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I’ve always thought a little romantically about having chickens in my yard. They are so cute, pecking around. My neighbors had a few, so I went by one day and got the tour. I even interviewed them for research on the sequel to Blessen. (She has a pet chicken in both books.) And what is better than farm fresh eggs?
When my daughter was house sitting last week, I went by for a visit. I posted about the horse on Saturday, celebrating his affection. The owners left a long list of chores. They included feeding the dogs, the cats, the ducks, the horses, the bird, and the chickens. The chickens were to be fed at 9:30 PM. I believe this was a tactic for getting them into the coop for the night.
After dinner before I left, Maggie wanted to show me this chicken feeding routine, so we fed them a little early. She showed me the back hatch for collecting the eggs. When she opened the hatch, we were excited to see about 7 eggs. I would be taking some home for breakfast. I reached in to pick up two eggs. As I moved my hand out, I looked to the right and noticed a long black rope. Only, the rope moved.
I have a pathological fear of snakes. I cannot even touch a page in a book with a snake on it. This fear has no basis in logic. When Maggie was 3 years old, my mother and I took her to the zoo. I refused to go into the snake house. Maggie went along with my mother. When they returned, Maggie announced, “Mom, it’s OK. They’re all in cages!”
This moving black rope was in a chicken coop. The very one I had just stuck my hands into. I am proud that I did not drop the eggs or scream and run. I just walked away briskly saying, “That was a snake!” I have decided that I will leave the raising of chickens to friends and neighbors.
Reflections on the Teche 