Free Range

I like being a chicken. Sure, it’s all I’ve ever known, but I still like it. Maybe I would’ve liked something else more, but I’ll never get to be something else so it doesn’t really matter does it. One of the best things about being a chicken is that I can range around freely. Yup, I’m what you call a free range chicken. I do feel sorry for those barn chickens. They don’t get to range, let alone freely.

There are so many joys in ranging, I strut around sometimes while other times I peck around with my head down. My life is just so varied, it’s like every day is an adventure. You know, a couple of weeks ago I was pecking around near the house. I’d slipped through the hole in the fence, we know exactly where the hole is. We get rounded up every now and then and sent back to our paddock. When that happens we’ll lay low for a little while, pretend we’re stupid. But eventually the call of the open spaces gets the better of us. This was one of those days.

I’d been out for a while and had ranged around un-noticed for most of the day. My curious nature – most chickens have a curious nature – lead me over towards the house. I was on my own at that stage, a few of the others had gone to squawk at the pigs, always a great laugh. But I had wandered off alone and was near the house. I came around the corner and what did I find there? It was a whole piece of toast, no kidding. It was a little bit dark, much darker than the crusts we usually get but all in one piece. Can you imagine, a whole piece of toast? I managed to get through the whole thing without any other chicken or the people in the house seeing me. Man I love being a chicken.