It’s been a month since I started living on a nameless mountain.
My name is Shouhei Sano. I’m twenty-five, single, and not looking for a girlfriend or to get married.
It’s incredible how much the grass is growing now that it’s getting warm. Share some of that energy with me please.
Let’s get right into it and fight the growing weeds.
I bring out my electric mower, and start cutting around the house.
…I feel like it never ends, no matter how much I mow. But the chickens eat it too, so it’s worth it.
I’ve also started planting vegetables. After pulling the weeds from what was a field, I tilled it, and sowed seeds. They’d be eaten by bugs if I just left them there, but I saw an idol make an organic pesticide on a TV show, so I tried making it too. I was so hyped when I was making it that I scared the chickens. Sorry.
Speaking of them, the three colored chicks I bought have gotten their plumage, and have grown into proper chickens.
But they’re kind of big. Were chickens always this big?
Looking it up on the internet shows me big chickens called brahma, but they’re not cute things like those. It’s only been a month, but mine have already grown past fifty centimeters. I measured them yesterday.
I’ve read that they don’t become adults in a month, but Pochi’s crest is already looking good.
How old were they when I bought them? I asked when I went shopping in the village, and I was told they’re generally sold within a week after being born.
If they were a week old when I bought them, that means they’re five weeks old now. Broilers are typically shipped for meat when they’re about seven weeks old, but apparently the ones that end up sold in festivals are males that wouldn’t be sellable otherwise.
A middle-aged man in the village said he’d help me when I eventually killed them for food, but I politely declined. These are my dear partners. I’m hoping to live with them for the duration of their life spans.
Pochi has a nice crest and crows a lot, so I can tell it’s a male, but Tama and Yuma seem like females. I don’t hear them crow at all, even though they made sounds when I was making the organic pesticide.
There’s something else I don’t get about my chickens.
“…The grass really is full of vigor. Give me a break. Ahh, I’ve had enough…”
“…Hadenough.”
“Hadenough.”
“Hadenough.”
What are you, parrots? I’ve never heard of chickens talking.
“What’s with this…”
“…What’swiththis.”
“What’swiththis.”
“What’swiththis.”
It’s like a Buddhist prayer.
And then, Tama suddenly moves out.
“Uoh!? What?”
It brings a snake on its beak. A small one known as a pit viper.
“Uooh… That’s incredible Tama. Hold on.”
I say before going inside to get a plastic bottle.
I carefully take the snake from Tama, hold its head, and slide it into the bottle. It was that middle-aged man in the village who taught me how to do this. I need to be careful about it peeking its head out once most of the body is in too. (Don’t try this at home.)
“Thanks Tama.”
I thank Tama, and it raises its head proudly.
Wouldn’t normal chickens lose to a snake?
Then Yuma spreads its wings and runs to the back of the house, and comes back with a pit viper too. There are so many around here. That’s so dangerous.
“You caught one too Yuma? Thanks. You can all eat it.”
I say, and the three chickens go at it. The idea of chickens that prey on pit vipers is scary. Wait, they really understand what I say, don’t they?
I’m tired, so I punch a couple of holes into the bottle, and go inside.
That’s how my life has been going lately.
