The Culling

I’ve written many stories about the hens in my life. Most, almost all…ok EVERY story has been exaggerated in some small or jumbo way.

So here are a few facts.

I have chickens and they lay eggs for my family. True.

My chickens can talk and think rationally. False.

I have lost chickens to predators. True.

My chickens are evil. False.

I have been pecked and chased by The Bully. True.

I dislike my chickens. False.

We are grateful for these birds. The eggs they provide are a much healthier alternative to store-bought eggs. We not only know where the eggs come from, but we know what went into them.

My boys love chasing them, feeding them and naming them. The hens are a part of their childhood and something they will, I hope, always remember fondly.

So even though I joke about their demise. Even though I actually did threaten them with the freezer when they wouldn’t lay eggs. Even though…I like them for what they are and for their purpose: to provide food for our family.

That is the reason we got them. They aren’t pets, they aren’t members of our family. They are food.

We feed them. We water them. We keep them safe from predators. We (try) to keep them from harm.

We did our best to take good care of them. But we knew that one day, just like we fed them, they will feed us.

And for that, we are grateful.

Today we culled six hens
With respect and no puns
They roamed out of their pen
Strutting in the sun