Fresh Eggs

Flash Fiction

Fresh Eggs

“She’ll be coming ‘round the mountain when she comes…” Gramp's voice, singing while feeding the chickens, came through the trees.

Teddy and Joe were a ways away, “What’s that?” Joe said, nervously.

“That’s just Grampa, see the purple?” he pointed. “That’s his shirt. He always talks, or sings to the chickens when he feeds them.”

“Really? Why? Chickens don’t understand people, do they?”

“I don’t think so, but Grampa says it keeps them calmer when he’s there if he talks or sings. So, he talks to them.”

“Do you talk to the chickens?”

“It’s not really ‘talking,’ but yes. I want them to trust me too. I like helping Gramp.”

“But you always say a chicken has the brains of a mushroom…”

“Well, they aren’t very smart… but they’re sweet. Wanna see? I’m sure Gramp will let us help if we ask.”

“Ah… do they bite?”

Teddy laughed, “They can, but they won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, if a giant suddenly came by offering you yummy food, would you take it, or bite them?”

“Got it.”

“Most of Gramps’s chickens have known him since they were born.

“What do you mean, don’t they come from eggs??”

“Yeah, they call it hatched, but it’s the same as born, just out of their egg. And the first person they ever see is Gramps, so they think he’s part of the landscape or something. Maybe they even think he’s, their mother! According to Grampie, they don’t really do much thinking. But they love food!”

“I would like to try helping feed them. Would that be OK with your Gramp?”

“If you’re good to his chickens, you are good to Gramp! Let’s go!”

As an adult, Joe always had a few chickens at his house, and he sang to them too!