It was a momentous Wednesday night at the Brown household. You see, for the past five months, a small group of plucky progressives have been living behind our house. No, it was not a part of the Occupy Lincoln’s Yard Movement.
We have been raising chickens, and in the months since March, they have been have proven to be decidedly left wing.
They have been the very model of Democratic social policy- content to stroll around in their pen when they weren‘t sleeping.
We dutifully watered and fed them, cleaned their habitat and even read up on the proper ways to entertain them. Chickens it would seem get bored and require mirrors, balls and other contrivances to stimulate their intellect.
They didn’t do much except take up space that I could have converted into something useful like a putting green.
They did however squawk whenever we came near demanding lettuce leaves from the garden, meal worms and leftovers.
In fact, one day as I was weeding the garden and I said “Okay you little Democrats, who wants a treat?”
Presto- there were four little beaks pressed against the fence. Despite being given feed and fresh water twice a day, their demand for extra goodies got to the point that we could not enter their pen without being assaulted by these birds, who would cluck, peck and even flap their wings as menacingly as a chicken can.
I should have seen it coming when I found a copy of “Rules For Radicals” under their feed dish.
My fears that we were raising Alinsky chickens were allayed somewhat on Wednesday when my wife came in the house proudly carrying three eggs.
It was a Kodak Moment indeed.
Our chickens had matured to the point that they were no longer a drain on our finances, they were contributing something to the household.
Okay it was only three eggs, but it’s a start and they were pretty tasty.
I wouldn’t say they have gone conservative but at least they have jobs.
No longer are they simply demanding tribute by virtue of their existence, they are giving something back despite that fact they are still dependent on us. I had to build them a coop, and secure their pen from the various birds of prey and four legged predators that roam our part of the country.
They have no idea how to find food, water or shelter on their own, and if we did grant them their freedom, they would be coyote casserole by sundown.
My fear is that the nation is well on its way to creating a generation of Americans who will resemble our chickens.
When Steny Hoyer defends food stamps and unemployment as two of the most stimulating things that can be done for the economy; when the President by executive order nullifies welfare reform, when HHS suggests people hold food stamp parties complete with food stamp quiz games and bingo and even flies ad campaigns based on Spanish language soap operas to recruit more benefit users, we are creating a generation of chickens.
Don’t get me wrong, I am glad for the eggs but let’s face it, our chickens wouldn’t last the day without my wife and I.
Should something happen to us no one would feed or water those chickens, and they would eventually die without someone to manage their lives.
Right now some progressive is muttering under his breath that I am a horrible person to make such a comparison, as people are not chickens.
And I took enough biology in high school to recognize that. But my contention is that a sector of the American populace is being treated like chickens and conditioned to base their existence on someone else’s largesse.
And when the money finally does run out, they will have no way to feed, clothe or house themselves having lived their lives in the pen of Big Government.
Worse yet for these citizens, as my wife and I are the arbiters of our chickens fate, so shall government determine the course of the lives of those whom it has placed in its coop.
In the meantime, we’re having omelets for brunch on Sunday. Do drop by, we’re making Mimosas.