Postcards from New Zealand: Day Eleven

Our hosts are out of town for a few days, and have asked us to feed the chickens in their absence. Because Aldo is generally busy cooking for me at chicken feeding times, I intended to take this duty for myself, even though I find the chickens to be nasty little things, and I loathe their beaks and claws. And so, I filled the little plastic box with three handfuls of pellets, two of corn, as instructed, and brought the box over to the trampoline, under which the chickens are fed. My aim was to pour the grain out into an upturned plastic garbage can lid, as instructed, but the feathered beasts were hungry, and had been stalking me since my stint at the feed bags. Smarter than I expected, they knew why I was there. They followed me, a horrible gurgling in their throats, their beaks and claws dangerously close to my bare legs and naked feet. I stepped away, but they followed. I suddenly realized that I was being chased around the yard by three chickens. "Chickens!" I shouted, "Learn to fear me!" But they did not. My only escape was to fling the feed out onto the ground, far from where I stood. They scurried to it, leaving me at last at ease.