Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Chicken by the kitchen door

I was having cereal breakfast this morning, cool breeze blowing from the river disturbing the otherwise quiet leaves and branches of the trees adjacent the see-through fence of the staff house which has become my temporary home since I arrived here, when I noticed a fat chicken picking food on the ground outside the kitchen door.

An interesting thought crossed my mind. I thought how simple, bare and primitive a chicken’s life is. It is satisfied with eating crumbs, worms, seeds and anything edible it finds on the ground, grass, plants and even pools of water. A chicken sleeps on tree branches or any nook and cranny of an existing structure, the more dilapidated, the more secure for them.

Humans just let them be. After all, chickens are harmless and quite delicious when cooked.

What if chickens have the capacity to think? Would they ever exchange places with us humans? They probably would. After all, when they get to be human; they don’t get butchered, cooked, chewed and swallowed.

If chickens were human, ah they would probably explore the same kind of curious thought I am having right now.

What a thought.

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