Chicken whispering 101
You hear all the hoopla in the media ‘bout whispering to horses,
But who speaks up for chickens that folks make into corpses?
It takes a person of intrinsic worth and sensitive finesse
To seek out free-range feathered fowl and train them chickies without stress.
Buckaroo Sue is such a one; she’s learned through profound concentration
How to speak in chicken talk and hold a rooster’s close attention.
She’s has a well-earned reputation trainin’ free-range poultry right,
She don’t wrassle ‘em, ‘er hassle ‘em ‘er git ‘em on the fight.
She’s learned the language hens and roosters use to talk to one another,
She’s sensitive to chicken thoughts; she’s like their sister or their mother.
So, I took a purty little pullet, an untamed free-range unbroke chicken
To Buckaroo’s chicken-training clinic to gentle the little dickens.
Right from the start, I worried a lot, cuz a chicken you know, ain’t easy to halter,
That pullet dodged each time I came close but Buckaroo Sue said, “do not falter!”
“You have to let the correct response be the chicken’s idea,” said Buckaroo Sue,
“Make the right thing easy, the wrong thing difficult, so the chicken will know what a chicken should do.”
So I slammed that pullet alongside the head and slipped the rope around her neck.
Came lesson two: “Approach and give to pressure” which turned into a wreck,
Cuz when I jerked up on my slack, that chicken whistled through the air,
Feathers flew, she slammed the dirt, she didn’t move, or speak, just lay there.
Buckaroo Sue revived my chicken by clucking softly in its ear;
Now lesson three was sacking out, a thing most chickens greatly fear.
I tied my pullet to a post and got a blanket off the rail,
The flapping, slapping piece of cloth only knocked the feathers off her tail.
In lesson four, my chicken learned just how to follow on my lead,
The poor thing bounced like a feathered ball, each time she hit, I feared she’d bleed.
And then it was time to pick up her feet; this was serious lesson five.
“Just run your hand down her flank to her foot,” instructed Buckaroo, and God knows, I tried.
Well a chicken ain’t got but two front feet, so her natural balance ain’t the best.
When I tossed a loop ‘round her left front foot, that pullet fell over, I confess,
Lesson six was saddling up, so I fetched my saddle from off the rail,
My pullet blinked and clucked a question, her free-range chicken lips turned pale.
“Think like your chicken,” said Buckaroo Sue, “get inside your chicken’s head.”
I puzzled some cuz this here chicken looked like she was darned near dead.
But she was gentled! Tame as a mushroom and ready for lesson number seven;
When I saddled her up with a 30-pound Connelly, that free-range pullet went to heaven.
Buckaroo Sue kicked me out of the class; as a whisperer, I was a total failure.
So I took my free-range chicken home. Then I cooked her. Then I ate her. ❖
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