My first mistake was thinking that going to a poultry show was a good idea. My second mistake was going to a poultry show. It was scary and loud. I wanted to make sure you understood how scary and loud it was, so I made a brief video. Make sure to crank the volume up really loud to get the full effect.

Actually is wasn’t that bad. I always find things to amuse myself. Let us begin this story from the beginning.

Little Peddler is my almost-mother-in-law. She was recently contacted by an English magazine called Fancy Fowl to write articles on American poultry stuff. So, she tells me about this show in the northwest part of the state and how it is the first annual one and all of the other people who were supposed to go and take photographs flaked on her and she can’t write the article for Fancy Fowl without photos and since I know my way around a camera better than she does and so on and so on. So, I  being infinitely kind, AKA stupid, agree to shoot the show. I say to myself “It won’t be so bad. Plus, we’ve (note the royal “we”) never been to a poultry show before. It’ll be like an adventure.” That is how my mind tricks itself into doing things like this. It always calls things “adventures”.

So, we head up to the show. This is when the fun begins. The first warning sign, was actually a sign.

This way to fun times.

When you see a sign like this, do not follow it. It can only lead to not fun times. The second warning sign was that there was a very small Renaissance Fair taking place right next door to the poultry show. Nerds and farmers don’t mix. This created an uneasy tension in the chicken folk all day. Keep in mind that we continue to ignore these warnings and continue on to the show. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.

The show was relatively small, but somehow maintained a ruckus of considerable volume. Here is what the show looked like:

Chickens, chickens everywhere, but no barbeque sauce in sight.

We arrived at about 8:30m and the gig was already in full swing. We got set up and I met the judges. They were a lively bunch who, in hindsight, were overly excited about inspecting chickens. If it rocks your butt… well, you know the rest.

The Judges. (from left) Danny "Chicken Sandwich" Padgett, Pat "Headband" Malone, Jim "By the Book" Crain, and Dwayne "Old-timer" Ballard.

What happens next is relatively dull. They hand inspect every bird in the building. This takes about two and a half hours. By this time, I am hungry and tired of the constant drone of squawking and crowing. I am ready to photograph the winners and hit the Sizzler running. This is the point where we discovered a new trend in poultry shows. Since the economy is in the crapper and people can’t afford to travel to a lot of shows, they have started to do “two shows” in one. This means that in the “first show” two of the judges judge the Juniors division and two judges judge the Adult division. After the awards have been issued, the judges switch and judge again, this time judging the other half of the show. Two shows in one. These “shows” are considered separate and therefore your winnings are considered separate and can be claimed separately. Much to my disappointment. So, I am stuck there for about four more hours.

As a person who is easily entertained, I find things to entertain myself. Such as, I noticed, around lunch time, one of the judges, who shall remain nameless, eating a Chick-Fil-A sandwich. I asked him if I could photograph him eating it and he said “Absolutely not. I’d never live it down.” I did manage to snap a photograph of the evidence, though.

Um... guys, we have to tell you to stop eating the Chick-Fil-A. It is making the competitors uneasy.

I also saw the biggest freakin’ chicken in existence. It belonged to a little girl.

Lillian with her rooster Roger. The biggest chicken ever.

No kidding, the thing had to be over three feet tall. I think that if Roger wanted to, he could easily have taken Lillian out. Look at his claws. They are the size of her hands. Scary.

Finally around 3:30pm, Little Peddler had had enough of the waiting around and being hungry business and we split. We stopped off at McDonald’s, not my choice, and I had to eat as many McNuggets as I could to regain the strength that was taken from me by the chicken universe. I opted for the Spicy Mustard instead of the Barbeque Sauce.

I was surprised to see a few ducks there. I had it in my head that it was a chicken show. I forget that poultry just means any bird you can sink your teeth into. After that realization, I wondered where all the pheasant and quail and turkeys and geese and other delicious birds were.

I also walked away with a bit of new terminology. For example, a male chicken under a year old is called a cockerel, whereas a male over a year old is now called a rooster.  A female chicken under a year old is a pullet and a female over a year old is then called a hen.

Overall, the show wasn’t terrible. If you consider standing on a concrete floor for seven hours listening to three hundred plus birds squawk and crow, not eating all day, and the combination of the noise and low blood sugar giving you a screaming migraine that can only be cured by half a gallon of sweet tea and twenty chicken McNuggets and the subsequent coma, a not terrible time.

I survived and got a story out of the deal. What more could I want out of a day that I would have normally spent doing Probability and Statistics homework.

Well, that’s about it for today. Check out the newest addition to the Rogue’s Gallery. It is most excellent. Keep those photos coming. More soon. ~SC