What I Learned From A Chicken Named Pearl

I took a writer friend to visit chickens the other day. She wants to write about them but being from suburban Philadelphia she has never really been near them much.  I, on the other hand, am an old chicken wrangler from way back.

I used to sell eggs to all my girlfriends. I know how to string chicken fence, how to clip wings so they don’t fly, how to set a broody hen aside so she can hatch some chicks, how to feed hens oyster shells so they have good strong eggs.

I know what chickens smell like, warm feathers like a comforter. I got rid of chicken manure by advertising composed manure in the Penny Saver. Dahlias love it. 

I also got rid of my chickens when the coyotes got too friendly. I loved to hear them howl until I realized they were saying, “Free chicken dinner! Eat at Les’s!”

So it had been a lot of years since I had been around chickens, but I knew some chicken folks. So I took my writer friend for a visit.  She held a chicken name Pearl, a nice hen, tame enough to pick up and carry around.  I wanted to show my friend how you could trim a chicken’s wing so she couldn’t fly. 

I gently pulled on Pearl’s wing and she began to flap it. I reached over, took Pearl from my friend and held her snuggled up against my ribcage. Then I opened her wing and showed my friend Pearl’s flight feathers.

I didn’t think twice about holding Pearl so she was comfortable and docile. I just did what I had done so many times before. 

I guess riding a bike isn’t the only thing you never forget how to do.  Apply this however you need too, but don’t think you can’t ‘cause you haven’t for a while. The next time I moan about being discouraged, forward this blog back to me, please. 

I also haven’t forgotten how to make cookies, so stop by one of these days.