Last week IN THIS POST we explained our frustrations with one
disobedient barred rock hen that has been escaping the pasture fence every
single day. She has 3 acres of grass to
free range on. But noooo… The fugitive hen somehow escapes and has
scratched around the base of one of our blueberry bushes and killed it. Each day when I’d get home, I would get the
net, chase her down in the yard and toss her back over the fence. Sometimes, she’d see me coming and run
quickly and squeeze back through the fence.
Another afternoon last week, I spent $65 and 30 minutes affixing a
smaller mesh fence to the area where we thought she was squeezing through the
holes in the hog wire. We spent far too
much money and time trying to keep her within the spacious confines of the
pasture. Desperate times call for
desperate actions.
Thursday I caught her outside the fence for the umpteenth
time and looked her in the eye and warned her, “If I catch you out of the fence
again, you’ll be called before a jury of your peers and if found guilty,
justice will be executed swiftly and you’ll pay dearly for your crime of
trespassing.” Friday I returned home to
find the hen in the backyard. She didn’t
seem the least bit remorseful. Somewhere
in the distance a dog howled. I put her
in “jail” until I would have time for jury selection, trial, and the sentencing
phase of the Our Maker’s Acres Family Farm judicial system. Once behind bars, she added insult to injury
by attempting to bribe me, laying an egg to prove her worth and value. I was having none of it and expressed to her
that I can’t be bought.
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| Heartbreak Hotel |
Saturday morning the courtroom was called to order and
with the flock looking on, she was found guilty by a somewhat unsympathetic and
biased judge. She was sentenced to death
and the gallows were constructed in the limbs of the pear tree, a nice pastoral
place in front of the garden picket fence.
 |
| …
And a |
I
started a pot of water scalding and with a sharp knife, the long arm of the law
administered the rueful remedy to the barred rock’s roaming. Justice was meted out.
By the time she had bled out, the water had reached 145
degrees and I dunked her several times and pulled out all of her remaining feathers. If you recall, I had trimmed both wings a few
days prior in an unsuccessful attempt to keep her in the pasture in the event
she was flying over the fence.
Once she was plucked clean, I quickly pulled her head
off, cut her feet off and gutted her, burying her feathers and entrails in the
garden where she’ll grow some mighty fine vegetables this fall. Then I left her carcass to age in a pot of
ice water for the afternoon.
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| Aging the hen all day in ice water |
This little parable was a teachable moment (hopefully) to
any of the other hens that watched this spectacle in the event that any of them
should adopt the fugitive hen’s repeated parole violations. The grass in NOT always greener on the other
side. While I would have much rather
have her still on the pasture laying eggs for us, I must admit that it was nice
Sunday morning and Monday afternoon to NOT have to waste time catching
her. She’ll make a nice meal for us one
day soon, too! By the way, I have an
interesting (albeit gory) think to show you about this hen that I found very,
very interesting. I’ll likely show you
in tomorrow’s post.
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