My Wife is Trying to Start a Chicken Farm

We're taking this free range thing a little too literally.

My wife loves animals. When we’re watching The Last of Us or The Walking Dead where people are dying terrible deaths every five minutes she doesn’t blink an eye, but if an animal is killed in a show she’ll be cuddling the dog on the floor with tears streaming down her face. To be fair, humans are terrible - this was not written by AI.

This love of animals often manifests itself through the desire to adopt those that are the most helpless - read mangy-looking. When we first started living together this came in the form of a mangy cat who lived in the bush in front of our apartment and we adopted - he deserves his own column one day - but in most instances it’s not possible to adopt the animal due to it being an elephant, lion, monkey or cheetah that we’ve seen on a game drive in South Africa.

In Grand Cayman we have a chicken epidemic. I spoke about it in one of the first videos I made when I arrived in Cayman nine years ago. There are chickens on the beaches, chickens in the streets and naturally chickens in our backyard.

In a Snow White or perhaps Cinderella-esque move, my wife has decided to begin building a friendship with a particular hen and her three chicks who we first met at the dumpster in our strata.

Every day she, often accompanied by our daughter and very confused but interested dog, goes out to feed the hen and her three chicks rice crackers. This can be considered recycling as these rice crackers taste terrible. However it has sadly resulted in the hen moving to the hedge in front of our apartment and accosting the dog and I every time I take him out to do his ablutions.

It has also encouraged every chicken in the neighborhood to spend time hanging out in front of our apartment on the off chance that they can get some scraps left by the hen and her chicks. Walking onto our patio is starting to sound like entering a chicken coop, as the chickens race over to me, mistaking me for somebody that likes them.

I am now beginning to fear for my life as I have been chased at least three times this week by a chicken. Being the manly man that I am, I of course waved my arms about like a loon and chased them back. But let’s be real, Chicken Run must have been based on some element of truth, and they are likely plotting my demise as we speak.

I guess what I’m getting at here is if I disappear suddenly it was probably the chickens. I have been disposed of and they have made my wife their queen. Send help.