Raising chickens and practicing politics

I looked at my seven ladies this fine June morning as they rolled around in the dirt. They do this everyday, the dirt rolling thing. Dust bathing, it’s called. Why would someone roll around in the dirt in order to get clean? I am completely flummoxed by it. And yet it looked so familiar…wait, I have seen this before. The strutting, the crowing, the rolling in dirt and pretending your feathers are clean.

Aha! Raising chickens is just like working with politicians. I have come to realize they not only go hand in hand, the practice of one is necessary to perfect the other. That is to say, if you want to be a political mover and shaker, you need to get your hands in some chicken shit on a daily basis.

That’s nasty, you say. Who would want to work with politicians day after day? Well, I say raising a chicken or three is a good way to hone your political skills. Love a good political argument? Relish going up against someone who has the audacity to not agree with your superior intellect? Try your hand at arguing with a politician or a chicken…you’ll get the same, glassy-eyed stare back with either opponent.

Chickens are excellent judges of character. With the help of a hen, understanding the depth of a political candidate would be a breeze. Next time you’re headed to a candidate meet-and-greet, take along a hen, hand it to the politician and see how she (the chicken,that is) reacts. Chicken looks sedate and relaxed? Good, solid candidate. Chicken is struggling and dropping large poop pellets all over the candidate? Have to wonder if this guy can handle a third world dictator if he can’t keep a pullet happy.

Getting something from a chicken requires patience and a seductive hand. They like to be stroked on the back and hand-fed corn. They like to have their own space where they can stretch out, preen, and pretend no other hens are around while they get to the business of producing your breakfast. They don’t like to be rushed, and just when you think your flock is about to lay a whole bunch of eggs, you realize it was all noise, and in fact, they’ve done nothing at all.

Not at all dissimilar to the work required to get your law enacted. One must stroke the politicians’ ego. Tell them they are so very pretty and will produce sweet legislation. They will squawk and strut, leading you to believe that yes, soon the most lovely of new laws will arrive. Hopeful and expectant, you wait. But, like cackle from hens that live in many a backyard, what you hear being foretold is not always what you get. The charming new law never comes to fruition and, sigh, you are back where you started—dealing with chicken shit.