The Chickenhawk

The Chickenhawk

An Anecdotal Short Story

By

Gus A. Miklos

3 May 2025

William “Onion” Blessing was 10 years old when he had his fateful encounter with the chickenhawk. His nickname was “Onion” because he was fair-skinned and freckled, with a mop of red hair that he wore in a spiked flat-top, so he looked like a little upside-down green onion. He was also not the brightest bulb in the Blessing household.

He lived on a nice farm in the Midwest that consisted of the main house, the barn, other assorted buildings, and some pastures. His Dad, George Blessing, ran the farm and raised cattle, along with other types of livestock. Although Onion did his best doing chores around the farm, and of course his father loved him, George didn’t really think much of Onion’s mental abilities. Onion was a good boy, but he was a bit of a dreamer and didn’t always display good judgement or native intelligence.

Onion’s Uncle Jake who lived on his own nearby farm, however, liked the boy and thought he just needed a sense of purpose and responsibility. So, one day, during a conversation with George, and picking up some feed for his own farm, Jake made a proposal.

He said, “I really like little Onion. I’ve got a dozen baby chicks, newly hatched, and I’d like to give them to Onion to raise and take care of. I think he would love that, and it will give him a sense of responsibility.”

“Well, the boy doesn’t have a lot of common sense,” replied George, “but maybe raising some baby chicks would give him some motivation and accountability. So that would be fine. I’m sure he’d try his best.”

“Great,” said Jake, “I’ll drop them by tomorrow.”

The next day, Onion was delighted when Uncle Jake brought over the baby chicks. He promised he would feed, protect, and raise them all by himself. He was so excited to have something meaningful to do that was his very own. After discussing it with his Dad, Onion set up an area in the loft of the Blessing’s barn where he could take care of “his” baby chicks. He set up a small space where the chicks weren’t cooped up, but also couldn’t escape. He was so happy and proud that someone trusted and believed in him. Every day, before he went to school, he would check on his chicks; and then spend hours after school watering, feeding, and cleaning up after them.

It was late Spring on the Blessing farm and Onion had been faithfully looking after his chicks for over two weeks. That’s when the chickenhawk showed up. Like most barns, the loft had an upper door that was used to haul up and store hay bales. And the door was kept open most of the time, especially in the Spring.

One day, Onion was out in the yard and glanced up to see—to his horror—the chickenhawk swoop down into the loft right in with his baby chicks. Onion ran hard, as fast as he possibly could, but when he got to the loft, the chickenhawk was gone and so was one of his baby chicks! Onion was beside himself with fury—this was simply not fair! These were his baby chicks and he promised to protect them.

That night as he lay in bed, he began thinking about how he could capture the chickenhawk. Since it was the weekend, he decided he would stay in the loft around the clock and maintain a constant lookout. If the chickenhawk flew in, he would throw a burlap sack over him before he could steal another one of his precious chicks. Onion maintained his lookout for two days. Then it happened. It was late afternoon, and the sun was sinking when the chickenhawk flew through the loft door looking for another meal—but Onion was ready for him! Before the chickenhawk knew what happened, Onion was on him and had him trapped and tied up inside the burlap sack. At first, Onion said to himself, “That darned chickenhawk! I’m gonna ring his neck, stomp him, and beat him. I’m gonna do something awful to him!” But then he stopped and thought to himself, “I’m mad now, but I’ll be even madder in the morning. I need to think about this.” So, he locked the chickenhawk securely in a slated wooden crate up in the loft.

That night he laid in his bed thinking very hard about what awful way he could bring about the demise of the chickenhawk. Then it came to him. He began to develop an ingenious, devious plan; and he began to plot it out

The barn loft contained a lot of miscellaneous items: tools, implements, hay bales, twine—and one case of dynamite. Mr. Blessing used the sticks of dynamite to blast tree stumps. So, Onion took one stick of dynamite, some matches, one piece of baling twine. Then, he reached into the sack and pulled free one of the chickenhawk’s legs and securely attached the dynamite to the chickenhawk. Next, chuckling to himself about his resourceful and creative plan, he went outside. He pulled the chickenhawk free, lit the dynamite, and launched the chickenhawk into the sky.

The chickenhawk, suddenly freed, swooped up, up, up into the sky. At that point, the chickenhawk must have reasoned thusly: “If I’m gonna die, I’m taking somebody with me!” The chickenhawk then turned his course, banked sharply and flew straight back down—directly toward Onion—who proceeded to run for his mortal life. Once he made it back safely into the house, Onion poked his head out the window and observed.

The fuse was still burning when the chickenhawk then changed his course again—and flew straight into the open loft—with the baby chicks— it took three weeks to replace the roof on the Blessing’s barn.

And George Blessing looked dismally at his son.

“Idiot,” he said, “The things you do come back to you, as if they knew the way.”