Driftless Chicken Marathon

The seed I pulled out today is…..que the drum-roll…..Prairie Chicken Marathon.   I do not live on a prairie; I live in the rolling hills of the Driftless.  I do have a few chickens that give me such joy.  This Free Write Friday is dedicated to their own special marathon as well as them.

Driftless Chicken Marathon

As soon as the sliding wood door in the chicken coop opens, the girls and the lone rooster come running out with great excitement and even greater fanfare.  The first lap is to the compost, just incase something fresh has been dumped there.  They find nothing.  One quick peek and lap two begins.

Running as fast as they can, they run back to the barn and into their coop.  Surely, there is fresh corn in there. The food is fresh and after a quick nibble the race is back on.

Lap three works its way around the silo under the cover of ferns in full bloom.  Around the milk house wall and staying close to the rose bushes they race their way to the barn ramp.   Three go up the ramp and seven hide under. 

When the three in the barn give the “all clear”, four of the seven run up the ramp and in the barn door.  The remaining three scatter in various directions cooing, baulking and feathers rustling.  One heads to the cows standing in pasture.  One darts back around the barn under the cover of foliage only stopping quickly to hastily snatch at a bug.  The last chicken stays put under the ramp.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo” calls the rooster.  He has summoned his harem.   There is food at the compost after all.

“Baw-baw-baw-baw.”  The hens say as they all scatter from their hiding places.  Three go this way and a few more go that.  None of them obey the rooster and to him at the compost.

Another lap of running from the wood shed to the barn and then a quick dart under the stock trailer.  A hen darts from the ferns squawking with her wings flapping frantic.  Lift off, even if it is for a short moment.

I sit on my covered porch watching the mayhem as my girls run the barn yard, for what?  I have no idea.  The therapy they bring me is priceless.  Squawks, chatter, confusion and chaos as they spend their first half hour of the day outside running helter-skelter.  The fact that they think they know where they are going but don’t, is no big secret to me.  I would love to know what is going on in their chicken brains.

“Cock-a-doodle-doo.” The rooster demands. 

The final lap.  All the girls run to the compost pile dutifully.  They scratch and peck and eat the remains of last night’s salad.  After their tiny bellies are full, they all find a quiet place hidden in the shade.  The race is over and they are all winners.   Time to rest up for tomorrows marathon.