The Chicken Attack

excerpted essay from The Day the Chickens Went Crazy

Chicken Head.png

As a survivor, I feel obligated to share my story.

In January of my 27th year of life I survived a chicken attack. It wasn’t a normal chicken attack (yes, there is such a thing as a ‘normal’ chicken attack). No, it was a strange, terrible attack. It occurred in the dark- at 9:30pm MST (you must be precise about chicken attacks).

The story begins at 9:20pm, when I arrived at the ‘House of the Porcelain Dolls.’ I made my way to the back of the property where the chicken coop is. A few hens were roosting on top of the hutch which is a big ‘no’ when there are hungry coyotes and raccoons nearby. I grabbed the rake and started to usher the hens off their perch. One hen after another jumped off and ran into the coop. One hen after another, until…

Until a hen decided to ergo the ground idea and instead land on my head. ON MY HEAD. IN MY HAIR. IN MY HAIR. IN MY JUST WASHED THE DAY BEFORE HAIR. TALONS WERE ENTANGLED IN MY HAIR.

As my throat closed in, and pee came out, I screamed (it was a hushed screamed, but nonetheless a scream) “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” The bird. That effin’ descendant of dinosaurs, stayed on. Each second I tried to push it off my head, it’s talons wrapped my hair again. Finally after what seemed like five minutes, the claws unfurled. The chicken jumped off and ran into the coop, as if that had been the plan all along.

The chicken was unscathed. I, however, was not.

I decided that the rest of the hens (those who did not get persuaded back into the pen, because after the attack HOW COULD I DO THAT AGAIN!?) would not receive the privilege of my protection. I said a quick prayer for their safety and gave thanks to God for not letting the chicken shit on my head, or rip out a large chunk of hair, or my biggest fear peck out my eyes. I text Gayle and Danielle. The sweet ladies who know my loathing of the feathered beasts both made sure I was ok, before laughing through text. Thank you both for assuring me that 2016 would only get better.

This story, this story of my life, illustrates how you can try to help someone, but unless that chick receives it warmly you will get attacked. And once attacked, it’s very difficult to trust and try to help again. I felt sorry that some (seemingly) innocent hen could possibly be subjected to death because of the acts of one chicken. ONE DEVIL CHICKEN. (So I guess not that sorry.)

To all the chickens out there- I am sorry I will no longer go the extra mile to protect your life. This is something your pea sized brains will have to do alone.

To the coyotes, raccoons, and dogs- you’re welcome.


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