Chicbeth

Something wicked may have come this way to the farmette.  The witches foretold the prophecy on a warm July evening when two chicks hatched in the incubator.  The first was a scrawny little yellow one who was met with fierce hatred and distrust when I tried to sneak him under a broody witch. The second was a bossy little black puff ball who I was convinced was the reincarnation of Kyle the ineffectual rooster.

The two little chicks became best friends and constant companions in order to avoid being killed by the older chickens.   They all lived somewhat peacefully under the benevolent leadership of good King Big Red Chicken.

Round about September, it became apparent that one of the "Littles" as we called the two chicks, was a rooster.  There were some Peter Bradyesque attempts at cockadoodledooing but because the two were never apart, it was hard to tell which one it was.  I was sure it was the black one.  It was not.  There was a new rooster in town, and it was Big Red Chicken's kid, Little Red Chicken.

Little Red grew quickly and the sweet little chick who used to eat out of my hand, was turning into kind of an asshole.  Big Red still ruled the roost though and his quiet dignity reigned the coop.  But there was something rotten in the state of Denmark.  (I know, wrong Shakespeare metaphor.)  One morning as I opened the door to the hen house, I found Big Red Chicken dead.  He was so peaceful looking that for a second I thought he was asleep.  We assumed it was probably a heart attack.  He was a one year old meat bird and his massive size suggested that he was not bred for longevity.

Little Red quickly took the crown and his malevolence to all but his childhood friend was suspicious. Her status in the flock shot up from serf to queen in a matter of hours.  I could have sworn I even saw her rubbing her little chicken feet together muttering, "Out damn spot."  Double double toil and trouble indeed.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Chicbeth and his power hungry wife, Lady Chicbeth.  Shakespeare's themes are truly universal.