But It Was Just a Chicken

It was just a chicken. Who cares? We eat them every day.

But then your sister buys four of them so that we can have eggs. Still, didn't matter to me. It had just been a chicken. Something I ate. Something from whose eggs I ate too.

But who knows the glances such chickens give? Who knows the facial recognition, the battles that they fight through? Who knows about their hierarchy?

I had been indifferent to chickens, but after my sister purchased and raised four of them, I realized how intelligent they could be. We had four of them: Sultana, Red, Belle, and Luna. Sultana was the lead, and she had always been eager to greet us, ready to leave her coop to be closer and to free range. I always thought chickens were dumb, but as more time went on, the more soul I saw within each of them.

Sultana had been the Queen Bee. She always looked so regal in everything that she did. Every time my sister visited her, I would hear that familiar song that went something like, "Ewrrrr, errw errw." It was as though Sultana questioned why my sister took so long to see her.

It was almost three years into having her: Sultana started acting strange. She had been the last chicken to molt, and when she started molting, all had gone downward.

Yet she didn't leave her role as queen.

My sister and I had been hopeful: we would give her some special medicines and foods for her to feel better. But Sultana knew. Oh, she knew. She knew she had been dying after she very likely ate something poisonous. Yet...she still strutted around strongly...she still ruled as the queen...and she still did her best to remind us that she's strong. Every time a threatening presence or sound made its presence known, she alerted the other three. She still limped up the ramp to her sleeping place after ensuring that the other three chickens were safe.

I saw her. I never thought I would see a chicken like this, but I saw her. And how she inspired me. Even with a sickness, she did her duty. She was still so powerful, making sure the other hens were taken care of. At a time when I felt down about my duties and tasks I wanted to complete, I strangely gained inspiration from this hen. While with her fellow chickens, she exuded a powerful front; yet when my sister and I decided it was best for her to come inside and relax, she showed her exhaustion. She remained crouched the entire time, leaned against the pen we had put her in. It were as though she were saying: 'I'm so tired'.

And that was why we let her rest. We let her rest until she told us that she could not any longer.

My sister and I had taken her inside the house to make sure she was cared for. She seemed so exhausted, so out of it, and we gave her her food, water, and everything required. We petted her, reminding her that she was loved. Everyone who had raised her: my father, mother, daughter, and sister had pet her and spoken their words to her. I had been the last one to see her on my way to work. I stroked her feathers and told her, "It's okay, girl. We'll be strong for you."

And when I returned to see her, she had already gone, head buried within her feathers.

How can a chicken do this to a person? How strong she was. How she closed her eyes during her final days. How she even wanted to perform what was necessary before she left the other hens.

We may all think that chickens are just food...but there is an intelligence there...and wow...how Sultana has inspired me. She was beautiful.

And so is the life of every creature.