The chickens are terrified this week. Chilling sounds are emanating from beyond the arborvitae wall: The high-pitched whine of an industrial-size dentist’s drill, rapid-fire popping of metal interspersed with rhythmic clangs and banging doors opening and closing without end. The cacophony is brought to a crescendo by the high-volume blast of Classic Rock. Our neighbor’s house is being re-sided.
The chicks cannot see the workers, they can only hear the noise. With each new sound I watch the chickens as they visibly shrink, hoping to disappear. Their nerves are shattered and they’re not laying.
Yesterday gunshots entered the fray! A 3-shot gun salute blasted from the nearby cemetery. The chicks acted like they’d each been shot. With heads turning wildly and eyes bulging crazily, they darted for cover shrieking a chorus of high A’s.
Chicken Little times three.