I nearly died yesterday.

Now that the adrenaline has died down, and my hands have stopped shaking, I can finally tell you my story.

It was a giant dinosaur.

It was a rabid wolf.

It was a screaming freight train.

Fine, it was a broody hen.

You happy now?

Death-by-hen, while extremely cool-looking on a headstone, is a terrible way to go.

Compounding the problem is the simple fact that I was heading off not one hen, but two. Yes, we have two co-mamas sharing a litter(?) of six chickies. Three chicks were naturally hatched and three incubator-hatched chicks were introduced to the Hens-of-Death (HOD) in a daring 3 a.m. ninja chicken raid.

The past 21 days while the HOD’s were brooding their nest, and even in the day after the little hatchlings hatched, they were content to play a game of strict defense. Puff up. Growl a bit. Hunker down and protect the chicklets.

Maybe it was adding to the team ranks. Maybe it was rabid dinosaur wolf DNA infused into the incubator chicks during incubation. Whatever it was, the game play of the HOD’s switched from defense to take-no-prisoners-burn-the-thatched-roofs-and-rip-out-their-faces offense.

I assure you that there was much flapping, and thrashing, and screeching, and the HOD’s were also making a fair bit of commotion too.

Oh sure, you can laugh now. But I can assure you, if you ever face the wrath of the HOD you will be screaming, flailing, and doing whatever it takes to survive too.

Just be sure to stay away from the edges of the broody area.

Here, there be dragons.