I had fun one evening writing a thing about chickens for COOP zine. It’s now published in zine #10! It’s the very first piece of writing in the zine, which you can download the digital edition of here. I do recommend you check out the entire zine, as it’s rather lovely.
The interview process at the chicken hatchery is peculiar. Marvin is asked if he can spot a perfect egg by sight alone, an impossible task, but he’s willing to try. He is quizzed about the number of feathers on an average hen, and then asked to navigate a virtual chicken coop where he must collect eggs while dodging hyperactive roosters. He’s then required to present a report on the ethics of free-range enclosures, to which he responds with a pie chart and a haiku. By the end, he is strangely confident. He shakes the interviewer's hand with the certainty of a man who has seen the inside of an industrial-sized incubator.
As a child he was fascinated by chickens and their quiet productivity. They were always there in the background, soft clucking weaving rhythm into his summer days. His grandmother had raised chickens in the backyard, and every morning, Marvin would collect the eggs, cradling each like it held a secret. He learned that chickens are ancient creatures with access to wisdom beyond his reach. He learned that they are stubborn, curious, and perpetually hungry.
He wakes from dreams where his chickens ask him questions he cannot answer - of their fate, of life beyond the fence. As the sun rises, he goes to the coop and imagines the sky lifting them as if they might one day take flight. But they don't, of course. They peck the ground, dust rising in small puffs around their feet, clucking in a language Marvin is almost certain he’s starting to understand. Sometimes he wonders what they see when they look at him - guardian, predator, or just a piece of the horizon.