I am man who likes to live life on the edge. I pick up and eat food I’ve dropped on the floor, I walk around with my shoelaces undone, and I even agree to go on hiking holidays with random weirdos I’ve met on the internet. If my middle name weren’t George, then you can bet your bottom dollar it’d be Danger. No wonder I’m idolized by millions.
However my life of excitement and peril is sometimes my undoing.
When tending to the chickens in the morning it’s become my habit to slip the eggs I collect into my pockets. This leaves my hands free to lock up the coop and perform any other random jobs that need doing. It has occasionally crossed my mind that this is a practice that may backfire on me at some point in the future, but like I say – I like to live life on the edge.
You can see where this is going can’t you.
Yesterday was a day like any other. I collected the eggs as normal and then pottered around doing my usual jobs. However whilst washing the dishes that afternoon I noticed that I had a large damp patch on my trousers. Assuming that I’d just splashed myself during a bit of overly exuberant scrubbing I just left it, figuring I’d just let it air dry (see, I told you I was a maverick). After fifteen minutes I started to idly wonder why the water didn’t appear to be drying. Half an hour went by and my suspicions were aroused enough for me to stick an exploratory hand in my pocket.
Let me tell you, it wasn’t pleasant.
So off came the trousers, into the washing machine went the wallet, and under the tap went my car keys and a rather eggy £5 note. And in the meantime the chickens (no doubt psychically picking up on my distress) made a dash for freedom, flapping over the garden fence in order to get closer to the house to crow about their victory. Two of them even got onto the roof of my car, an act of disrespect and defiance which is almost Hitchcockian in it’s audacity.
They even crapped up there too, the swine.
So it seems my fine feathered fiends have won this battle, but the war is far from over. Let’s just hope they don’t find an anarchic and irreverent evil genius to lead them or they may one day take over the entire world.
Oh bugger, we’re screwed.
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Shockingly disrespectful. Do they not know who is boss?
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@Rosie Scribble, they do know who’s boss, but unfortunately it’s not me.
I, for one, welcome my new Chicken Overlords and their Evil Genius Leader.
All Hail, Lord of the Chickens!
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@JJ Daddy-O, i have been informed that you have been made the new Grand Vizier
When they take over will all chickens be equal, but some more equal than others? Those who can drive a car will clearly be superior chickens.
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@Mark, I’ve been wondering why Evan has started referring to me as bourgeoisie scum
You wanna scare ‘em straight? Borrow a chicken from another, um, chicken-having-person for, like, a day. Have the borrowed chicken hang out with your own chickens. At the slightest wrong move it makes, scold it harshly (in front of the other chickens, of course), then scoop it up and whisk it away (back to its rightful owner … but your chickens don’t know that, now, do they?). Stop by the market on your way home and get yourself an uncooked whole chicken, which you will then take home to your own chickens, holding it up as you tell them, “See this? This is what happens when you don’t do as I say.”
Just a thought. (Yes, I need help.)
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@Daddy Scratches, It’s certainly a plan.
But what if the new chicken joins forces with the other chickens and, now their ranks are swollen, they decide to bring the coupe (coop?) forward?
Yeah, yeah, the old “that weird stain on my trousers is from the eggs in my pocket” excuse… nobody believes you.
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@Rol, you saw through me.
Yeah, and you keep suggesting I get them too, is this part of the plan.
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@SingleParentDad, It is one subsection of the plan. My strategy to bring about your eventual downfall is multi-faceted
“They even crapped up there too, the swine.”
The swine? If you’ve convinced them that they’re pigs, that could be where some of your problems are coming from.
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@Clair, good point. Perhaps that Paul McKenna “I can make you a pig” audio hypnosis tape was a bad idea after all.
I’m impressed you got them to stand on top of the car long enough for a photo – Blue Tac?
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@MrsW, more like the roof was so slippy that they were highly reluctant to move at all.
Being the overlord of your realm that you are, I would advise you to let them have the occasional victory, just so they can maintain some false feeling of independence. It’ll make them easier to control in the long run. They’ll play right into your hands.
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@Holmes, I think that’s the same strategy that Kerry is currently using on me.
Curious, would they be ok if you plucked them as punishment? to teach them a lesson?
Just a patch or two?
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@Martin, It’s a good plan. I think I’ll start with their heads first. Then if the RSPCA come round I can always claim they are turkeys.
I dread to think how much food I’ve dropped on the floor, picked it up, and then eaten with wild abandon. I don’t even care how long it’s been on the floor to be honest. Reeet hygienic me.
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@Kevin Spencer, like me, you’re a rebel.
It was for people like us that Pepsi MAX was created.
He’s not leading them. He’s mocking them. “Call yourself evolved? You don’t even have teeth. Look at these incisors…!”
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@Steve, wait, chicken don’t have teeth? Then what the hell have I got then!!??
I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that gypsy chicken salesman
You need yourself a chopping block and a big pot.
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@Seattledad, the alarming thing is that the chickens bought those just last week. they keep eying my neck. I’m worried.
Brilliant post. Nice work!
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@Jeff, Get off my blog you pervert.
@Dan, Just because I’m infatuated with chickens doesn’t mean I have a problem.
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You could always wear an apron, which could signify two things… A garment with pockets to hold eggs. OR A garment to wear whilst preparing a chicken dinner. They might then behave, once the chickee’s see you wearing it.
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OK, I laughed out loud when I saw the last picture! I could have told you keeping chickens would lead to damnation. They just aren’t natural birds. In fact, they’re deeply unnatural in so many ways.
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Crafty, intricate and elegant caper. Your chickens might end up in a James Bond movie.
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