At times, on long hot summer days when I was growing up and had idle time on my hands, the chicken coop was one place I could go to ease the monotony. Chickens were always good for a laugh. I liked watching the hens scratch the dirt looking for bits of cracked corn or anything else that caught their attention. When one hen would find something, the others would quickly run to see what she had found. They ran in a silly looking straight-legged gait. They would try to get whatever it was the other hen had only to discover that it was nothing worth having. Soon they would see another hen that also appeared to have found something interesting and they would all hurry over to see what she had. Those chickens would do that for hours on end, until they tired and went off to relax in contentment.Chickens make a peculiar sound when they are content. It sounds like they are saying, "Cree, cree, cree"-a peaceful mesmerizing sound that could almost put anyone to sleep listening to it. I always figured it was the chicken's version of a cat purr.I liked pretending that the chicken coop was a church house and the hens were the congregation and I was their preacher. I would walk into the coop and announce the hymn we were going to sing. After the hymn I would commence preaching a hellfire and brimstone sermon. Just like the ones I heard at church. I'd shout something like, "Sin, sin, sin, you're all sinners and deserve to go a fiery hell!"The hens would go, "Bok, bok bok bok bok," as they milled about only showing the slightest stress as the pitch of my voice raised.Then I'd say, "Oh, but don't despair little chickens, there's hope for your retched souls. The Savior has provided a way. Fall on your faces, and repent of those sins that gnaw away at your soul and the Lord God above will welcome you into His kingdom!" The chickens were generally tolerant of my scolding and continued to scratching the dirt for tidbits.Occasionally I would pretend to be the captain of an airplane preparing to take off for a flight to some distant land. I would speak to them over the speaker. "Attention all chickens! Get to your perches and buckle up, we're about to take off on a long voyage. There're storm clouds ahead and it looks like we're in for a rough ride, so hang on to your feathers."There was a big Rhode Island Red rooster who wasn't a bit amused nor did he appreciate me coming into his coop when it was time to gather eggs. Big Red, as I called him, would try to stare me down with his head cocked to one side, the red comb on his head nervously flopping around. He glared at me with those intimidating angry yellow eyes. Red took note of my every move as he strategically guarded his hens as though they were his prized possessions. Red despised me. He was determined to kick me out of his coop. But now the hens didn't mind me at all; in fact they were hoping that I would throw a little cracked corn their way. But the red sentinel paced up and down between his ladies and me. Big Red would lower his wing feathers to the dirt floor and stir the dust preparing to take me on. I was bigger than he but he paid that no mind. He then began prancing as if he were limping on tender blistered feet. Static filled the air. Then, when the time was right, in the flick of an eye, his wings would spring up to grab the air and his spindly orange legs thrust him towards my face. He had one sharp spur on the back of each leg with which he would try to strike me. It was always a tense moment, anticipating his time of attack when he would leap into action.One day Big Red must have been in a particularly foul mood when I entered to gather eggs and have a word with the hens. Red was not at all interested to hear what I had to say as he sprang up high flapping his wings and directing his pointed spurs toward me. I moved quickly and darted toward the coop door. I grabbed the latch and slung the door wide open, jumped through the opening and quickly slammed it shut behind me. I felt a shiver of nerves run up and down the back of my spine. As I turned around, with my heart pounding in my chest, my eyes beheld a horrible sight. At face level Big Red's head was sticking out between the door and doorjamb with his menacing eyes bulging and his blood red pointed tongue sticking almost out of his mouth. Dead! Big Red was dead.I pulled myself together and thought for a moment. I knew that no court in the land would convict me for that rooster's death. It was clear to see-it was in self-defense that the door was slammed on Red's head.
