Chickens are strange creatures and often the brunt of many
jokes. They’re flighty and indecisive, hence the term
”
Running around like a chicken with its head cut off.
”
Chickens are strange creatures and often the brunt of many jokes. They’re flighty and indecisive, hence the term “Running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”
Chickens are also often the topic of intellectual debate: Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
In nature, life evolves through changes and mutations in DNA. At Linda’s Last Chance Ranch we have recently discovered a new breed of chicken evolving. It has five fuzzy feet that spread out like the fingers of a hand, with what looks like opposable thumbs.
Since the egg is the product of its parents and a result of their combined DNA, what develops within the egg is sometimes called a freak of nature. But is it really that freaky, or is it evolution?
What separates humans from our animal friends is our opposable thumbs. So why does a chicken need thumbs? Since this mutated bird is part of an evolutionary process, I can only speculate.
Perhaps if the chicken race is to survive its future, chickens will need opposable thumbs to get a good grip on their eggs to stop the egg-snatchers. Or could this thumb evolution have something to do with all that noise they make? Really, listen closely to chicken chatter. As a prelude to a full-blown squawk attack, chickens make this long, drawling sound – “brraaawwwk, brraaawwwk, brraaawwwk.” This low, rumbling, guttural chicken grumbling sounds more like Kung Fu fighting lessons. Advancing very slowly, the chickens circle each other like a ninja guy just before the karate kick – “ahhh… whop chop brrawk brrawk brrawk.” They need that thumb to tuck in for the full karate effect.
Why the chicken crossed the road is no longer important. We figure running from a bobcat is good enough, which brings me to another use for opposable thumbs – hitchhiking. I swear our flock is looking for a way back to San Juan Bautista, back to the safety of urban living where dealing with house cats and traffic is relatively safe compared to the wild hills of Aromas.
Frick, the lone rooster, has gathered his hens and proceeded to escort them down Anzar Road. Not once or twice, but at least a dozen times they’ve been caught walking down the road.
Traffic does not phase them, but it sure makes an impression on the drivers caught by surprise. Honk, honk, we hear the horns blast a warning. Squawk, squawk, the chickens chatter. “Do you know the way to San Juan Bautista?”
And I swear, I saw that freak of nature lift his fuzzy foot and stick out his thumb – “Goin’ my way?”
