It was twilight on the Front Range of the Colorado Rockies. I was on a prairie road, tired and heading home. The drive was uneventful until there was this brown chicken in the middle of the road. Obviously, the hen had been hit by a car. I whizzed by; it wasn’t road kill yet, sitting so prettily—like it was laying an egg.
I remembered the last chicken I ran over years ago on a North Dakota country road. The rear view window revealed flying feathers and a chicken gimping back to its flock. But this time I knew the motionless bird had only minutes to live before darkness and another vehicle would crush it.
As I kept driving, I recalled Jesus’ words: “Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem, if only I could gather you to myself as a hen gathers her chicks.” Jesus cared about poultry and used them as examples of love. Then there was his declaration that even one little sparrow does not fall without his knowledge? As I pondered these statements, I sensed that he was aware of me.
“Oh, bother,” I prayed, as I swung the car into a U-turn. Fortunately, there was no traffic. Tromping over to the chicken, it blinked, but did not move. I hoped she wouldn’t peck as my hands grabbed her. She was surprisingly light and soft–no struggle and only one drop of blood on the pavement. This chick was frozen in fear.
I surveyed her domain. The rundown house was ornamented with lots a junk, including a rusty treadmill and a tipped over stroller, missing a wheel. The sign on the front door said, “Beware of Dog.” Behind the house was a shed, with penned chickens and goats. Through the front door’s window I saw a flickering TV and a bare hallway bulb.
Prairie folks have lots of guns, so I wasn’t sure how to approach. “Hello, hellooooo,” I yelled. The goats bleated, but nothing happened at the door. Where was the dog?
Then I stepped up. I could see a six-year-old boy sitting in a too small cardboard box, watching TV. He had a paper plate next to him—the remnant of dinner, perhaps. I wondered if the child preferred the box to the dirt-black wooden floor.
I knocked, and people and pets came flying–like chickens! Two barking pit bulls lunged at the door and stood on their hunches to growl. Four heads popped up next to the canines and gaped at their unexpected visitor.
I held forth the hen like a peace offering. “I didn’t run over your chicken, but I found her in the middle of the road.”
Husky Dad and Plump Mom pushed back the dogs and children. “Stay in,” the man commanded, as the couple squeezed out their door. The mom took the chicken and looked at its behind. Then she silently handed it to the dad.
He wordlessly stepped down and headed toward the shed, and she went back inside the house. Then he lifted the chicken to his face and said, “That’s what you get for jumping the fence!”
I sensed he was embarrassed, ignoring me.
“Okay, I’ll be going now,” I announced to his back as I headed toward the car.
Then, came a gruff, “Thank you.”
“Sure,” I said.
It was just a chicken after all.
As I U-turned the car for home, in quiet twilight, six horses galloped across the pasture toward me in single file. They turned at the fence’s corner and ran back into the darkness. I heard a neigh.
Was it nature’s salute that one chicken lived another day? I’d like to think so.
Luke 12:6-7, CSB paraphrase with a little help from Eugene H. Peterson’s The Message: “What is the price of one chicken? Not too much, no big deal. But God doesn’t even overlook one dumb cluck. And he pays even greater attention to you, down to the last detail—even numbering the hairs on your head! So remember he remembers you. Don’t be intimidated….You are worth more than a billion chickens!”