Chastity the Chicken

This chilling tale of Chastity can’t fail to touch your heart
A plucky little chick who got off to a rough start
She and her compatriots were specially born and raised
To reach their full weight swiftly then be grilled, or steamed or braised
Industrialised poultry is a booming source of profit
Not for chicken-hearted traders who would mercilessly scoff it
So, cut-price chicken-breeding is the order of the day
It must be cost-efficient and the chickens have to pay
Whether nibbling crispy nuggets or sticky chicken wings
It has to taste of income for the “poultry-produce-kings”
The motto goes – “don’t count your chicks before they’re even hatched”
If truth be known the eggs are calculated by the batch
Thus millions of small chickens are produced in “foul” conditions
With no respect for nature’s laws – no human inhibitions
Brigades of little chicks all squashed together in large cages
Exposed to heat and illness and some die in easy stages
When Chastity goes “cheep, cheep, cheep” her owners speculate
How “cheap” production costs can sink to help them calculate
They have to reach their slaughter-weight within 6 weeks of hatching
With little food, or light or air – just sleeping, pecking, scratching
The atmosphere is muggy with the stench of their own mess
Which causes rampant illnesses and helps them even less
Seventeen growing chickens in a one-square-meter crate
Is a nasty squash for poultry by the time it’s reached full weight
They’re bred so that their chests expand to overblown dimensions
‘Cos white meat is so lucrative – and that’s the soul intention
Top-heavy and immobile, their misery is complete
Their aching legs cannot support their weight on their own feet
So plucky little Chastity devised a strategy
To flee the crowded confines of her loathsome battery
She saw that sickly chicks were isolated from the rest
And thought that they were sent away to briefly convalesce
She determined to escape from her depressing little hovel
By simulating sickness even if she had to grovel
As illness raises fears that other fowl could be infected
They actually throw them out as soon as sickness is detected
They tip them on the heap and just let nature do the rest
She couldn’t know this fact of course and did what she thought best
She plucked most of her feathers which then left her somewhat bald
And made her look quite scruffy just as if she had been mauled
Her coma-like performance was the best act she’d yet played
And her “illness” told her landlords this investment hadn’t paid
They took her from her confines and dismissed her from the pen
They meant to get her later but she’d disappeared by then
She wandered off the compound and kept on walking straight
Until she reached the boundary and went under the main gate
Out in total freedom she could then do what she chose
So her main concern was eating and the options were quite close
Worms and seeds and insects were the menu of the day
She’d never been so spoilt and that was how she planned to stay
It took a while for her to grasp that it was up to her
To learn as fast as possible the grub she might prefer
Her rigid style of living had distorted her short life
Lined up in metal cages – her survival was pure strife
Devoid of natural habitat she never knew the thrill
Of waking up surrounded by a sense man’s goodwill
She couldn’t bear to think of the conditions she’d endured
And looked ahead to freedom into which she had been lured
As her claws dug in the soil and she felt the urge to scratch
She came up with a banquet that she only had to snatch
A luxury for Chastity who had only ever known
Slaughterhouse leftovers mixed with pulverised bird-bone
First in the pecking order – then she knew what was the matter
She liked to eat in company – enjoyed the chicken chatter
Although her food was frugal she had never dined alone
And now she had a stately feast to eat all on her own
She filled herself to bursting on her newly-found cuisine
Then settled back to savour her digestion like a queen
She found out how it felt to be incalculably chuffed
To tell the truth, by her terms she was well and truly stuffed
If she had tried to move she’d have rotated like a spit
So she settled down to cogitate and dream a little bit
Predictably she sunk into a coma-like siesta
Re-enacting vivid visions of her culinary fiesta
A banquet full of maggots and a feast of juicy worms
Conjured up a chicken paradise in no uncertain terms
Periodic consciousness did not disturb her slumbers
And so she counted sheep in quite considerable numbers
What finally awoke her was the sound of barking dogs
A natural warning system for discouraging the fox
They charged around like demons, piercing screams shot through the night
