Good for the Garden by T.G. Roettiger

In the low light of early evening, Micki Gehl strolled along the path that ran from her house to the first of her three chicken coops, tossing scratch feed to her hens. Chickens were the love of her life. Their attention provided all the affection she needed and their eggs, along with the apples from her orchard, provided all the income she needed. An extensive garden supplied most of her food. She smiled a bit to herself; she truly enjoyed her life.

In her day, Micki had been the “it” girl in her small New England town. An aspiring gymnast, she had gone to college on an athletic scholarship. Though her Olympic dreams never materialized, she had a good run and enjoyed the sense of community she felt with her team.  Academically, she excelled in the biological sciences and seemed destined for a career as a field biologist. Upon graduating, degree in hand, she was ready for the world.

Then things changed. Within a year of her graduation, her parents, her only family, died when their car slid off an embankment and rolled several times. Though it appeared to be merely an unfortunate accident, rumors quickly began to spread of a bored local tough-guy and a road-rage incident. The limits of small-town policing being what they are, and a lack of any witness coming forward, no suspect was ever identified and rumors were fated to remain rumors.

For Micki, the loss was just too much. She became “soft in the head” as the locals were wont to say. Setting aside whatever dreams she might have had, she immersed herself in the care and operation of her parents’ small farmstead. In time, her grief subsided and she found true joy in her new life. Though, rather oddly, she adopted the dress of an Amish girl. Her family had no known relationship with the Amish community, so this provided, at least as far as the local wags were concerned, more evidence that she had “lost it, a bit.”

Still, Micki was barely twenty-five years of age. Her affected dress could not hide that she still possessed the physical qualities — tight waist, flaring back, powerful shoulders, even the slight waddle in her walk — that had made her a prime target for the unwanted attention of her overly hormonal male high school classmates. Add to that her sweet smile and soft eyes, devoid of the warpaint of modern sexuality, and she was a rather fine lass. Still, many of her parents’ friends lamented that, in her current situation, she was unlikely to “find a nice man to care for her.”

***

“She does this every night,” said Eddy Meekx as he passed the bottle of King’s Blood malt liquor to his buddy, Oren Smeltz. They sat and watched from the woods across the road as Micki strolled about her home’s expansive yard which sloped gently down to the road. She smiled and even danced a bit as she tossed out a mixture of grains and seeds that was a special treat for her hens. The frantic scrambling of the hens betrayed their enjoyment of their nightly repast.

“Damn,” exclaimed Oren. “Even with that Ay-mish skirt, she’s still a piece of tail!” He put the bottle to his lips and tipped it back.

“Yeah, definitely doable,” agreed Eddy. “But right now, it’s all just wasted meat.”

Oren laughed some malt liquor out of his nose. “Damn it, Eddy!” He was still wiping his face on his jacket sleeve when Eddy grabbed the bottle back.

“Don’t waste the good stuff,” Eddy growled mockingly before taking a healthy swig of his own.

Oren blew some snot rockets and turned to face Eddy. “So, is this what you do on your weekends, come up here to watch a nut-job feed her chickens and wax your bean?”

Eddy didn’t retort. Eddy didn’t laugh. He just stared at Micki who was now bent over with her backside toward her hidden watchers.

The silence worried Oren. One did not want to anger Eddy Meekx. Always something of a local tough-guy, the two idle years since he left high school had only served to make him more volatile. Oren tried to break the tension with an attempt at humor, “Well, at least we’re getting a butt-shot.”

Eddy didn’t immediately acknowledge Oren. He just kept staring at the distant woman. There was a history there that he had never shared with anyone. The tension seemed building to a breaking point.

“So, you think that’s the only reason I am here, to get jack-off material?” Eddy did not look at Oren while speaking.

“Come on! Lighten up! I was just razzin’ ya. It ain’t like I ain’t right here with you!” Oren waved his hands palm up in mock surrender.

Eddy turned to Oren. “You watch. I’ll show you some real jack-off material. Besides, it’s been a while since I wet my carrot.”

Oren had some doubt that Eddy had ever wet his carrot, but decided to keep that conjecture to himself.

Eddy stood and chugged the last of the malt liquor. With a sneer he threw the bottle against a nearby tree. Instead of shattering as expected, the bottle rebounded and rocketed toward the still seated Oren’s head. He barely managed to duck. In fact, the bottle clipped his ear. He stared at Eddy in disbelief, but thought better of voicing any complaint.

Unconcerned with the near decapitation of his friend, Eddy began making his way through the forest. At the road’s edge, he swiveled his head to check for traffic. Seeing the way was clear, he trotted across. He slowed to a walk as he entered Micki’s yard.

