Sookie's Tantrum

As I step into the world of websites, I must admit I'm a little weary. It has been a long day of technical set-up and computers are simply not my strong suit.

At a later date, I will write a post that gets more in depth about who I am and what I'd like to achieve through my online presence in this big ol' world [wide web]. I will regale you with stories of my travels, milestones and mishaps. I will tell you about my passion for Nature and my love for animals. I will share with you my dreams and intentions.

I will. ... At a later date.

On _this_ date, I am just too tuckered out and I've had my absolute fill of screen time, and if I want to be practicing what I'm preaching then I'm going to need to go outside and get some fresh air.

So -- for my very first post, on my very first blog, on my very own website, I am going to share with you a short story I wrote some time ago about one of my beloved hens. It showcase - I think - the abudance of personality that these little bird-brains have and how their love - and wrath - can be translated quite easily, if you only take the time to listen.

Without further ado, please enjoy; Sookie's Tantrum.

***

It was a beautiful summer's day. Blackfly season was finally coming to an end and a person could find themselves outdoors for more than five minutes at a time without being tortured by the little buggers.

Mum and I were taking full advantage of this, setting up our lawn chairs in the back yard where we could soak up the sun and keep an eye on our flock of hens, out happily scratching in the dirt. This routine was old hat to the 'Big Girls' of the flock, already over a year old and all grown up. The Babies, however, found excitement in every moment, necks lowered, wings out, as they _zoomed_ around building corners, running wherever they went because why walk there? We could hear them chortling with one another, happily chattering back and forth whenever they found a particularly tasty morsel. Sometimes they'd race over, the sounds of nine pairs of feet pitter-pattering across the ground heard loud and clear before you could glimpse them, just checking in, saying hello before they were off again, up over a dirt mountain or chasing a barn cat into the trees and out of sight.

I had gone around to the barn to grab something, perhaps a sun hat or maybe a cold beer. Whatever it was wasn't important because the commotion I then heard had me dropping everything and tearing around the corner where I could see Mum with a pack of chickens around her, frantically trying to pluck an unknown treasure out of a Sookie's mouth.

Now, just for a bit of backstory, the flock is made up of seventeen beautiful hens -- of four different breeds. Most look _just_ different enough to merit their own names. Out of this group a whopping nine of them are; The Babies. They're nearly full grown but the name still suits. I've raised these girls since they hatched, and so, needless to say, I have a pretty big soft spot for them, and they for me. Three of these Babies we all fondly refer to as 'The Sookies'. Beautiful black and grey Barred Rocks with a healthy appetite and a healthy set of lungs. One need not be close by to hear when one of these Babies felt wronged or hard done by. Always sooking about one thing or another and so aptly named. In fact, their voices became so distinctive from the rest that we could be turning a corner already inquiring, "What's wrong, Sookie?" ,before said Sookie would appear and run to our side to tell on whichever sister had done her wrong-- in her mind. Long story short-- these Little Baby Barred Rocks were the Biggest Babies of the entire flock.

Which brings us back to our current predicament. How to get the foreign, inedible 'treasure' Sookie had out of her mouth and into the trash? I needn't have worried about the 'how?' for as soon as Sookie spotted me she broke free from the mob and raced towards me, no doubt thinking I'd save her from her greedy sisters. Almost as if in slow motion, I dropped to one knee, reaching for her as she ran into my arms. The rest were closing in and I took my chance, getting a hold on what appeared to be a piece of Styrofoam and tearing it from Sookie's mouth. But, in my haste, the momentum carried my arm far enough away from her to allow one of the Colombian Big Girls to snatch it from my fingers and take off.

That had done it.

I watched little Sookie's jaw drop, betrayal evident on her face as she didn't even bother making chase like the rest, frozen in place even as I tore after the girls again, finally grabbing the cause of such a disturbance and shoving it neatly in my pocket where no one could get it. Everyone milled around excitedly for a moment, looking exhilarated from the chase but after a minute or so, with the game decidely over, they all eventually dispersed, off to find another great adventure.

With apprehension bordering on dread, I turned to face the slighted Sookie. She hadn't moved from her place and was staring at me. "Now, Sookie--" I tried, hands up in surrender as I tried to figure out how to explain to a hen-- of all things-- that I hadn't taken the Styrofoam from her to give to the Big Girl. I hadn't given her treasure away on purpose. But I didn't have a chance. Sookie wasn't about to let me get a word in edgewise. She opened that little beak and the biggest sounds came out of it. I tried to quell her indignant shouts by picking her up-- an act that usually left them calm with their legs dangling-- but she wasn't having it this time. She didn't struggle to get away but rather used her new found height to furiously kick me in the stomach with her dirty little feet, all the while yelling in my face when I futilely tried to apologize and explain. It didn't help that Mum was keeled over in the background, laughing so hard she was basically silent, shoulders shaking and otherwise being absolutely no help at all with Sookie's inner turmoil. I tried to set her down and give her some space but she just stomped up to me to continue the verbal onslaught, gold eyes fixed on mine. Finally, when she felt she had said all she needed to say, she promptly turned her back on me with a huff and stalked away, as much as a chicken could stalk. Mum, still laughing, had little sympathy for how much guilt I felt in that moment. The Babies had never been angry with me for anything. I could do nothing but wait it out, occasionally trying to approach Sookie out in the yard with peace offerings and olive branches. She wasn't interested, nor fooled. She gave me the cold shoulder for the rest of the afternoon, her iciness only thawing slightly at bedtime as I sang them their nightly lullabys, finally offering me forgiveness the next morning at breakfast time.

Anyone who tries to tell you that these little creatures are "just chickens" have never had the good fortune to spend time with these wee funny animals, nor have they been graced with getting to know the wonderful personalities that comes with them. The only fortunate thing for these people is that they have never had to experience a Sookie's tantrum. It is a dreadful thing indeed and a fate I'd not wish upon anyone. Although it does seem to give unhelpful bystanders a good chuckle. And so, I suppose, not a total loss on another day at the farm.

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