Here's my Short Story Contest Entry:
My name is Hoppy. I’m a Speckled Sussex hen.
I was born in a hatchery. After hatching all I wanted to do was rest (hatching is hard work!), but I kept getting moved along and touched by strangers. Oh and I was vaccinated, too. Twice. The inhumanity of it all! In case you think I’m making it all up, the horrors I experienced have been documented in Dirty Jobs: Chick Sexer. Check it out. That Mike Rowe is cute, but not as cute as the chicks.
Anyway, I digress. As if that wasn’t bad enough, then I was shoved into a box with 30 other chicks. It was quite tight in there and none of the others were Speckled Sussex chicks. There was one that was quite scary looking - lacking feathers on its neck and all. Some even had hairy legs!
The dark, cramped box we were in was loudly jostled. I couldn’t tell what was going on but at one point in the journey, another chick fell hard on my leg. I could feel it snap and I had a lot of pain. If I had to bet on it I’d say it was that shifty freaky looking naked neck thing that injured me. But that’s just a hunch.
By the time the box was opened up I was quite delirious from the pain in my leg. I was the last chick taken out of the box. The clueless woman who unpacked me started to cry when she saw me. I guess I didn’t look so hot. Traveling will do that to you. But I sure was happy to get out of that box and into a nice warm brooder where I could finally rest.
Unfortunately, there was still no rest for this chick. I was still in a lot of pain from my leg and those ill-behaved non-Speckled Sussex chicks kept messing with me. Mom (the clueless woman who unpacked me) cleaned, medicated and wrapped my leg. Unfortunately one day I struggled while she was changing my bandages and she accidentally cut the tip of one of my toes off, and on my good leg too! Some chicks just have all the luck.
Eventually I recovered from my injuries. I have a cute little scar on the back of my bad leg where it was broken. My toe kinda grew back, too, but the nail grows down sideways and then curls back upwards. Mom calls it my digger-toe. I’m very happy I survived the ordeal and to this day Mom feels bad for me and gives me extra treats. I don’t have to run and fight for them like the rest of the flock. I’m a lady.
I don't have anything to complain about here except the weather. I’m always trying to sneak back into the house in the winter, because I know it’s warmer in there. If you talk to my Mom can you put a good word in for me? You can always guilt her with my digger-toe.
Upon arrival:
It's a lonely life as a convalescent chick:
My digger-toe (excuse the severe case of poop-foot)
GET ME OUTTA THIS WEATHER! I WANT TO BE A HOUSE CHICKEN!
What skill!!!
