Posted in Family Life

This evening I had one of the most traumatic experiences in my life. I've had several, none of which you really want to hear about. Come to think of it, you may not want to hear about this one either.

We had a batch of chicks hatch last year, and now that they're all grown up, they fly very well. In order to protect them from dogs and coyotes, we have a 100SF strawbale coop which opens into a 1/2-acre, fenced pasture, where our flock of 6 geese, 3 ducks and roughly 15 chickens live. If they can fly, they aren't safe. So about once a year, we have to clip the outermost feathers on their wings.

Now, we've learned from past experience that trapping them all in the coop after dark is the easiest; we then corner them, clip them, and toss them out into the pasture while we catch the rest of the flock. They tend to be quietly roosting, half-drugged from melatonin or its chicken-equivalent, and thus fairly docile. Normally they're this way. Tonight they were not.

The three of us barricaded ourselves in there, dd at the small chicken door to the pasture, armed with a screen and a fear of flying chickens. Warranted, considering what came next. Fifteen angry birds began to fly over our heads, dive-bombing us as they tried to find a way out. Several hens seriously thought they could get through the screen and made a horrible racket letting us know how upset they were at not getting through. Our poor girl began screaming as the wings and claws flew in all directions. We'd finally catch one, and it would squeal like a stuck pig until it realized we weren't hurting it; but then it would scream again when we dropped it outside the warm coop into the blackness.

Part of the way into the flock, we caught one of our new roosters, and through the cloud of dust, we were admiring his beautiful feathers. Suddenly he let out a shriek, and caught me across the cheekbone with a wing. Let me say, that was two hours ago and it still hurts. But that wasn't the traumatic part.

We were down to two little hens huddled in a corner behind a stack of boxes, and I crawled back there to scare them out. I managed to get a handful of tail feathers on one of them, and as I was trying to get a good hold on her, the other flew up and tried to land on my head. I managed to hand off the first one to my hubby, simultaneously trapping the second one with my head against the wall of the coop. That was a tricky move; I was pretty proud of myself. I reached up to grab her, catching her throat on one side, and a leg on the other.

Now, remember that we're coughing up lungs in the dust, I've been beat up by a rooster, and I broke at least one nail. I'm already having a bad night.

As I pull the hen up over my head, my dear hubby says, "Ooh! She's throwing up!" Yes, that's what I said. In my hair, down my neck inside my coat, all over my hand and arm. She's fine; thanks for asking. I'm not.

AAAAAUUUUUGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!! I don't remember anything else as disgusting in my life! And I don't get grossed out easy, either.

So, we're standing on the back porch, commenting on how we need face masks next time. My husband notices that I'm covered in dust (somehow momentarily forgetting that I'm also covered in chicken puke), and begins to beat it off the front of my coat. This seemingly kind and helpful action was instead rubbing it into my neck and making me ill. I don't think I've ever made it from the back porch to the shower in that short of a time frame ... ever.

Oh, the joys of animal husbandry. Next time I'm wearing a bio-hazard suit.