Michael Swickard
There are always things tempting us that will eventually cause us misery because we do not know then what we will know later. Teens qualify since most people were not thinking of them when they started dating. So would the notion we would be better off with more government.
At Easter there is always a temptation to buy your kids a few adorable chicks as pets. Years ago my friend Judy mentioned she was going to buy two chicks for Easter. I protested, “Don’t do it, they turn into chickens.”
Then and now I stand firm on the question of chickens as pets. But the two chicks were so cute that Judy bought them anyway. That summer Judy said plaintively, “Michael, you have to do something about those darn chickens in my backyard.”
My advice was correct. Those cute little chicks turn into chickens! Foul-smelling fowl. They were ruining Judy’s backyard both with their constant production of smelly organic waste and by their digging and scratching in the backyard grass.
Judy asked desperately, “Don’t you know someone who would like two chickens as pets?” I chewed on a proper answer, realizing that my chance of escaping the doghouse was equal to those chickens living a long life as someone’s pet.
“Well,” I said, “I have a friend out in the country who has chickens.”
“Great,” she replied, “Ask if he would like two more.”
I phoned him, “Bob, you want a couple more chickens?”
I could visualize his smile as he said, “Sure, I love chicken.”
You have to excuse Judy, who was a city girl and quite intelligent, but not about agricultural issues. I told Judy I would take the two chickens down to Bob’s place. I got a closed box, captured the pets (though they resisted) and had them in the box in the backseat of my new car, which quickly began to smell like chickens.
Then Judy’s daughter Diane decided that she wanted to see the new chicken home so both she and Judy jumped into the car. I was caught. I tried to think. I could confess my suspicions that Bob liked chicken, not chickens. But lacking any way out aside from distinguishing chickens from chicken, I just kept driving. There were now three chickens in the car.
We arrived at Farmer Bob’s house. It was picturesque with fields and farm equipment. Judy and Diane commented enthusiastically about the pretty trees. I thought, I bet the chickens here wish they could fly. I spotted them huddled over by a shed. To me they looked very nervous.
And then I noticed it. A large tree stump which served as an open air chopping block. I held my breath. There was even an ax on the chopping block. Judy and Diane missed it.
Farmer Bob came out of the house. I had known him a long time, so we chatted while Judy and Diane looked around. I said to him, “Bob, these women are city girls and have had these chickens since Easter, but they want you to have them as pets, wink wink wink.”
God Bless Bob. I don’t care what you may say about the intelligence of people wearing bib overalls, he did not miss a beat. “Yep, I get quite a few pet chickens here in the months after Easter,” he said.
We turned our pets loose and they ran over to the waiting mob of chickens. “Oh look,” Judy said, “They have already made friends.”
Abruptly I said, “Well Judy, we’ve got to be going.”
You see, suddenly I noticed that Mrs. Farmer Bob was in the kitchen cooking lunch. You guessed it, fried chicken. No wonder the chickens looked warily at Farmer Bob.
We jumped in the car and sped away with Judy and Diane talking about what a great place it was for pet chickens to live. I did not end up in the doghouse, so maybe those chickens lived a long life as pets on Farmer Bob’s place. The subject of chickens never came up again.
When the urge comes to buy cute little chicks for Easter, just say no. Likewise, no matter how fine it seems in the beginning, always say no to bigger government.
Swickard is a weekly columnist for this site. You can reach him at michael@swickard.com.
Swickard bio │ Archives │ Feed