What I Learned from Chickens

One of the many endearing aspects of Floyd, is the ready opportunity to interact with animals. During my childhood I learned many a life lesson from experiences with animals-lessons that were usually initiated by my mother, the quintessential animal lover. One of the most endearing stories we kids share about our Mom is when she obtained her first chickens.

My mother had been raised a city kid in Asheville, North Carolina, and my sisters, brother and I were raised city kids in Charlotte, North Carolina until I was about seven, when our family relocated to rural Cabarrus County. (North Carolina’s version of Floyd- without mountains.) Finally having the room to realize her dream of owning animals, Mom immediately extended our family by acquiring  a St Bernard (who thought she was a lap dog), 2 pigs (who thought they were lap dogs),  2 horses (who thought they were lap dogs), and 2 goats (yes, you guessed it: who thought they were lap dogs), and  3-4 rabbits ( who thought they were attack dogs).The rabbits, pigs and goats we got at the livestock auctions-I recommend every child attend this at least once-What a rush!!

Of course no farm, even a dysfunctional petting zoo farm, is complete without chickens. Someone told my mother about a chicken farm that was shutting down, and suggested Mom try to get some cheap chickens from the farmer. The farm was an egg producing farm-the chickens were in individual crates stacked to the ceiling and spanning the width of a huge barn. The crates only gave enough room for the birds to lie still: they could not stand up or turn around, and their beaks were ground down, the farmer explained, to reduce any injury to themselves or neighboring birds. It was at best inhumane.

The farmer seemed amused by Mom’s interest in trying her hand at chickens. He gladly gave her about 10 geriatric hens that could still lay eggs, but were well past their prime. My mother was thrilled, but we kids had our reservations-these were the saddest, ugliest chickens we had ever seen (not that we had seen that many). The farmer sent us out of the barn while he boxed up the birds, and he then graciously loaded them into the back of Mom’s car.

When we got home, Mom ceremoniously carried the box to the barnyard area and crooned “Welcome” to her new friends as she flung the box open.

 The birds did not move. They looked like holocaust survivors-they sat very still-their eyes blank. We had to dump the box over the get them out, and that is when we discovered they were unable to walk. They had been in crates so long; their legs were drawn with atrophy. The chickens just laid there.

We kids burst into laughing fits and told Mom she had gotten defective chickens. We teased Mom terribly about how these dull animals did not even know how to be chickens.

  Never one to be discouraged, Mom stood protectively over her weeble/wobble birds and firmly declared “THEY CAN LEARN TO BE CHICKENS!”

And they did: my Mom spent hours on the ground rubbing and exercising little chicken legs, and teaching her none to bright hens how to eat. It was very humbling and inspiring to see the miraculous transformation that took place.

After all us kids moved out, Mom, not surprisingly, became a foster parent. Of course she only took the problem cases. Her home was the last chance for wayward adolescents who had been rejected by other foster families before being sent to a group home.  The private joke between us siblings each time Mom took in a new “problem child”, was “Don’t worry, he/she can learn to be a chicken!”  Some did; some did not: but Mom always tried.

Over the years I have often pictured God protectively standing over us, or even supportively laying beside us trying to teach us to be “chickens” while Satan laughed and taunted him about what a waste of time we were…I, for one, am glad God is never one to be discouraged!