wife stood at the entrance to the house, her hands on her hips and a mocking, teasing scowl on her pretty face.
“Darling, those Jews are here again, it’s that time of the year. They bought out all of Frank’s chickens from next door and they’re saying they still want more, we can get a good price for these, I think. I’ll be right back, just a few minutes. ” Farmer Brown was now locking the truck door and wiping his brow before climbing into the front cab.
“I wonder what they all need them chickens for.” Farmer Brown’s wife sighed. “So many chickens.” She shrugged her shoulders and went back inside, the screen door creaking shut behind her.