‘Now this is the life,’ thought Miracle. She was sprawled out near the mandarin tree. Her head rested on the mulch, one wing lifted up to let the sun warm her tough, old skin. She didn’t have quite as many feathers as she used to and the sun felt wonderfully warm. A gentle breeze blew across the hot lawn and rustled the mandarin leaves.
Miracle was resting after a particularly successful foraging session. Lots of green grass, bugs by the bucket load in the horse-poo pile and she’d caught two of her favourite little white and grey moths. ‘Bliss,’ she murmured to herself, half asleep.
“WHAT THE CLUCK!” Miracle was fully awake. A game had begun in the yard while she dozed. There was someone new in the yard and he didn’t look like he wanted to play nicely.
Some of the chickens had discovered flight for the first time and others were speaking a language yet to be discovered.
The humans were yelling and running around while the horses did what they do best: run away. Miracle had run once before, today she knew she couldn’t run. Someone had to stop this frantic, dangerous game. Today she would be that someone.
Miracle had first-hand experience of the suffering a fox could inflict on a flock of chickens. But this wasn’t a sneaky, devious fox. This was a loud, bold, and very big dog. This dog hadn’t asked the chickens if they had wanted to join his game. This dog had insisted. He was tearing around the yard sending chickens screaming and flapping for safety. Miracle would just have to insist that the dog desist.
Miracle strode calmly toward the dog. He was chasing Lamington who was zig-zagging her way toward the chicken coop.
“Oi. Ya big bully. You want of a piece of this? Go on, try your best,” said Miracle. She stopped in the middle of the lawn and made all her feathers stand up. “You’ve had a bit of fun with the kiddies, now it’s time for Mumma to teach you a lesson.”
As a chicken ages, she loses a few feathers, her reflexes slow down and her eyesight fades. But the older a chicken gets, the tougher she becomes. The dog clamped it’s jaw around Miracle’s neck and shook her like an old rag doll. The noise in the yard raged on, but a peace came over Miracle. She thought of her long gone sisters and what they went through on that fateful night with the fox. Then she thought of her flock now, safe in the coop or high up in trees. She closed her eyes and let it all go.
The whole yard was quiet except for the sobs of two young humans. Miracle opened one eye, just a crack. No dog. She opened her other eye, just a little wider. No dog. She stood slowly and fluffled her feathers. She listened carefully, smelled the air and looked in every direction. Definitely no dog. Then she spotted it. Near the mandarin tree. Another little white and grey moth! What a great day.
