I am a member of several backyard chicken groups on Facebook. It mostly scroll just for fun but there are times where I learn quite a bit about backyard chicken owners, consumers, and yes, even chickens. I ran across this poem for Christmas from a backyard poultry contributor, and I thought it was too good not to share with my fellow poultry peeps on Meatingplace. Enjoy!!!

’Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the henhouse, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse in the feed bags;

The stockings were hung by the window with care, in hopes that some fresh corn soon would be there;

And Ginny the goose was nestled all snug in her bed, while visions of earthworms danced in her head;

And my dog in her ‘kerchief, and I in my lack-of-a-cap, had just settled down for a long winter’s hibernation;

When out in the meadow there arose such a clatter, the rooster sprang from his roost to see what was the matter;

Away to the windows he flew like a flash, but he forgot he could not get through the window and hit it and went smash;

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, gave the lustre of shivering to the moulting hen in the barn below;

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny caribou,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick;

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

“Now, Delaware! now, Dominique! now, Dorking and d’Uccles! On, Gauloise! on Houdan! on, Jaerhoen and Pickles!

[What? you try finding a better rhyme for d’Uccles]

To the top of the coop! To the top of the barn! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”

As dry leaves that before the wild twister fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the barn-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too;

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little moose;

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, down the chimney—hold on—why is there a chimney in the chicken coop?

St. Nicholas came with a bound;

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with bedding and poop;

A bundle of corn he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack;

His eyes how they twinkled! His dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a berry!

And a snippy little hen decided he looked like a prospective meal, she flew up and pecked at his face, so he caged her up so he could go about his business;

He had a broad face and a little round tummy, it shook when he laughed like a bagful of nummy;

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; {ahem}

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know that ducks shouldn’t eat bread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filled all the hoppers then turned with a jerk;

To that mean little cockerel he gave only coal, a lump that was dull and boring and cold;

And laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, out the coop door he went;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, away they all flew like the down of a hatchling;

But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, “Merry chickens for all, and to all a good night!”

A Christmas for chickens

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