Chicken Coop Basil Payne, Second Place
Sometime in the early 80s, my
father, Robert, burnt down a chicken coop. It was a cheap chicken coop--a homemade one, in fact. Built up with cheap, scratchy plywood, rusty chicken wire, and black fruit-leatheresque roof shingles. His father built it with his giant, yet gentle hands. His intimidating stature was what people saw first; it was what his chickens always saw first. People and chickens alike would scatter when they saw him--a large, lumbering man. Neither people nor chickens had anything to fear. This man cared for his chickens like he cared for his family--with all his heart. Robert’s parents decided to get chickens when he was a young child. I can imagine they got them for a myriad of reasons: to save money, to be self-sufficient, and to give my grandpa some feathery little friends. He never told me what type of chickens they had. The part of the story that always brought a smile to his face was when he started the fire, not [ 116 ]
when he told me he had chickens. Frustration would bubble up in my chest when he glossed over the chickens. They were the most important part of the story. I would just have to imagine what types of chickens his family would’ve had. A stripey one, a black and white one, maybe a rainbow one? My imagination wasn’t the most realistic. The most important part of the story, Robert claims, is how he set the chicken coop on fire. I wanted to know about the chickens and if they were safe after the fire. He conveniently left out what happened to the chickens every time he would recite the story to me. The whole time I imagined them while tucked away in my bunk bed. I imagine that my grandparents would have a Welsummer. Welsummer are a breed of chicken that have a wonderful list of positive attributes. One positive attribute is that they look cool. Their bodies are covered in mocha brown feathers that bleed into a dark, earthy color near the tail, and their heads are covered in a lovely burnt orange speckled with brown, red, and white on the inner parts of the feathers. This breed is known to be very kind. They would’ve gotten along well with my grandfather. He could hold them and pet them to his heart’s content. Maybe he would muse about the things he loved with them. Cluck about mechanics or airplanes with him. Welsummer are known to be intelligent, after all. Robert loved to talk about how he burnt ants
