Free Range

The veterinarian approaches the farmer, who is waiting for him under the porch light. The farmer greets him with a handshake.

"Thank ye for comin' all the way here, Sean. I'm sorry for the bother, truly, but I do believe this is somethin' ye' will want to see for yerself."

"Just this once, Niall. I don't make a habit of house calls in the middle of the night," The veterinarian responds.

"I understand, and I can explain everythin'. But please, just come with me to see the chickens."

The veterinarian reluctantly follows the farmer through the muddy paddock to the rear of the farm, where the chicken coop sits. The coop is large, at least three times the size needed for ten hens, which only speaks to the farmer's generous nature. The coop is empty, the chickens presumably locked inside their henhouse. The farmer leads Sean through the wire door and pauses a few feet from the henhouse. Sean waits for him to open it up. Instead, the farmer calls out into the silent night.

"Hello chickens… It's Niall… I have with me doctor Sean."

Sean stares at the old man. He suspects the farmer may be full of pints, but even though he slyly leans in to get a sniff, he can't smell anything other than the manure that surrounds them.

A moment passes before the two men watch a chicken hop out of the henhouse and onto the ground in front of them. The farmer holds up a hand as if to say, "give it a minute". The veterinarian can't say he recognizes this particular chicken, but by it's thinness and scarcity of feathers, he'd say it was one of the newest rescues from the battery.

"Jessie… This is doctor Sean. He's a good man. Has always cared properly for me animals. Ye' can tell him what ye' told me." There is awkwardness in the farmer's voice as he speaks to the chicken, but he does not turn to the vet with any kind of explanation.

Sean is about to interrupt, but another voice gets there first.

"He will… help us."

The words come out of the beak of the chicken in high-pitched croaks. Sean staggers backwards, the wind knocked out of him. The farmer grabs the veterinarian's arm, to steady him.

"Jesus Christ almighty!" The veterinarian screams.

"I told ye..." The farmer replies.

Sean stares at the chicken, which seems to be looking directly at him with its black, beady eyes.

"No more wire." The chicken croaks. "We want to be FREEEE!"

The last word comes out of the chicken in an extended screech. Sean's head swivels towards the farmer, his mouth hanging open. The old farmer meets his eyes, a guilty look on his face.

"Who could I have told? Who would've believed me?"

Sean cannot blink.

The farmer turns his attention back to the chicken.

"Jessie, I told ye'. Ye all need to stay behind the wire for yer own safety. There are foxes and vultures that will snatch ye up. I can't protect ye if yer out in the open."

"No more wire! No more wire! No more WIREEEE!" The chicken repeats itself, the last word again a long screech, as if an uncontrollable tic.

"How is this possible?" Sean chokes.

"You talk. We talk." The chicken croaks simply in response.

"You're not supposed to talk!" Sean exclaims.

"Sean," Niall says gently, gripping the veterinarian's arm. "I know this is a lot. But the chickens won't listen to me. Can ye talk to 'em and convince 'em they need to stay in the coop?"

"Convince them? They're birds for Christ sake!"

"They're intelligent, Sean. Ye can see that, surely. And ye know animals. Yer good with 'em. These chickens… They need help. You can help 'em."

"Help them with what?" Sean snaps back.

The farmer shuffles awkwardly on his feet. His deep set eyes drop to the ground and then back up to Sean.

"Post-traumatic stress, Sean. The chickens have post-traumatic stress."

The veterinarian stares at the farmer as if he grew two heads. "What on earth are you talking about?"

The farmer's face is pained. "The place they came from. The conditions they lived in. It wasn't right. They can't forget that kind of cruelty. They can't forget the cages."

The word triggers the chicken, and it screeches manically, flapping its wings. "Cage! No more cage! No more lights! No more WIREEEEE!"

The farmer throws a pleading glance towards the veterinarian. Sean is dumbfounded but from somewhere deep down, his training kicks in. He suddenly feels compelled to help in the situation. He looks down at the chicken.

"Do you like slugs?"

The screeching suddenly cuts off. The chicken tilts its head towards the veterinarian. "SLUGS?"

"Yeah. Nice, big slugs."

"BIG SLUGS!"

"Listen to me. The next time you start to panic… I want you to find a nice, big slug. I want you to eat that big slug and focus on how good it tastes in your... beak."

"Big slug. Taste good." The chicken croaks, an octave lower than before.

"Why don't you go find a big slug now? It will make you feel better."

The chicken immediately hops off in search of its snack. The farmer and veterinarian turn to each other.

"Slugs?" The farmer questions.

"When an anxious dog comes to my table, we distract them with treats,'' The veterinarian shrugs. "Chickens love slugs."

The farmer nods. "They need help, Sean."

"I can see that." The veterinarian's eyes follow the chicken, hopping and clucking around the perimeter of the coop. "I suppose we better find some big slugs."