I’ve blogged about our chickens a time or two. You may remember when we first got them, when Ev built the coop, when I had to chase one around the barn and take it back to safety, and when my husband was away and I almost froze to death rescuing them from the cold. If you follow me on twitter, you may remember days when afternoon nap was spent looking at this…
Yup. That chicken stayed there for three hours. Knocking on the door. Begging to come in.
You may remember that that very same night, the husband so graciously brought said chicken into the bathroom, where I was enjoying a relaxing bubble bath, and threatened to deposit the crazy thing in the tub with me.
Yes. He did that. And yes, I still cook his meals and do his laundry. Lucky man, right? (Little does he know, I may or may not have bare butt farted on his pillow later that night…)
Well, despite my
hatred dislike for these feathery creatures, I do think it’s rather cute how much Evalyn enjoys them.
Every time we go outside or pull into the driveway, she’s immediately asking for the “cheechins’. Her love is so deep, that she said “cheechin” before she ever said Mama.
Many times in the morning during breakfast she asks about the “cheechins”. “Cheechins bed? Cheechins seep?”
Yes, honey, the chickens are in bed. The chickens are sleeping.
She has no fear around the chickens. None. She has no hesitation to wander into the coop. I’m sure she’d try to pick them up if they let her.
And the other day, Tuesday, in fact, this lack of fear around the chickens became an issue when she came face to face with this guy.
The rooster. The mean, grouchy rooster.
I had a friend over with her two littles, who wanted to see the chickens before they left. So, of course, Evalyn was happy to show them off. The other two kids stuck close to Mama, but my girl? No way. She was off. Chasing them. Pointing to them. Trying to pet them. I was standing just off to the side and Evan was filling up their food and water dishes.
I guess I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have been, because normally, I’d notice if she was getting close to the rooster. In fact, normally he’s no where around when we’re out there.
But, suddenly, I saw her standing face to face with the him. And then? She reached out and tried to touch him. Next thing I knew, he was standing on her head.
Yes, friends, that’s right.
The rooster was standing on my daughter’s head.
(It’s okay, you are allowed to laugh if this strikes you as funny. I laughed, too. Until I realized that Eva wasn’t entirely pumped about the situation.)
It knocked her onto her bum and girlfriend was ticked.
He didn’t seem to hurt her and of course, Evan had some “words” with the rooster (read: I don’t think he will be going near my baby again) but I think the shock of it scared her. And even more so, I think he hurt her feelings. She reacted the same way she did when she was about 9 months old and one of the chickens pecked her finger.
“HEY! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE MY BEST FRIEND. WHY DID YOU DO THAT TO ME? HOW COULD YOU?”
She calmed down quickly and then, in the end, was more upset that we had to say night night to the chickens and put them in their house. Even when she was crying it would go like this, “Wahh. Hiiiiiii. Wahh. Cheeeeeeee. Wahh. Chinnnnnn. Wahh".
Thankfully, the experience hasn’t scarred her. She’s just as in love with the chickens as she was before. But man oh man. This is my life. I never thought I’d see the day where I would say my kid got attacked by a rooster.
My mom said I’ll need to start a weekly feature called “Trauma Tuesdays” since last Tuesday she fell out of her crib and this Tuesday she had a run in with a chicken. What will next Tuesday bring?
Yi ie ie.
The adventures are just beginning.