All Cooped Up

My nephew holding Ashley when she was just a chick. 

I'm not too sure how it all started but one afternoon I went over to my sister's house and there was a chicken coop being erected. It was an impressive home for any chicken; the structure was a split level with a slanted roof. Next thing I knew the coop's inhabitants arrived. The poor creatures became a skunk's midnight snack before too long but eventually the coop's longest inhabitants was a  hen named Sonny and some type of turkey-chicken hybrid named McMuffin. Sonny was definitely the looker of the two; she had a thick padding of lovely golden feathers that carried down to her legs, making it look like she was strutting around the yard wearing pantaloons.

McMuffin was, sadly, hideous. Her head and long, scrawny neck was completely bare of any feathers so she had the appearance of a withered, crotchety old man.

Looks aren't everything, however; McMuffin along with Sonny provided many delicious eggs. And they were adored by my sister's children until the two hens died.

Their deaths were not the ending but the beginning of something. My mother and father wanted a chicken coop of their own.

The coop my father built is the Parthenon of chicken coops. It has decorative eves, a window in the nesting box, a sliding door to usher the chickens in and out of the nesting area, and a ramp that leads to the outer area of the coop. The whole thing is painted a serene pale blue and there is even a latched door to allow the hens to explore the backyard.

It really is a beautiful piece of work; however, the latch on the door can get a little tricky. My father found this out the hard way. He was standing inside the coop to herd the hens up the ramp to get inside the nesting box when the door clicked behind him, effectively locking him inside. My mom found him a few minutes later, hunched over and anxious for his rescue. 

To respond to this situation, my father tied some heavy string around the latch so if an unfortunate soul became imprisoned in the coop, they could pull on the string, unhook the latch and swing the door open. 

A good plan but even the best-laid out plans have their kinks. 

My parents were out of town for the long weekend and my sister and I took shifts caring for the coop's four hens. My sister's children named them: Stripey, Brownie, Ashley and Oreo. When they first came to live with my folks they were just small handfuls of downy feathers; now they are fully grown with large three-pronged feet and inquisitive eyes. 

I was on the night shift, which had the simple task of making sure the hens were safely secured in the nesting box for the evening. The first night, most of them waddle up the ramp but Ashley was procrastinating so I stepped inside the coop to give her a gentle nudge. The door clicked behind-I felt a pang of unease but decided to ignore it as I shooed the hen inside. 

Turning around and given the door a good push did nothing. I gave it a few more shoves even though it was obvious the pushes were useless. I realized I need to grab that string so I squeezed my fingers through the crack in the door and pulled the string inside. I felt relief. Freedom was near! I gave the string a good yank. Nothing. I yanked it again and again; still nothing. How is this possible?! A close examination showed that the string was wrapped around the latch so it would not allow the latch to unhook. I puzzled over this conundrum. More and more I wondered if I was going to be locked inside the coop for the night. What a sight my sister would be greeted with when she came over in the morning to feed the hens and give them fresh water. 

I thought about kicking down the door but I couldn't bear destroying my father's great creation. What I really needed, I decided, was a stick to unravel the string. Looking at the floor of the coop, I saw no stick but there were plenty of feathers. Picking one up, I poked it through one of the holes in the chicken wire and threaded "the stem" of the feather into the wound-up string. I was similar to a prisoner picking away at his cell walls with a nail file in hopes of escaping imprisonment. 

My idea, however, provided faster results. The string unraveled and with a tug the door flew open. I bounded out with glee. Free at last! 

My whole family loves this story. I debated on whether or not to share it but sometimes a story is just too good to keep to yourself. 

All four girls when they first arrived.