The Chicken Whisperer

WC 900

The Chicken Whisperer

By Jack Rawlins

"Hello, hello? Animal Control? This is Lenny Swartz at 1230 Clover Ave."

"Yes. Mr. Swartz; this is Animal Control. Sue Ellen speaking. What can we do for you?"

"I'm being attacked by a flock of clucking terrorists."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Swartz... May I call you, Lenny?"... Did you say 'cluck,' or...?

"Please do, Sue Ellen. Yes, clucking with a 'C' like in cluck, cluck. I need help."

"Lenny, honey, we don't do terrorists. You need to call 911. They'll help you. "

"No, no, Sue Ellen; I don't need a SWAT unit. I need Animal Control."

"Lenny, honey. You've got Animal Control, but we don't do...."

"Sue Ellen, for God's sake, these terrorists are chickens."

"Lenny honey, we don't do chickens either. We do things like pick up possums, catch kitties, reason with pit bulls and tranquilize bears ---though they ain't been a bear here-abouts since 1840.

"Lenny, May I ask you a personal question?"

"Yes, damn it. Ask me anything."

"Please don't get nasty, Lenny. I'm trying to help you."

"Okay, I'm sorry. What do you need to know?"

"Lenny, did you start your happy hour at breakfast?"

"No. I don't drink. Let me tell you what happened. I opened the front door to pick up my paper and a chicken was reading it--- and it was not alone. There's a whole flock of white leghorn layers on my lawn...probably a hundred or more... and they're staring at me as though they're ready to peck my eyes out. They're menacing me."

"Oh, Lenny. Chickens don't menace. They don't hurt people. They lay eggs. Just shoo them away."

"Sue Ellen, did you ever see Hitchcock's' movie, The Birds?"

"Oh, yes. Wasn't that was scary? You got any chickens coming down your chimney, Lenny?"

"No, not yet. Sue Ellen, do you have a supervisor there?"

"What's wrong with you, Lenny? I'm trying to help and right away you want to go over my head. I am the supervisor."

"Sorry. But I'm in serious danger. Now they're all over my car. They're waiting for me to make a run for it. They just stay out there, cluck about what they're gonna do to me ---and stare.

"Oh, wait! Ah, hah! Sue Ellen, It just came to me: I know what started this mess. I wrote a letter to the editor about all this free range chicken nonsense. I said poultrymen should keep chickens locked up where they belong... safe from predators and protected from the elements. And locked up so they don't eat worms and dog poop."

"Lenny, do you really think chickens read The Daily Journal?"

"Sue Ellen, I don't care if they read The New York Times. I'm begging you. Get somebody over here to help me. Anybody."

"Lenny, I've got an idea. You ever hear of The Horse Whisperer? Maybe he does chickens too. He's like the Lone Ranger... goes where he's needed. If he talks chicken, maybe he'll come by and have a word with them."

"Where does he live?"

"Hell, if you got a good arm you could reach his house with a rock. He's my cousin Bubba Buford."

"He lives here?"

"Yes, indeed. Shall I call him?"

"Please, and hurry. They're starting to peck at my front door."

"Okay, Lenny. I'm gonna put you on hold for just one minute.

............

"Lenny, I'm back. Bubba will be there in minutes. He specializes in horses because that's where the money is, but he does chickens, too...does everything except sheep. He says he doesn't like what sheep tell him about mankind.

"So, it's been real nice chatting with you. And don't you worry, honey. Just because they've got their pecker in the middle of their face doesn't make them mean; it just makes them look mean. I don't think they really hate you."

Ten minutes later, a mud-splattered, dented, red pickup with a loud muffler, limped up in front of Lenny's house. A crude sign on its door said: 'Horse Whisperer. Call: Whinny Help (856-257-7022).

Bubba jumped out with a burlap sack and walked right up to the chicken that was still scanning the morning paper. He opened the sack just enough for the bird to look inside, and then closed it quickly.

Within five minutes every chicken was crowded into the back of Bubba's truck and he roared off in a cloud of blue smoke and happy cackles.

Two hours later, after he hosed down his car, sidewalk, and front porch, Lenny called Bubba to thank him. "How did you do it, Mr. Buford?" he asked.

"Weren't no problem, Mr. Swartz. You see, chickens have a social system called 'The Pecking Order.' Well, I just spoke to the head pecker and showed her The Enforcer, my pet chicken hawk.

"I said ma'am. If you and the other ladies don't get in the back of my truck in three minutes, Enforcer's gonna have a feast. On the other hand, if you all go peaceable-like, I'll take you down to Uncle Charlie's Bait Shop for a nice breakfast of worms and crickets. That's why they were happy to cooperate."

"But, Mr. Buford, won't they come back?"

"Never. After breakfast I took them for a tour of Miss Nelly's Chicken Soup Factory over in Piney Hollow. The next time they show up anywhere they'll be in a can."

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