The evil peepers hatch yet another plot

The evil chickens are still residing in our backyard. They’ve shed their fluffball disguises and grown into half feathered, half alligator skin Gollum-like creatures with beaks. They killed off 3 of their own before we put marbles in their pen. It seems they like shiny things, and are willing to commit poultrycide to get them.

My Precioussss…

We haven’t found a horribly mangled body in weeks, so I think we’re in the clear. It seems the Evil Menace get bored and require entertainment. Straw piles to dismantle, feed strewn about, and a mean game of marbles every once in awhile. They want you to think it’s a harmless child’s game, but they’re more like thugs on the corner strong-arming tourists into 3-card Monte. Plotting bastards.

Yesterday, I found a soft pear in the refrigerator. Thinking it might entertain them a short while, I tossed it into their pen. They like a variety of fruit, but turned up their beaks at the pear. Perhaps it was too ripe for their delicate little palettes, which are accustomed to things like perfectly balanced feed, hay, fresh grass and–oh, I don’t know–the still-warm flesh of fellow poultry dumb enough not to sleep with one eye open. Then again, they may have already begun constructing a diabolical plan yet to come.

At dusk, our girls went outside to put Satan’s Minions in for the night. While trying to shoo a wayward beast toward Hell’s Henhouse, Pup stepped backward onto the pear. Horrified, she immediately closed her eyes, lifted her foot and asked Ems, “Did I kill it? Is it dead?” 

Recognizing a prime opportunity to mess with her sister’s head, our youngest took on a tone of mourning. “Oh no. I think you killed it. It’s not moving.” Pup was devastated  until she opened her eyes to a gooey pear. –Then she was so relieved she forgot to be mad at her little sister.

Creamed chicken, anyone?