I love chickens, because chickens are theurapeutic.
They calmly search for food and peck with precision for seeds, small critters or anything edible on the ground.
I admit they’re competitive when a watermelon rind is thrown onto the ground as 3-4 of them hurry to eat the choicest parts. They don’t beg for food like a dog, but accept what they have and never whine or complain.
The hens are peaceful creatures and calm my spirit as I silently observe.
Roosters, on the other hand, have no such affect on me as they raise their heads upon my approach.
Distrusting is what they seem to be. Even when a rooster is fed by the same person day after day, he’s never won over and seems eager to peck the hand that feeds him.
Roosters remind me of some people I’ve known. Stuck in their own cruel little world as self-appointed police.
They have no fear to their credit, but over react to the smallest intrusion, however friendly.
Whenever I’m torn away from observing hens I’m ready to face a new day, but observing roosters is another matter.
Life is like that, too. We get to choose how we spend our time. Shall I look at roosters or hens today?
I think I’ll check out a few hens, how about you?