Of Good Cheer

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Years ago, our family thought it would be a good idea to raise chickens. We decided they should be free-range chickens, which just means they run around the backyard all day. The daily chicken schedule went something like this: Wake up, let the chickens out, collect the eggs, go about your business, remember sometime after sunset that they’re still out of the coop and try to round them by chasing them with a flashlight. You run in circles for a while, catch one and put it in the coop. Rinse and repeat.

For anybody who hasn’t put this on the bucket list yet, you’re missing out. The fun of chasing a bunch of chaotic birds around with a flashlight is priceless. Did I say priceless? What I meant was exasperating beyond all comprehension.

Q: So why bring this skeleton out of my closet after all these years?

A: Good question, random reader! I do so because bedtime with seven kids is much the same as trying to herd chickens in the dark. It goes something like this –

“Kids! Come inside and get your jammies on!” I’m standing on the porch to make this announcement. I go back inside, content that my announcement will be heard and obeyed by all my chickens…er, children.

“Kids! Are you ready to pray?” This broadcast is made from the living room as I wait for 7 kids in pajamas to come running to join me any second now. Instead, I hear crickets from the corner as I imagine tumbleweeds blowing across the living room floor. The silence in the house is only broken by the sound of laughing and running and what sounds like…the clanking of swords? Back to the porch.

“Kids! Get inside now! I make sure I sound upset enough that they’ll come right away to avoid the wrath of the chicken-herder. I listen for the scurrying of little feet, but instead I hear more laughing and running and… more swordplay. I go venturing into the darkness to put an end to the snickering chickens’ swordfight.

After locating the first of the combatants and confiscating his tent pole sword, I send him inside to get his pajamas on. A few moments later, I find his opponent and remove her sprinkler pipe sword before sending her inside. I quickly find the third backyard warrior and take away his scrap lumber weapon while snagging his opponent and confiscating his…tent pole?

Yep, it’s the first soldier I sent inside and he’s found another tent peg weapon somewhere. Fast-forward 30 minutes. I’ve confiscated 42 swords now and am content with knowing where all the missing poles from the family tent have been. Did I mention that the 42 swords come from 4 kids, and only three of them are mine? The younger chickens children are still running around and take another few minutes to round up and drag inside. The older group turned into ninjas when their sword supply was exhausted and have apparently gone into hiding. I wish I had my chicken-herding flashlight right now.

After another intense search in the pitch-black yard, I find the less-competent (read: they stink at hiding) ninjas and haul them inside. That only took 45 minutes and I’ve got 5 out of 7 inside now. The last two centurion-turned-ninjas outside will come in soon enough.

Now that we’re inside, I start the pajama hunt, get chickens tucked in, tell chickens stories, return chickens to their beds, look for lost chicken toys, look for lost chickens, tell chickens to be quiet and go to sleep, remind chickens to be quiet, open doors and make idle threats, turn lights off and growl a lot. Rinse and repeat.

For the record: This is far more tiring than herding real chickens was and explains why my wife returns from Relief Society to find me asleep next to a stack of tent poles with chickens free-ranging around the house.

Score one for the deadly chicken ninja clan.

This article comes from a Hers & His post Bryun and his wife Cindy wrote several years ago. To read Cindy’s side of the story or to check out other Hers & His moments, go to https://www.onecrazydad.com/2016/10/1381/.