I Hate Dead Chickens

Actually, I’m not too fond of the living ones either. As far as I’m concerned, the only good chicken is one that is somewhere in the process of being made into a meal.

My particular complaint at the moment is that they are taking up more than their fair share of my cheese cooler. Apparently the manager told my team leader that she should always have two extra carts of chickens in my cooler at all times. That usually translates to three overfull carts, although a couple of weeks ago there were two pallets plus two carts.

I’m hoping that whatever chicken splurge the manager is hoping for happens soon. For some reason, the very fact of us having more chickens has not translated directly into more people wanting them.

In an effort to not take up any more room than necessary, the deli stocker usually tries to put as many cases on a cart as possible. Sixteen cases at 46 pounds a case means a cart weighing over 700 pounds. If I have to unload the chickens (the team leader says it isn’t a job for women – so she lets me do it*), there are only 12 or 13 cases on the cart. Less cheese space but I can move the cart without throwing myself at it. Probably less entertaining for people walking past. *My team leader is taller and heavier than I am.

In order to give the little beasties their due, I have looked at some “Fun Facts” from Smithsonian.com. The best stuff involves male/female relations:

A rooster announces to a flock of chickens that he’s found food with a “took, took, took.” But the hens don’t pay attention if they already know that there is food around. Sorta like when I tune my husband out as he tells me for the whatever time the specs for his perfect TV.

Roosters perform a little dance called ‘tidbitting’ in which they make sounds (food calls) and move their head up and down, picking up and dropping a bit of food. Researchers have found that females prefer males that often perform tidbitting and have larger, brighter combs on top of their heads. Sounds like this might have been the prototype for disco. Makes me think of a group of guys strutting around to get the girls’ attention while the girls are giggling about how silly the guys look.

Scientists think that the rooster’s wattle–the dangly bit beneath his beak–helps him to gain a hen’s attention when he is tidbitting. It is just too disturbing for me to make any sort of analogy to a person with loose skin that looks like a wattle.

A female chicken will mate with many different males but if she decides, after the deed is done, that she doesn’t want a particular rooster’s offspring she can eject his sperm. Empowered females – I like this. Maybe this is what that politician was thinking when he said that women could prevent a pregnancy caused by a rapist. Did he come from farm country?

There are approximately 25 billion chickens in the world. More than any other species. They are found all over the world. If they weren’t known for the habit of pecking themselves to death, I would say that it’s a conspiracy to take over. Even our politicians should be able to take on something that dumb.

Chickens are not native to the Americas. It is generally agreed that they started somewhere in the vicinity of Vietnam. They were either brought by the Polynesians to Chile or the Spaniards to Central America. I’m going with the Spaniards. One of the things the indigenous people noted about them is how bad they smelled. Ever been to a chicken farm?

I did not realize that chickens are omnivores. I thought they ate seeds and grains. Turns out they also like insects, mice, and lizards. Both mice and lizards are pretty quick. Maybe male chickens give them to lady chickens when they are trying to impress them. I can picture a rooster holding a mouse by the tail as a gift. Pretty scary.

OK, now I know more about chickens. I still don’t like them. And I think they know it and are going on the offensive. Yesterday a carton of eggs attacked and spilled yolk all over me.

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6 thoughts on “I Hate Dead Chickens

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