Chicken Truck
M Alan Roberts

What really makes a topic worthy of discussion? It seems that the majority of conversations that ever take place are centered around the same concepts: politics, economics, sporting events, personal relationships, the weather. Given, all of these are interesting at times, but isn't there anything else? If we were to sit down together, how long would it take us to get around to the same old conversations? I want to talk about something new - something original.

I want to discuss chickens - hens and roosters.

You see, I have 3 Rhode Island Reds. The rooster is named "Chicken Truck, Chicken Truck" (you never say it just once or he won't know that you're addressing him.). Now Chicken Truck, Chicken Truck is a real stud - a foul Fonzi. He has two lady friends that follow him wherever he goes and do just about anything that he says to. They both have the same name - just "Chicken".

Like roosters will, Chicken Truck, Chicken Truck likes to wake up before any other non-nocturnal creature and give the command to begin the days. His crowing sound is a bit off - like he's a bit mentally challenged. Still, unfailingly, he wakes up before the slightest hint of dawn and calls out - demanding that the entire planet joins him for another day of life. Normally, this attempt is fruitless. The hens both ignore him at first - still locked into dreams of cracked corn and crushed seashells. That doesn't deter Chicken Truck, Chicken Truck though. He just waits for about 10 minutes and then really begins. It's like the first set is just to warm up his beak - then he lets it rip for real.

The second set of crowing is nonstop - lasting for about 40 repetitions. The hens are then roused and join him on the ground for some early morning scratching in an effort to find some food. Yes, they do get up, but you can tell that they are a little pissed. They grumble and cluck in indecipherable chicken language, seemingly telling him off. He simply lays some super cool Fonzi talk on them and chills them out. Within a few minutes, he's leading them off to the woods to search for some bugs and whatever else may be available to sink their beaks into.

Now, the reason that Chicken Truck, Chicken Truck gets his way all of the time is because, if you watch him closely, he's actually the ultimate male. It's true. He uncovers food sources for them and then backs off. He only joins in eating if there is a boatload of a given food to eat. He even lets them steal the food straight from his beak. He's a laid-back bird, most Rhode Island Reds are. He's really nice - unless you mess with his hens. Then he will attack like a rabid German Sheppard on steroids - running, flapping, pecking, screaming and very obviously threatening anything in his path to victory.

Have you ever gazed into the eyes of a chicken? I have. As a matter of fact, I do it every day - (sort of romantic, isn't it?). Chickens appear extensively retarded, but they're not. Behind those empty little eyeballs, there lies enough intelligence to communicate effectively; search for and find food; ward off attackers and survive; keep their environment clean; take good care of their young; construct adequate housing; treat each other with respect and consideration; enjoy their days and actually thrive. If you ask me, that's better than most humans are doing on a daily basis.

So, maybe instead of talking, again, about the weather or politics with your coworkers tomorrow, bring up the topic of chickens and all that is fascinating about them. Tell the stories of Chicken Truck, Chicken Truck and maybe, just maybe, you can be a proactive force for chicken rights everywhere.