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“What happened to the chicken?”
Sighing, she turned and pointed to the back of her leg, around the calf area. “It bit me. It waited until I got into shit – literally – and took a cheap shot at me. It took antibiotics and a bunch of other things to make sure I didn’t die of rabies or whatever.”
It was an almost unbelievable story, but that made it even funnier. The fact that something so impossible had happened… I was struggling not to laugh.
Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You can laugh. It’s fine!”
So, with her permission, I did. Hard!“Oh my God,” Dahlia whispered after her eyes had adjusted to the darkness in the building versus the strength of the sun outside. “Are they…?”
“Puppies,” I muttered with a grin and then chuckled when a chicken walked past us and Dahlia took a step behind me.
“Please tell me that’s what we’re here to see and not them?” she pointed at a bunch of the birds that were walking around, pecking the ground.
“We also have chicks, if you’re interested?” a deep voice said behind us, making Dahlia squawk and jump, getting answering ones from the poultry.
“Hey, man!” I took a step forward and shook the guy’s hand.
Brady was a friend of Archer’s and his dogs had just had litters of puppies. Litters as in three dogs, three litters. All within their own breeds, with no cross breeding involved.
There were Boxer puppies, Cocker Spaniel puppies and Alaskan Malamute puppies, which is what I was here to see about.
“Hey, great to see you again,” he shook my hand with a grin, and then looked at Dahlia. “Brady Atkins.”
“Dahlia Ferguson,” she replied, still watching the chickens carefully even as she introduced herself.
“Dahlia had a bad experience with chickens when she was a kid,” I explained when he gave me a confused look.
“They can be mean little bastards,” he chuckled, resting his hands on his hips as he looked over at the foul in question. “But, they can also be loving and like little kittens. Look!”
He crouched down and tapped the floor. As he did it, three chickens came running up to him and stroked their heads on his knees.
“That’s…” Dahlia whispered, watching him wide eyed. “It’s a cross between a real-life horror movie for me, and a Disney movie like Snow White.”
Picking one up and scratching it like it was a dog, Brady snorted. “Depends on the chicken in question, to be honest. These ones were hand reared in the house, so they look at us like their parents.”
Hesitantly, Dahlia reached out and slowly ran her finger down the side of its neck. When the animal clucked loudly and rubbed back against the digit, the tension eased out of her shoulders and she started smiling.
“Wanna hold it?” Brady asked her.
Any choice she had in the matter was taken out of her hands when the animal moved suddenly and jumped in her direction. I wasn’t sure if she raised her arms to protect herself or to catch it, but regardless, it ended up with her holding onto a chicken who had decided that it was in love with Dahlia.
That would have been all cute and fabulous if the little fucker hadn’t tried to peck me every time I tried to touch her.
I was having chicken for dinner tonight, and I was going to enjoy every bite.SevenDahlia“S o, which ones are you here to look at?” I asked, surrounded by puppies. I felt like I was in the middle of 101 Dalmatians, except I was surrounded by eleven puppies of different breeds. Oh, and a chicken who refused to leave my lap.
Of all the animals to take a liking to me after both of the big bad chicken moments in my life. My driving test and that birthday party still scarred me, but I had to admit – this little clucker and the little chicks that were tumbling around the barn were pretty cute.
“One of these,” Madix replied, making me grin as he tried to cross his giraffe legs as we sat on the floor. He picked up a gray and white puppy with bright blue eyes in his massive hands and held it up to his face. “Wanna be mine?” he asked it, chuckling when it wriggled to get closer to his nose so it could lick it.
Could I answer that question?
“Those are giant long-haired Alaskan Malamutes,” Brady informed us, leaning against the frame of the gate that led into the stall we were sitting in. “The parents are up at the house with Bec and her puppies.”
“What kind of puppies does she have,” I asked distractedly, watching as the puppy sucked on Madix’s nose.
“Gross,” he muttered, but at no point did he move the little guy away to stop him doing it. Instead, he grinned and used one finger to tickle its side as it sucked.
