The Chicken Wars; a Prelude.

The town I grew up in has an abundance of chickens. I don't remember seeing much when I was really small- I have a vague recollection of wider spaces and the occasional cardinal, but no chickens. And I knew chickens. Every time I went to my aunt's house, they watched me with beaded jet eyes and clucked.

I'd always end up edging along the flower bed. Right into their trap, where the broody hen would burst out in a firework of ruffled feathers and I'd run shrieking to the porch. So where were all these monsters coming from? It made me deeply uneasy to see more and more under the hedges.

My mother was beginning to act strangely too. She usually watered her plants first thing in the morning, and we'd wave on the way to the school bus, breakfast in mouth. Then one morning I sat to put on my shoes, and a banshee screamed past. "No! NOOOOO! Stop, you idjit chickens! HAH! Take that!"

I crept past the door jamb. She was still going strong. With mighty swings she scattered hens and chicks all over the yard. Since they had done the same to the chippings in the flower beds looking for bugs, things were looking a bit untidy. My eyes glazed over as I recognized the weapon at hand- an industrial strength plunger.

Across the street, an audience was gathering. Classmates all; eyes bugged out and edging backward to the haven of the bus stop. Really, I asked myself. School could get along without me today, surely? And Ben, who started all this, would probably be cutting too. I could go along and show him my appreciation.