Life has an odd sense of humor. It sometimes sends professors disguised as poultry and philosophers wrapped in diapers. Recently, I found myself in two classrooms at once. One was in my backyard poultry pen and the other in my living room, courtesy of my 20-month-old daughter. Both experiences left me chewing on wisdom nuggets far meatier than the broilers I was raising and sweeter than the giggles of my little girl.
Lesson One: The Chicken Who Pecked His Way to the Pot
I’ve been raising a set of five broiler chickens for almost three months now. At around eight weeks, they were already hefty enough to make a fine dinner, but I had been too busy to deal with them. My plan? Keep feeding them until I could gradually process them, one drumstick at a time. But fate, or rather, one aggressive hen, had other plans.
Every time I stretched my hand to pour feed, this particular bird would lunge at me with painful pecks, like it had a vendetta against humanity. It was no longer just a chicken; it was Mike Tyson in feathers. That was when I made a snap decision. If you can’t peck peacefully, you’ll get picked first. And so, the feisty fowl sealed its own fate today, inside my wife's pot.
The moral was crystal clear. Violence accelerates your downfall. In nature, and in life, aggression doesn’t make you stronger; it only fast-tracks your expiration date. That chicken thought it was defending its turf, but really, it was volunteering for early processing. I couldn’t help but think of how similar this is in human society. Those who live by aggression often “peck” themselves into premature trouble.
Lesson Two: My Daughter, the Pill Pop-Instructor
On another front, I’ve been wrestling with stomach ulcers. Managing it has been a dance between cautious meals and cautious pills. Recently, I went the extra mile to import an ulcer treatment kit because, let’s face it, fake drugs are a plague where I live. Two days ago, my package finally arrived, and I started taking the meds yesterday.
Here’s where my daughter entered the scene. At just 20 months, she’s my shadow, always eager to mimic my actions. Each time I tore open a sachet and dropped the tablets into my mouth, she burst into uncontrollable laughter, as though Daddy was auditioning for a comedy skit. The pills weren’t just bitter medicine anymore; they had become a playful ritual, an inside joke between us.
Her new hobby? Picking a sachet from the pack and handing it to me, as if to say, “Daddy, time for your happy pills!” Watching her delight in something so routine reminded me of the beauty of childlike simplicity. To her, it wasn’t medicine or sickness; it was just fun. How I wish adulthood still carried that innocent filter, where even bitter tablets could taste like joy.
Feathered Foes and Toddler Truths
So here I am, schooled by both chickens and children in the same week. From the poultry pen: aggression shortens your shelf life. From the playpen: simplicity sweetens your soul.
And perhaps these two lessons aren’t unrelated. Isn’t it true that many of our adult aggressions - our anxieties, our overthinking, our endless need to control - stem from losing that childlike lens? As kids, we laugh at pills. As adults, we stress over prescriptions, counterfeits, and expiry dates. As children, a simple act sparks joy. As grown-ups, we complicate things until joy becomes an endangered species.
Maybe what I really need isn’t just ulcer pills but also a prescription for perspective. To see life as my daughter does; less about pecking battles and more about laughing at the little things.
The Peck of Wisdom
When I finally sat down to reflect, it struck me. My broiler taught me that unchecked aggression gets you served sooner than you think, while my daughter showed me that unchecked innocence can make even the bitter parts of life easier to swallow. One bird lost its life to violence, while one little girl gave me life through laughter.
And so, I’m learning, slowly but surely, that the secret recipe to surviving adulthood may just be part chicken and part child. Because whether it’s ulcers or poultry pens, the universe has a way of seasoning our lives with unexpected lessons. The question is: will we taste the wisdom, or just spit it out?
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