It's All Chicken to Me

 Hello, Readers!

As promised, I have a second short story for you based on my local public library’s writer’s forum. I wish I could share the photo with you for this prompt, but I cannot find where the photo originated from, and I don’t want to steal another artist’s work.

Just know that the image was of two VERY judgemental chickens looking the photographer straight on. A red rooster stood on the left, a white hen on the right, and in the background, slightly blurred, between the two, was a second white hen who looked angier than a cat offended by a human sneeze. 

The image selected above is a placeholder image, if you will, found on Unsplash by Hanna Oliver @hanako87.

It’s All Chicken to Me

I cleared my throat, face growing hot, and tried again, “Bock? Bock bock bock bock, bock-bock.”

The two chickens just kept staring at me like I was offending their most ancient ancestors. Did I have my inflections wrong? No, no. I was fairly certain I sounded just like Peep when we had practiced together earlier today. 

“Uh,” why was my brain suddenly so empty? I knew more than just “Hello my name is Good Boy”. 

“Uh, Bock!” No. No. That wasn’t hello, it was bathroom. “Uhh…”

“Oh! Bock bock, bock bock bock.” I sat back on my haunches and raised my front legs, tucking my paws under my armpits to mimic wings. I flapped my legs and the feathers Peep and I had gathered and glued to my fur with pigsty mud began to molt off of me, drifting to the ground like light, powdery snow. 

The two chickens continued to look at me like I was using every chicken swear in the book… 

Peep wouldn’t have lied to me, right? No, no. Maybe I just had the wing movements wrong? I was pretty nervous. 

“Um, bock, bock, bock, bockbockbockbock-bock?” I tried again, flapping my forelegs quicker than before. More feathers swirled around me and the very judgmental chickens. 

What on earth was I doing wrong? This conversation shouldn’t be so difficult! Peep spoke fluent dog and chicken perfectly. 

When the Rooster cocked his head to the side, large beady eyes still focused on me and my incoherent chicken attempts, I panicked and turned tail. “PEEP!” I barked in despair.

As I ran away, I heard one of the chickens hiss in perfect dog, “What on earth was he wearing?”

“Wearing?” The Rooster demanded. “I hardly noticed. I was too busy worrying over how obsessed he was with eating our poop. He knows that can’t possibly be good for him, right?”

*Author’s Note: Yes, for those of you that heard the original version of this story, I did change the ending. After doing some quick Googleing, dogs aren’t as affected by grain in their diet. As long as the chicken feed isn’t medicated and a doggo isn’t eating ALL the chicken feed, it really isn’t that bad for them--so I decided to have Good Boy talking (bocking??) about something the chickens might be more concerned about.