“Get out of my henhouse you crazy chicken! I’m bleeding!”
I screamed at the chicken after she pecked my leg and drew blood.
“You can’t hatch these eggs, they’re not all yours!”
The Dominique hen’s neck feathers stood out from her neck like a dragon as she squawked loudly. I grabbed a piece of metal and said, “Flog me again and I’ll chop your head off! You’ll be chicken dumplings for my vegetarian husband! Get out!”
She flew toward me and ran into the flat square of metal that I held as a shield, then ran out of the henhouse. I was mad. I just wanted to gather eggs.
I stomped back to the house and sprayed the first thing I could find on my bleeding thigh. It turned purplish-blue…”what the?!” I turned the bottle to read, “Blue-Kote…veterinary germicide fungicide spray for wounds.” Well, if it’s good enough for the goats, it’s good enough for me.
The blue will wear off my hands and thigh in a few days.
Crazy chicken.
Raised By A Village 