Although I’ve never fully thrown myself into the vegetarian/vegan culture, I have, at times, felt bad about the amount of animal protein I consume. I used to feel bad about eating chicken. Then my family bought a few chickens for fresh eggs, and my views changed when I learned chickens are really stupid.
About seven years ago, my mother decided it would be a great idea to have a couple of backyard chickens. We bought the feed, the oyster grit and a chicken tractor – a chicken coop on wheels that could be moved to fresh grazing area every day.
We also bought a dozen chickens, and following the tradition of naming every animal we meet, we gave them each names. There was Gertrude, Betty, Sally, Red and a half dozen other feathery idiots. Mom loved those chickens. I despised them.
Maybe we just got off on the wrong foot, but even before we bought a rooster, those chickens hated me. When I’d go to move their tractor, they’d peck and squawk, doing everything in their power to scare me off. Several died from self-inflicted injuries brought on by repeated bashing against the mesh of their coop in a vain attempt to vanquish my unwelcome toes.
A year or so in to our adventure in chicken husbandry, I bought a second water dispenser for the coop. In the Mississippi summer, those birds went through a ton of water.
Unfortunately, Tractor Supply didn’t have the same red water dispenser we previously bought, so the second dispenser was a slightly burgundy color. Three chickens died of thirst because they refused to drink out of the new container, and for about a month, my mornings consisted of filling a bucket of water, snagging chickens and repeatedly dunking them in the bucket until they drank.
As one of my friends put it, I water boarded chickens to make them drink. It worked, but I was left with the firm belief that any animal that forces me to resort to war crimes to keep it alive deserves to be eaten. Preferably battered with a side of coleslaw.
This past weekend I ended up at Tractor Supply grabbing a bag of dog food – the only close place carrying the brand my spoiled pups can be convinced to eat. While there, I heard the distinct peep peep from a display of galvanized steel tanks.
As usual, I stopped by the tanks to see the baby chicks, and an employee came up to see if I was intending to purchase some. No! I do not want chickens!
The poor man stood there for more than 10 minutes while I my vocalized my internal debate. The chicks are adorable, and I love cute and fluffy animals. Also, fresh eggs are delicious.
On the other hand, chickens are stupid, messy, smelly, and there’s the Geneva Convention to worry about. Airfare is pretty cheap these days, but I don’t have the extra cash for a trip the Hague.
I did not come home with any baby chickens, but I’m still thinking about it. I’m sure one day I’ll end up caving and buying some chicks of my own. Until then, I’ll buy my chicken and eggs at the grocery store where I can blissfully ignore the frustration and agitation that comes with raising such moronic birds.
Thomas Howard is the managing editor of The Newton County Appeal. He can be reached at thoward@newtoncountyappeal.com
