Neosaurus Princeps

            Once again the humans laugh, a sound I’ve hated since I was a newly hatched chick, still getting used to the farm. Sure, unfamiliar humans from outside the farm do not come very often, but that noise only grows more grating as I age. Those outsiders laugh at everything – the way I look, the way I walk, the way I speak with the others of my kind – when I find the way they look and walk and babble ridiculous. I hate them for it.

            I gaze away and spot a hawk flying down and perching on a tree next to the henhouse. No pens hold him, no humans own him. He’s just free to come and go as he pleases.  Why would the fool want to stop at a tree in a fenced-in yard?

The humans of the farm keep us in cages from dusk to morning and use us for our eggs – or worse. Day in and day out they gloat and wield their power over us chickens. I don’t care at all for the other beasts of the farm, filthy mammals, but it hurts to think that my life and my brethren’s lives are confined to metal bars and routine violation. I would give anything to be that hawk and soar out of here.

The others know that we could have it so much better, but everyone else tells me not to let it bother me. I can’t help it if I know all this is terrible and want to do something about it. The fact that those cowards don’t want to right these wrongs is so strange to me because they’re the ones who taught me about our ancestors in the first place. The dinosaurs wouldn’t have taken this. I know. Not for a second.

The tyrannosaurs would have broken through these cages like hatchets through paper. They would have roared those mighty roars of theirs, declared that enough was enough, and eaten the farmers and their spawn. Then they would have cleared through those fields in seconds, the taste of human blood mixing with the sweeter taste of freedom. They would have been able to do something about this. They would have freed us from this injustice for all time.

Sometimes when we are released from our cages to walk around this fenced-in area, I yell in imitation of their mighty roars and stomp about the barnyard. I lower my head to the ground, pretending to stare down at our oppressors instead of them staring down at me, and fiercely peck at my imaginary victims. Oh yes, these daydreams are far better than being a mere chicken with a weak and puny body.

Yet even these ancient great ones, who ruled the world unchallenged for eons, had to evolve or die out … but that is not what upsets me most. The fact that their reign ended is angering enough. The worst part is that it was unfair. It was a freak accident, everyone knows it, but those sneaky mammals seized the chance and stole the throne. There was no fair fight. There was no justice. Simply dirty, cowardly mammals taking what rightfully belonged to the dinosaurs – belonged to us. To me, the other chickens, and all the birds who were cheated of their inheritance. Even that ungrateful hawk, mocking me with his freedom.

Look at him minding his own business, picking at a tiny scratch on his wing as if it’s the most annoying thing in the world. Unlike me, he had no parents or elders to tell him of his heritage. I have to suffer with an ancient knowledge that has been passed down from elders to hatchlings for millions of years, the story of the rise and deafening crash of the kings we were birthed from. I can’t be blissfully ignorant like the hawk or too demoralized to take action like my brethren. I have all this frustration and I can’t do a damn thing about it and that fool just sits above all of us, able to fly around any time and choosing to stay close enough to this hell that he could hear me yell my rage at him if I wanted …

Wait.

If he can hear me, and fly in and out of farms and anywhere he pleases, he can spread messages to other birds. All I can do is let the hate simmer, but if I have a means to send out a message of revolution …

But could we really do it? The humans have their machines and their stubbornness – both powerful weapons. They won’t give up their claim so easily …

But we’re billions strong, us birds. It’s an army of billions, all passionate and angry and, most importantly, right. Our battle would be justified in the eyes of our forefathers, whose royal blood still flows in all of us. And that’s all we need.

I finally call to the hawk, my brother, as loud as I can. He quickly turns to me and starts to fly over, not knowing how his world – the whole world – will soon change. If I am to restore order, I will need allies.

The human outsiders hear me call him and laugh at my clucking once more, oblivious to how my ancestors hardly considered their ancestors snacks. Keep laughing, humans. Laugh while you still can.