Gary Larson's Chickens

Right before the pandemic, I decided to raise chickens. It was really rather impulsive. My friend Matt was aware of somebody getting rid of some chickens and remembered I was interested in having chickens at one point. The next thing I knew, I had a coop, I fashioned a protective pen and I had ready supply of eggs to sustain me when we were on lockdown. The number of my chickens has ebbed and flowed as other people needed to find a home for some and the natural order of life caused some of mine to perish.

I am convinced that Gary Larson owned chickens. In fact, I don't think one can say these are Deena Larsen's chickens, they are definitely Gary Larson's. The only evidence I offer is that my chickens are slowly transforming my life into a Far Side cartoon. I have always been a fan of the Far Side and quite often, Gary would have hilarious ones about animals. While the comics were always a treat to read, I can assure you that seemingly living in one of his comics is not fun at all. Allow me to explain. My friend Rich is selling his house and needed a home for his hens and rooster. In no way did I want a rooster! I let him know that but after some passage of time, he was desperate and I gave in. I now am the caretaker for Charlie. When I asked Rich where the name came from, he said it was for Charlie of Charlie's angels. That makes sense as Charlie looked after the special agents he called his Angels. However, Rich quickly followed that by saying or Charlie was named after Charles Manson and the hens are his followers, like Lynette 'Squeaky' Fromme. Great. Just what I needed was a psychotic rooster. But, how bad could it really be?

I admit that I am terrified of this rooster. Maybe it's because Rich posted pictures on Facebook of the various times he was attacked with close-up photos of deep gouges in his legs. On the fateful day, when he was bringing the chickens over to my house, Rich texted me that me he was on his way and then added, "I might need some hydrogen peroxide and a band-aid." Great. Just what I needed. Now that Charlie is living in my yard, I have noticed that he gives me the feathery eyeball. (At first I said, "hairy eyeball" but Linda corrected me, chickens don't have hair.) There was one day when I was bringing a box of semi-spoiled produce to the chickens as treats and Charlie decided I was a threat, charging at me head-on. Fortunately, I was able to use the box to deflect his beak and talons. Ever since, I have been wary. Or perhaps ever since, I am weary. Either word works, in this instance. I feel like a prisoner in my own home. I want my chickens to be free-ranging and I have to admit it is fascinating to see how Charlie keeps one eye to the sky and is constantly scanning for danger. It is interesting to see how he keeps the hens close and protects them. However, he still sees me as a threat and I don't know how to change that. Now, when I walk outside, I always have a stick or some tool to use to defend me, in the event he decides to charge me again. But, like my ways of dealing with conflict with humans, avoidance seems to serve me best. I have been thinking of other ways he could be named Charles. I thought of the television show, Charles in Charge. I thought of King Charles who was recently coronated in England as the head of the monarchy. I think of Chucky the ventriloquist dummy who terrorized those in the Goosebumps stories. There are many other references to Charles / Charlies in our society, all of which seem to fit this evil rooster.

And now on to why I think Gary Larson had chickens. For one, when I first got chickens, I was amazed at how much personality they had. Until Charlie came along, it was really cute. Since Charlie's arrival, it is more concerning than cute. The other day, one of the hens had jumped up on this big wooden box in front of my house. There were breakable items up there and I was afraid that she would knock things off. I went out to shoo her off by stepping outside the door. As soon as I opened the door, there was Charlie watching me from 20 ft away. We did this twice. The last time I opened the door, Charlie was hiding behind my car. I was convinced that all of the chickens were conspiring and were setting me up, attempting to lure me out a little bit farther each time. It was that moment when I had the realization that I was indeed in a Far Side comic and this was how Gary Larson got his ideas. I have come to resent Charlie. For example, one day, I had let all of the chickens out and I was hoping to get them back in their pen after a day of free-ranging. I wanted to go to a concert at 7:30 last Saturday evening. However, I was unable to get them back in their safe enclosure for the night. At one point I was so frustrated I got in my car and drove to the

backyard thinking that they would be terrified and scoot into the pen. Now some may say that I was attempting to run Charlie over. At that moment, if I am honest, had he fell under the wheel, I probably wouldn't have minded. I do have to admit that this is challenging one of my core beliefs, that life is sacred. I have been a vegetarian for almost 40 years and I do not believe in killing. But, I do admit that Charlie not being here would make my life better right now.

In the end, Charlie decided to square off against my car. Despite my frustration, the humor of the moment, that I was literally playing chicken with a chicken was not lost on me. Ultimately, I did not get them in the pen as the car technique did nothing but rile them up and one of the hens decided to take off. Needless to say, I missed the concert. I guess I am looking for some advice. Would anybody like a rooster? Probably not after this sales job. Does anybody have solutions on how I can make nice with Charlie? When I look to the ever-knowing YouTube®, one source instructed me to pick the rooster up and hold it. I can assure you, THAT is not happening. Another video said to feed them treats and they will realize that you can't be a threat if you were feeding them. I tried that for a little bit, but Charlie still seems to be riled up at the mere presence of me. I should probably install cameras in my yard to record these antics, like me running the long way around to the front door, racing the chickens who are chasing me. At least then, maybe I can monetize my account to pay for my impending medical bills. Sadly, I don't see a way out of this. I will try not to get hurt. I'll try to appreciate the humor of all of this. And in the end, I'll just have to live with being called...a chicken.