Rocky the Chicken Jerk

Chicken jerk, or jerk chicken? Could be both

A few months ago, I got the baby Guineas delivered in the mail. The post office won't just stick a peeping box in the mailbox in front of your house; you must go to the physical building to pick it up.

This requirement is probably better, by the way; I can't think of anything worse than coming home to a box of baked or frozen dead baby birds.

Because of our odd area, my post office is in another town - a bit of a trek. Luckily, it is also close to my favorite feed store, so if I'm making the trip, I usually make it a twofer.

When I went to pick up the Guineas, I first stopped by the feed store to pick up some food for them. As I pushed the flatbed cart loaded down with 50-pound feedbags bags to the front, I noticed one of the check-out girls with a little chick in front of a little personal heater next to register. She was rubbing it vigorously, trying to will it back to life.

"I found this one face-down in the water," she explained, (by the way, if you're sensing a theme this week, yes, baby birds are very good at drowning themselves.) She was trying to revive her.

Many feed stores will sell baby chicks to stimulate the sales of coops, waterers, feed, and other chicken accessories. Beware of taking your kids to a feed store during chick days; you're sure to come home with a little ball of fluff and a lot of superfluous chicken crap.

"I'm actually heading to the post office after this to pick up a whole box of Guinea chicks," I told the cashier as she rang up my feed in between rubbing the chick to keep her warm.

"Well, if you're already setting up the brooder, take this girl with you. She's a Barred Rock."

Another chick is not really any more work or expense on the margins, so I slipped her into my front pocket as I pushed the feed out of the store. She sat in the cup holder of my truck with the heater aimed at her full blast for the ride home. Once we got her and her guinea siblings to the brooder, I got her directly under a heat lamp, and she started to thrive.

She grew and feathered out just like she should. Healthwise, she has been fine. Although, because her cohort is the dumber and wilder Guineas, her personality is a little less chickeny and a little more psycho.

I thought it would not be a problem. But in the last few weeks, she's decided she hates me - for no apparent reason.

This chicken HATES me.