Abundant Calamity

THE DEAL WITH THE CHICKENS

Being bombed by rain? Check

Running for your life? Check.

Running for your life through a bunch of maddened chickens? Check.

Having your feet bitten at by a load of maddened chickens plus facing the fact you may die looking half scared to death? Check.

I would not believe that most people had ever gone through this, but trust me, never get yourself in the predicament.

Steer clear of the goddamn chickens. 

On the other hand, at least I know how to make a mess. 

If I have an injury, I would prefer it to be caused by a chicken than by an angry mother who wants to kill me. 

Perhaps, it may have been rather stupid to blow up the shed, but by golly was it fun to cause a ruckus. 

I heard the pitter patter of feet going to the shed.

 Brilliant.

Now is the perfect time to run for the hills.

However, the squeaking chicken at my feet didn’t think the same thing.

I really wish animals could understand English. It would make life a whole lot easier. 

Apparently, pecking at my feet was so much easier for the dastardly fellow.

“Goddamn it, shoo!” 

The bastard loved to follow me around, it seemed.

I couldn’t hide from my neighbours with a fatass chicken on my heels.

“Alrighty then you twat, I’ll just have to eat you instead.”

Now that was something I could settle for.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t eat Suzie for another day. I know, it seems to be problematic to name the chickens.

Typical that after that, I end up swarmed with them.

“In the pen, you dastardly creatures!” 

Again, my problem of a language barrier was quite evident.

“Allez!” 

Now I must say, I fairly ever use French unless I am completely buzzed, or bothered.

Today, just seemingly was one of those days. 

“Damnation!” 

Cursing again, the chickens still did not wish to move. Unfortunately, my amount of expletives had to stop there. A rather angry mother appeared. 

Now I wasn’t sure if I cared more about my lovely mother’s opinion, or not getting completely knocked over by the rain being chucked in my face in clumps. 

“Amara Rose Croft, get back in the house this instant! What imbecile decides in their right mind to go outside in this weather!” 

Ah, she’s back it.

She’s probably annoyed at the sewing. 

As soon as I come back in the house, I’m sure she’ll send me back out here.

At least the chickens had stopped trying to eat my feet.

As I predicted, I began the walk back to the front entrance of the house, only to be asked to turn back around. 

“Amara, you cannot come back in here with mud all over yourself. I know it is a dirty job, but it is not proper for a woman. Please go back and collect the basket of washing. I’m sure it will be soaked by now. Also, you haven’t finished your first task. Look.”

The chickens had escaped the pen. Blow it.

Oh yes. More injury and bruises for me. C’’est incroyable. I turned around to get back “hurrying the chickens along”, except, to me, the latter felt like “hurrying myself into an early grave.”

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It wasn’t like I could chicken out of chores, much to my disappointment. We have a lot of chickens, but I have no gall. Washing clothing was never such an eventful task until today. For starters, my dress was covered in dirt. This isn’t the brush off type of dirt. This is the dirt that clings to your clothing like a leach. Not very fun if you ask me. 

A scrubbing board wouldn’t be able to get this off after it soaked for 20 hours. Lavender was always quite helpful in these situations. What my mother had taught me would pay off whilst trying to be rid of this dratted stain.

I huffed, then decided that it would be best for the stain to be faded. My mother was always particular with clothing. 

I would have to leave in the same dress.

The pathway up the hill from the cottage was a nice spinebreaker. Considering where we lived, it meant I could see all the valleys that lay below onto the neighbouring village once you reached the top of the hill.

It was one of my favourite trips, bar going past the old manky wooden shed. That place was so creepy, I’d rather wash my eyes with salt than walk past it. I tend to leg it from one end to the other everytime I see it.

Ma wont be happy, but at least I can get the dress clean.

Getting past the rusty gate is the first most problematic issue. I have never found another gate which could squeak so obnoxiously. 

Not that I want one. This gate is definitely enough. 

I hook my skirts around the pole and push myself up. Carefully, or maybe not so carefully, being me, I trap my feet between the pole and the ground. 

“If you squeak, I’ll chop ye head, okay? Stupid gate.”

Luckily, my skirts ended coming out in one piece. Thankfully, I was all in one piece.

The next, rather unfortunate task, was sneaking past ma’s window. She has eyes like a hawk, and needs to in this neck of the woods. We’re quite isolated from other homes in our town, probably because we’re all English. I don’t dwell on that often though. I’d prefer not to.

My hands claw and the brickwork. The best way to get past ma is to stay as close to the stone as possible. She thinks it's too painful to be pushed up against it. Truthfully, I cannot feel a single thing. The stones just nip at the dress. This dress is like a woolly mammoth so, I don’t tend to feel anything. 

Being so dedicated to getting past the window, I don’t notice my dress getting caught between the gaps in the end of the fence. 

“Blow it!” 

My face smacks the dirt. 

“Check girl check. Mother will assassinate you if she finds another rip.”

I do forget I have a tendency for talking out loud.

No rip.

Sweet baby Jesus. Thank you for saving me for another day.

Mission one? Tick 

Mission two? Sort of tick.

“Aria. Tu vas?”  

Oli. Drat.

Maybe not.

I mimic, or try to mimic, eating berries in the mirror.

I receive a very confused expression. Cannot say I am surprised, considering he’s barely 3.

“Herbbbbbbbbbbs!”

“OOooooooooogaaaaaaaa!”

The open window does nothing to help my predicament.

“Not ogre, chérie, hush. Wait for mama, d’accord? Elle a des baies.”

“Des baiessssssssss!!” 

Aha. That’ll do the trick. He runs back inside the centre of the house, looking rather excited. I hope he’s not too disappointed.

I leap over the wall. 

It’s time to collect my lavender.