Chastity just trembled in a paralytic fright
Her female disposition left her nervous and defenceless
Any effort to defend herself would seem completely senseless
She’d never been exposed to fear – her cage had been her castle
Her nauseating prison had been her strong protective parcel
And just as she was thinking she could stand the strain no longer
Three massive dogs appeared – quite fit and infinitely stronger
They sniffed around her – curious to know what she was doing
She tried to look innocuous but could sense some trouble brewing
To her paramount amazement they found her quite hilarious
Which revised her view of them as awfully gallant and gregarious
They’d never seen an animal so weak and unassuming
Than this frightened little thing who needed comprehensive grooming
And as for her, she preened herself and fluffed her thirteen feathers
She simply wasn’t used to being out in all night weathers
They soon got bored and sauntered off – could feel her turn romantic
A chick on heat was just enough to turn them kind of frantic
Alone again she looked around and saw daybreak approaching
She’d no idea upon whose land she found herself encroaching
She raised herself onto her feet and summoned all her power
And ambled along aimlessly for well over an hour
A provincial headless chick describes the state that she was in
While nature stayed indifferent to our solitary urchin
Quite suddenly she strayed into a little country lane
By which time her legs were buckling and she felt a lot of pain
As fortune would just have it Farmer Josh was on his way
Returning from the fields with his big harvest full of hay
He stopped his tractor swiftly and got down to take a peep
And found our little Chastity who could hardly raise a cheep
Chickens are such creatures he would never have befriended
Until he spied our Chastity so weak and unattended
It frankly was befuddling to decipher what she was
A cross between a Gremlin and a small Wizard of Oz
Sporadic tufts of feathers were protruding from her skin
And her legs were buckling under her although she was so thin
Enormous chest dimensions were her most conspicuous feature
Quite a malformation for such an undernourished creature
He picked her up and looked at her as gently as he could
She felt she’d found a friend at last – someone who understood
He took her to the tractor and laid her on his sweater
He’d take her home to Martha who would make her feel much better
His shapely wife was full of fun and loved all tiny creatures
In fact she cherished everyone except for pimps and preachers
Josh drove that tractor deftly to avoid too much vibration
While she laid back and wondered at this mighty new sensation
So Chastity was taken home to start a brand new life
In the tender loving care of Farmer Josh and his good wife
The convalescence she desired was suddenly right there
The largest bed, the biggest meals and plenty more to spare
And as she slowly built up strength and regained all her plumage
She never cast another thought on the days she spent in hostage
As soon as she was fit enough they let her go outside
To join the other chickens and she took it in her stride
She found scores of companions who could make her life complete
She adapted to the liberty and quite quickly found her feet
They didn’t need to know the pain of what she’d had to bear
Her pleasure was indulging now in all they had to share
The simplest things in life had turned her days into a dream
Without the stress of knowing what the end could well have been
Now “Born Again”, mind, soul and body, you could of course enquire
Did the chicken or the egg come first – how did it all transpire?
For Chastity the answer’s clear, as sure as eggs are eggs
Her life began the day she could stand on her own two legs
Next time you cook a «coq au vin» – you need a dish that’s nice
Make sure she was organic or free-range – forget the price
Do something good for nature, give yourself a moral boost
For you can be quite sure that every chick comes home to roost
Our Chastity was such a chick and caused a small sensation
By laying multitudes of eggs as if in compensation
Josh and Martha were astounded at her new aptitude
And vowed to keep her till the end in utter gratitude
She won’t land up on the marble slab of a culinary morgue
But will spend the rest of her natural life in a textbook epilogue
Please don’t begrudge a few more cents to show your full support
For wholesome chicken farmers who do things the way they ought
A chuckling chick is better than a fowl who is henpecked
So, let’s defend their dignity and give them our respect
If ever you are asked why did the chicken cross the road?
Remember humble Chastity and her poignant episode.

Photo: Pexels.com / Alison Burrell

Copyright: Rosemary McGuire