Friday, May 17, 2013

The Story of Why I Hates Me Some Chickens

Chickens are Racist.
I helped on my grandmother's farm for one summer. I got to know the animals. Cows are gentle and stupid. Horses are fun and surprisingly friendly. Pigs are smarter than I'm comfortable with. Goats are tough, but fair.

But chickens are little jerks. Like, if you took the meanest girl in high school and bred her with the most psychotically violent guy and then cloned that baby over and over again, the covered the offspring with feathers and gave them beaks and very sharp claws.

You know what chickens do when one of them gets injured? They peck it to death. You know what chickens do when one of them gets sick? They peck it to death. They fight constantly, violently. Pretty much any situation which involves a momentary disadvantage to one chicken will result in all the other chickens pecking the first chicken to death.

When collecting eggs I learned quickly that you wore the leather gloves, not to keep bird poop off your hands (but yeah, that too, because chickens shit on EVERYTHING, including seed they themselves are eating) but to protect you from violent pecking. Because chickens want to peck you. They're not like cutesy Disney farm cartoon chickens that cluck Beethoven's Fifth as they pump out nice clean eggs. They are evil, malicious twat-demons that are, I am reasonably certain, descended directly from velociraptors.

Even chickens hate chickens. I'm sure now and then a really nice chicken is born, but then the others peck it to death. I'm actually thankful that chickens are such little shit-Hitlers (shitlers?) because I don't feel guilty when I eat them. And it's like all that hate and anger somehow makes them very, very tasty. Which I do appreciate.