The Funny Farm: From Chickens To Crickets

I’ve collaborated with dozens of folks over the last almost five years; some chicken keepers, others not. We’ve done health case studies, profiles of those with chickens or who incorporate poultry into their art. Then there are the folks that are able to spin a funny tale about the ups and downs of keeping chickens. One such talent is Rhonda. She’s been a contributor over the last couple of years and every time I read her work she makes me laugh. If we lived closer we’d be Saturday coffee buddies. Sadly, we don’t; so I, like you, will have to settle for reading her stories right here.

So I’ve spent the last two hours and twenty minutes lying in bed sick to my stomach thinking on what my Aunt Dianna posted. I’m afraid things are going to get to the point where they’re going to be used in everything. I mean where do they get these edible crickets? Are they snatched out of the mouth of Little Johnny’s bearded dragon right before you’d hear him go ‘crunch’ or rushed to be served up on fine china at three-star Michelin restaurants while they are still at the pinnacle of freshness?! Will there be white meat and dark meat choices? What wines pair well? How do you filet one of those things? And I’m not even going to ask how they make the au jus for it!

Or are there thousands of acres of consumable cricket rainforest or even bushland Down Under being hunted by old rugged Aussie blokes who call themselves Cricketdile Dundee and carry a large knife for hunting? I got news for you Buck-O; a knife isn’t used to collect crickets no matter how big it is! But, on the other hand, maybe they’ve used their extensive Australian Covid lockdown to become experts at hunting edible crickets with a knife. Or maybe it’s something they mastered way back when the first prisoners were dropped off and the continent became a penal colony and the criminals had to eat what they could find to survive in the wild? I mean, do we really know what goes into a Vegemite sandwich?

Or, will Farmer Hoggett begin sending Babe out to round up these bugs now? Will there be cricket-herding competitions? Can a pig learn to speak their language in time? Do they even sell binoculars strong enough to see them from the stands at Wal-Mart or Target? (Don’t judge. I have gift cards I need to use.) Can I sit next to Mrs. Hoggett? And did anyone stop to think that Babe has four feet? That many feet make him twice as likely to step on twice as many of them and crush double our food supply as, say, a two-footed chicken. Oh, wait: two feet, a beak, feathers stowaway crickets making a break for it can hide in, a brain the size of an acorn, and a crop which can somewhat safely be filled with anything, and I mean anything. Eh, scratch the edible cricket herding competitions.

Are we going to have to change the words to Old MacDonald Had A Farm?

Old MacDonald had a farm

E-I-E-I-O

And on that farm he had a cricket

E-I-E-I-O

With a ….

What sound are we supposed to make here?! And how are we supposed to teach our one-year olds to make it? They can’t even walk well yet and now we’re going to have to try to get them to make a cricket sound by rubbing their legs together just so they can sing along? Just imagine a whole classroom of Pre-K students standing on a stage at parent night singing Old Macdonald: falling, crashing tiny Pre-Kers colliding into each other left and right with broken limbs and concussions everywhere! Can our nation’s emergency rooms even handle that kind of global catastrophe with the kids practicing daily throughout late spring at the end of the school year in every town all across the USA?

I give up. This world has gone to hell in a hand basket.

But before I pay out my husband’s hard earned money to serve my family bugs I’ll eat my pet chickens! And they’re like family!

I mean on second thought I do love my chickens and tacos are crunchy so Taco Tuesdays might work.

But really, why change things? At least every toddler already knows the “bock – bock” sound is what a chicken makes. Some can even flap their arms too. My little one-year-old grandson just got his very own Chicken Dance Elmo, so he’s on his way. Please don’t make him have to learn to make cricket noises to sing one of his favorite songs for his mom and dad. If you do I’ll need advance notice so I can rush out to buy stock in the companies who make bubble wrap.

Hey, what can I say? You knew I’d find a way to bring this full circle back to chickens and family, and I did it not once, but twice, this time.

Please don’t put bugs in our food chain.

You’re not going to believe this. My family is sitting around me now discussing what chicken we are going to eat for dinner. Not WHICH chicken. Not one of ours, but what fast food chicken we are having for dinner. The feathered fun never ends!