No one wore a wife beater, but…

As you may know, I am getting into the country life and have learned far more than I care to about chickens. No I don’t have any, although I will have to tell you about The Great Guinea Caper one day. So anyway, my dad has a friend in Louisiana who hosted a metal detecting hunt on his land—a weekend affair. Yes, he’s the one with the chickens, at least 20 possibly up to 30. They were everywhere. Nadine fed a really big rooster corn on the cob for lunch. When he was done with her, he strutted out to an open area and started calling. As I watched about 15 of the hens came a runnin. When they’d all gathered up, he escorted them into the woods. Huh, that’s cute, I thought and didn’t think anything else about them.

Come evening I saw the rooster come back out of the woods. He hopped up on a stump and started calling again. Pretty soon all the little hens showed up out of the woods and headed toward the coop (why I don’t know because the coop wasn’t big enough for all of them, at all). But he stayed on the stump and kept calling. After a few minutes, a lone little hen came out of the woods. As she approached the stump, the rooster jumped down and proceeded to beat the stew out of her with his wings. She started clucking in distress and running with him beating her all the way to the coop. Now, what I want to know is, who came up with the term “hen pecked?” If it was me, I’d be flying the coop!