Keep Crowing, Mister. Keep Crowing.

My day started at 5:15 a.m.  I was awoken by a rooster crowing.  Aloud I said, “Keep crowing Mister.  Keep crowing.”  When the alarm went off at 6 I got up and started my day. Today was going to be a high adventure day.  The roosters were going to leave.  Peace will reign in the chicken coop again.  I will be able to stop apologizing to my neighbors for all the noise the roosters make. I got ready for work and put all my belongings into my car.  Then I got out my chicken deportation box and made sure the

tape held strong.  I opened the garage door near the chicken coop. I lifted the lid of the chicken run to fill the water dish with liquid water.  As I poured the water another rooster crowed.  I said “Keep crowing Mister.  Keep crowing.”  I put the water jug down and looked again to see if box was ready.  It was ready and I had a tarp nearby to keep the top down.  I knew I could quite easily put one chicken in a box and keep it in there but I wasn’t experienced in putting three chickens in the same box.  As I reached into the run for a rooster and held it in my hands it crowed again!  “Keep crowing Mister.  Keep crowing.”  It stopped crowing and started wailing bloody murder.  Both wings got loose and I had a hard time holding onto it.  I tried to get a better grip but it kept spinning so I gave up and just dropped it headfirst into the box.  It sat there quietly.  I hoped it wasn't injured. Well, the first chicken didn’t go so well.  As I reached for the second rooster I made sure to firmly grab both wings.  I had this one held good and tight.  It was complaining but not as much as the first chicken.  I walked to the box.  The flaps were down.  If I let go with one hand it would start flapping.  I maneuver the chicken and try to open the box using HIS bluish-green claw.  For some reason he doesn’t want to help.  I tried using his claw again.  No dice.  I press him against my coat and use my free hand to open a flap on the box. Instantly the first rooster pokes his head out looking for freedom.  I drop the second rooster right on top of his feathery head and quickly shut the flaps.  I put a folded up tarp on top of the box to hold the flaps down.  I go back to the chicken run.  The chickens saw the drama and are reacting to it by being very quiet and trying to look inconspicuous.  I throw some sunflower seeds into the run for a treat but it’s still too dark to see them. The third rooster is being very quiet. After seeing what happened to his brothers he is using good survival skills and hiding.  I open the egg door of the coop.  There is his feathery head right there.  But wait; is it the head or the tail?  It’s dark. Both ends are feathery. I can’t tell.  I grab the sides firmly and pick it up.  As I carry it into the light of the garage I see I have the head away from my body.  Good. I use this rooster’s claw to push the tarp off the box.  I am holding this last rooster in such a position that I can open the flap with my elbow.  This was the smoothest transfer of a chicken into the box.  Swelling with pride and self-confidence I carry the box to the back seat and set it down. The chickens are vibrating.  Whether from fear or cold I feel vibrations.  I put the tarp on top to keep the flaps down.  I hope the roosters get enough air through the holes in the sides of the box.  No one is going to want a box of dead roosters. As I back out of the garage I can hear and feel the roosters adjusting themselves in the box.  I drive to work taking the corners extremely slowly.  I don’t want the box to move or slide.  I also don’t want the tarp to slide off the top of the box.  If the tarp slid off a rooster may stick it’s feathery head out of the crack, see a chance to make a break for it, and be flying around my car.  What would I do? 

I decide if that happens I will pull over, open all four doors and get out.  What if I had an accident and the box tipped over?  The roosters would escape.  Not only would I be in a car accident but chickens might claw me and beat me with their wings and peck me with their beaks.  I think about what I am doing.  I am trafficking live chickens meant to be eaten.  Is this wrong?  I decide my actions today are not different than buying chicken from Cub for another person to consume.  In fact, this is a good thing. I am delivering fresh chicken, free range chicken that have never taken antibiotics for another person to enjoy.  The fact that it is hard to find people who want to butcher chickens doesn’t make any difference.  Humans are meant to be carnivores.  People raise chicken to consume.  I’m just playing a more central role in the process than I am used to. By the time I make it to work I am a nervous wreck.  I hope the car is warm enough for them to be ok for 2 hours.  I keep looking at my car out the window at work between 7:30 and 9:30.  So far so good, I don’t see any chickens flying around in there.  At 9:30 I leave work and go to pick up a sibling who has hatched a plan to rid me of these roosters.  As I wait for the light to change I hear a rooster crow from the back seat.  Seriously?  “Keep crowing Mister.  Keep crowing.”  The three roosters crow off and on all the way from Blaine to Roseville and to the east side of Saint Paul.  They make us giggle. We pull up to a store.  My sister goes in to do the talking.  I wait outside with the chickens. 

She comes back out and she carries the box.  We walk past the register, down the narrow aisle to the backroom.  We see an open spot on the floor. She sets the box down. She opens the box and actually pets a chicken and then secures the four flaps so they can’t open.  Tarp in hand we leave.  The store owner wants to give us money.

I decline.  In fact I hand her a gift because I am grateful she took these noisy roosters off my hands.  She insists.  My sister accepts some fruit and juice.  Maybe cash would have been easier for a store owner to claim on taxes. In any case, the chicken adventure is complete.  Whew!