Chickens are different. When perusing articles online, one will find a chicken farmer that gives certain advice. The advice in the next article will contradict the previous advice. The third article may give yet another view of the problem. Most blogs about chickens will list the kitchen scraps that are acceptable for the homegrown chicken even though some backyard chicken farmers refuse to feed their chickens any “human” food at all. Some of our chickens love to eat the ends of green beans as we snap the freshly-picked produce from the garden; others turn their noses up at the fresh, chemical-free treat. However, one thing all our chickens agree on is the chicken feed – the processed stuff that comes from Tractor Supply.
Often, we let our girls out of the fence to forage in the yard – they eat the bugs we don’t want in the garden and we’ve noticed a reduction in the snake population since we’ve obtained the birds. I don’t know if they eat the snakes or if the snakes are just nervous around such noisy, scratching critters – I really don’t care the reason for the snake population reduction; I’m just glad for it!
Sometimes, at dusk, the chickens will get confused: they’ll notice a lovely low-hanging tree or the porch railing that looks like a good spot to roost for the night instead of rambling all the way back to the chicken coop house. As they roost at night, chickens leave, shall we say, “droppings” and that is not an acceptable “gift” on my front porch. They must, for their safety and my sanity, return to their house.
Chasing a chicken may be fun for young kids at a summer camp but not for older mature folks who just want to get the animals cared for and return to their Lazy-Boy recliner. So the devious plan was hatched: I walked to their feed bucket and snapped open the lid. Oh, they recognized that sound immediately and watched with suspicion. With very large, exaggerated motions, I reached into the feed bucket, grabbed the scoop, held it high so the girls could see it, then plunged it deeply into the feed. They began to wander toward my direction, not yet fully convinced they would receive any treats. Then, holding the carry bucket in their field of view, I let the golden scratch grain slowly pour from the scoop into the carry bucket. I snapped the lid closed and swished the feed around in the carry bucket. Yep, I had their attention now.
I ambled to their house like I hadn’t a care in the world. Even the most reticent bird knew where I was headed. They called to each other, half running, half flying, determined to get in line first for the human’s offering of golden deliciousness. At the door of their house, I waited for almost all of them to catch up. Then with a big heave, I threw large handfuls of feed as far into the house as I could. Oh, the cackles of joy when they ran, dove, jumped over each other in the chaotic happiness of eating a bedtime snack, not even noticing that the gate was being closed.
There are other ways to get a chicken into the coop at night. Chase her furiously, risking damage to her and to the chaser. Swing a net wildly, cracking windows and shin bones. Hold contests with the neighborhood kids.
How often does my Father give me a “bedtime snack” just because He’s good? How often does He have to swing the net wildly to correct my decisions and actions that ultimately cause harm to His name, to my loved ones, and to me? How often do I go where He leads because I know He has something good for me? Why can’t I obey just from my heart of love? Why must I make Him make me obey?