By this time, Micki had moved on to a small grove of trees. She was out of sight, but Eddy could hear her talking to some of her chickens. Apparently, not all the chickens had followed the main flock to the front lawn.

As he rounded the edge of the grove, Eddy saw Micki standing with her back to him. She was tossing handfuls of feed upon the ground. Her adoring flock clucked and purred its approval. He hesitated a moment, savoring the scene.

I fucked your parents, now I’m gonna fuck you! That alcohol-fueled thought caused a wicked smile to flash across his lips.

That smile was wiped away when a huge Brahma rooster, nearly the size of a turkey, dropped from a branch above Eddy’s head. It landed in front of him, blocking the path. Flicking its head from side to side, the rooster regarded Eddy with unconcealed malevolence. In spite of himself, Eddy felt a twinge of fear.

“Ah, I see you have met Belisarius!” At the sound of her voice, Eddy lifted his gaze from the rooster to see Micki had turned to face him. “You must forgive him. He can be quite dramatic,” she continued. “He is also quite protective of me. We do have a special relationship. And you know, chickens can sense things.”

***

Oren waited long enough to get bored. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt Eddy. He had heard some scuffling and chicken squawks after Eddy followed Micki behind the trees. But for some time now it had been silent.

She might be just the local reject, but at least Eddy’s gettin’ something. More than I’m getting’, anyway. He continued picking at the grass between his feet for several more minutes. Christ, how long can it take anyway?

Finally, unable to wait any longer, Oren concocted a vague justification for his potential interruption and decided to check on Eddy. He rose to his feet and began making his way through the woods. He trotted across the road and kept up the pace until he reached the edge of the grove where he had last seen Eddy.

He rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

There before him on the ground was a large flock of chickens fussing and clucking and purring over what remained of his friend. The fleshy material that had, until quite recently, constituted the body of one Eddy Meekx was being rapidly consumed and was, in point of fact, nearly gone leaving a gore smeared skeleton.  Meanwhile, the various bodily fluids were disappearing into the grass to be absorbed by the soil. Oren felt the various sphincters in control of his body’s digestive tract begin to flutter and threaten complete release.

“Oh, dear.” At the sound of Micki’s voice, Oren jerked his eyes away from the spectacle of his friend’s remains. Her expression was a soft as her voice. Yet, both were spiced with a slight hint of mockery. “I suspect this is quite a shock. But, you see, your friend and I had a bit of unfinished business — a reckoning, if you will. And, well, my flock is quite protective of me. Unfortunately, for your part, you should have left well enough alone. Curiosity did kill the cat!” She frowned and wrinkled her brow.  “Probably other things too.”

Oren turned to run. But again, he found his path blocked. Before him, arrayed with Roman precision, was a phalanx of hens. At their head was a giant Brahma rooster with a blood-soaked head and gleaming eyes. The rooster gave his wings a pop.

“As I said, they are quite protective of me.” Oren heard Micki’s voice from behind him as the giant rooster sprang from the ground. Wings enveloped his head. Claws dug into his eyes. Feathers muffled his screams.

***

In the soft morning sun, Micki Gehl was tossing scratch feed to the chickens in her yard. At the sound of a wheezing engine, she turned to see Ron Bundy, a fellow farmer from down the road, steering his ancient Ford F100 pick-up truck into her driveway. He leaned out the open window and gave a wave. She returned the wave with a sweet smile and approached the truck.

“How goes it,” Ron inquired in the entirely rhetorical way of rural neighbors.

“Hens are happy.”

“Well, good. You didn’t happen to hear anything last night?”

Micki shook her head. “No. The animals were quiet all night.”

“Yeah well,” Ron scratched his chin, “Sheriff says a couple of kids, um, young men disappeared sometime yesterday. Found their truck parked at the top of the hill ‘cross the way this morning.” He jerked his thumb to indicate the hill across from Micki’s place.

Micki simply shrugged.

“Well, anyway, I’ll need three dozen eggs on my way back through. Bertha and her aunt are baking again.”

“I will have them ready.” Micki smiled.

“Well, anyway, I am heading to the rendering plant to get some bones for bone meal. You need any. They’re good for your garden?”

“Why that is lovely of you to offer, Ron. Thanks just the same, but I just put in a supply of fresh bones last night.”

Ron nodded, put his truck in reverse and backed down the driveway. Micki watched as he swung around into the highway. She gave a wave as he shifted into drive and proceeded down the road. She and the chickens watched until he was out of sight.

Roettiger, T.G.

Image by Xuân Tuấn Anh Đặng from Pixabay – a row of chickens of various colours with a rooster in the middle.