The Leghorn and the Fox
Luke 13: 31b-32 “Herod wants to kill you.” (Jesus) said to them, “Go tell that fox…”
13:34b, “How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood…”
One sunny winter day I was skiing beside Apple River that runs through the pasture on the farm where I grew up in Wisconsin. I spotted a fox trotting across the glistening snow. Though I froze in place hoping not to spook the animal, it nevertheless spied me and loped off into the distance.
The Leghorn and the Red Fox
As I was skiing beside Apple River in the pasture below the barnyard a fox came running from the hen house. I knew the devastation it had wreaked. Chickens in panic and tumult, had tried to escape the leaping canine. But, alas, the fox’s canines clenched hold of a poultry’ prey. The survivors huddled on their roosts. Feathers lay scattered. Feed went uneaten. Eggs were not laid. Worse, the red devil would be back, again and again.
Then I saw a strange sight. A leghorn followed the fox’s tracks. I shouted, “Hey, you stupid chicken, what do you think you’re doing?” I thawed from my spot and raced to cut off the leghorn from its futile and fatal chase. However, it dodged my pointed skis and flailing poles. With urgency, the white hen scurried across the sparkling landscape. She paid no attention to the freezing cold, nor halted to peck at a seed by the way. The foolish bird cast neither an eye skyward toward a circling hawk, nor was alert for the whooshing owl. With single-minded purpose it pressed its pursuit of the red fox.
Trailing far behind, I finally reached the fox’s lair. I beheld a disheartening scene at the mouth of the den. White feathers stained crimson in the hen’s own blood, lay about the entrance. Scarlet blotches speckled the snow. A bloody smear in the snow testified to the torn flesh and battered body that the fox had dragged into its home. I turned my skis around and backtracked across the now well-packed snow. Stupid chicken.
Three days later, I was pushing a wheelbarrow full of cow manure out the barn door, when I saw a sight beyond my understanding. The leghorn was picking its way back along the trail, now blown over with drifting snow. Its feathers were disheveled and bloody. Its body was scarred. Its head showed signs of the battering it absorbed. Yet, the leghorn lived.
I abandoned my barn cleaning and put on my skis. Across the white snow I glided to the fox’s den. There lay the body of the red fox. Its blood mixed with that of the hen drenched the snow. Its body as cold as its frozen grave. I rejoiced at the sight. The hens were safe. The enemy defeated. I could not explain how a harmless chicken could kill a fox. Yet, when I returned and looked in the chicken coop, calmness reigned.
I wondered, is it really true that the weak could be strong? Could it be that the mighty would not always rule? Could a chicken kill a fox? If that were possible, then all things are possible.
The Collect of the Day
O God, You see that of ourselves we have no strength. By Your mighty power defend us from all adversities that may happen to the body and from all evil thought that may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ, Your Son, our Lord, who lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, one God now and forever.
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