The Feral Chook Poem by Ted Middleton

The Feral Chook

When he first came to the homestead
Ruffled up and battle scarred
He eyed me off - one at a time
From a distance - long and hard
He had the shortest neck I'd seen
He'd learned not to stick it out
It was clear he'd faced some hurdles
In the bush and this long drought
I had no hens to call him in
So I guess he saw the calm
As he swapped the battle of the bush
For the quiet of the farm
As months went by our distance closed
And he followed me everywhere
Without a sound and no demands
I could turn and he'd be there
I didn't see that big King Brown
That was underneath the tree
And I wondered why my feral mate
Flew close and then past me
He grabbed the neck of that huge Joe Blake
And the feathers fairly flew
They writhed and wrestled back and forth
There was little I could do
The snake retreated, his battle lost
And my feral mate had won
But the effort and his age combined
It was clear his race was run
I buried him beneath that tree
Where I often go to look
In my mind I see him standing there
My mate - the feral chook