Chicken Today & Feathers Tomorrow

Eggs, dinner, alarm clock & feather duster; the benefits provided by our fair-feathered friend... Chances are that during your day you’ll utilize several modern conveniences that would be nonexistent without chickens. Let’s take a glance into a day of average American farmer, Pud Trotter, who lives on the outskirts of a big city. Take note throughout this intense story of all the items Pud uses that are associated with the chicken.

Daybreak

Fred the Rooster crows at 5 a.m. on the dot, just as the sun peeks up over the eastern horizon. Pud stirs from the embers of sleep, jerks up in bed, weaves to the window located on the east-side of his bedroom, lifts the window, pokes his uncombed head out and screams at Fred, “Shut up, nut bird!”

Fred focuses on the bug to the left of him rather than on Pud’s harsh words. Pud tended to be a bit cranky in the mornings, so Fred conceded to allow for that fallacy. He hears the hens softly cackling in the distance and deftly scarves up the bug. Hens can’t be trusted.

Breakfast

Pud stands at the stove cooking eggs and bacon. He likes his eggs sunny-side up and his bacon burnt. As he works, he nurses his headache and is sure it was brought on by lack of sleep. Darn rooster; his pierce crow would wake the dead.

Mid-Morning

Pud enters the chicken coop to collect the eggs. The ‘girls’ have been cackling most of the morning, so Pud expects a good harvest. In fact, all the White Leghorns were good layers. All, except Wanita. For some reason, Wanita was intent on nesting.

Fred is suddenly disrupted and is knocked to one side as a couple of hens run past him. Momentarily dismantled, he weaves and loses his balance, precariously landing onto the ground. Instantly, he rectifies himself but the episode was embarrassing. He sees a few of the hens gossiping to one another about the ordeal. Newborn fury instills Fred and as he towers out of control, he runs and jabs Pud in the calf with one of his dull spurs.

Once the dust and Pud’s loud voice settle, Fred rethinks the situation. Perhaps he reacted too swiftly? Yes, he’d been angry and poor Pud was the only target in sight. Oh well, the hens were all cackling loudly and seemed impressed. Maybe a cocky strut to top things off?

Lunch

Pud tosses the feather duster to the couch and takes another glance at his injured leg. He can’t quite place all the blame on Fred. After all, he shouldn’t have been taking Wanita’s eggs from her. Fred did seem to fancy the biddy. That had to be what fueled his wacky rooster into action.

Dinner

Pud enjoys a plate of spicy fried chicken on his front porch. The sun is slowly fading into the pocket of the horizon. Another day finished, or almost so.

Meanwhile in the coop, Fred stretches his wings and flies onto the roost, preparing for the darkness ahead. He was tired too; his throat ached a bit – probably from crowing a bit too much today. In addition, he was sure he had sprung his leg when he had attacked Pud. It was tough being a chicken.

Bedtime

Pud fluffs his pillow, the one filled with thousands of feathers, preparing for the darkness ahead. He was tired too; his throat ached a bit – probably from yelling a bit too loudly at Fred this morning. In addition, he leg ached where Fred had launched his attack. It was tough being a farmer…

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