The Four Chickens of the Asquawkalypse
A comedy adventure about Fools Goldie Chicken, a typical backyard hen in the midst of an existential crisis.
Packed with humour, daring escapes, and wildly inventive tech, The Four Chickens of the Asquawkalypse follows Fools Goldie as she struggles with the philosophical and spiritual problems that face chickenkind. With the help of a poultry punk rock band, she and her flock embark on a daring gambit to harness the most magical energy in the universe (190-proof mined and refined unicorn ore) and to use it to fix the pottery kiln of the People who live next door.
Set in a world of bus-driving shrews, physicist hens, and rockstar roosters, Fools Goldie and her flock of relatable characters set to fantastic tasks as they outwit predators and search for meaning in an absurd reality not much different than our own.
(From the back cover)
Why did the chicken have an existential crisis? Yeah, I know. Is it a joke or a philosophical problem? That’s what I’m wondering too.
I’m Fools Goldie Chicken, and this is the story of the asquawkalyptic summer my perfect backyard life turned upside down.
All I ever wanted was to eat bugs, lay eggs, and poop, but life is like a big pot of soup some idiot keeps stirring with a spoon. The world is a hungry place, and chicken goes great with everything. And I mean everything. Coyotes, raccoons, skunks, hawks, unicorns, bears, kilns, shrews, wolves, dynamite, and People.
Oh, the People. Don’t get me started on the stupid People.
It all got stirred together, like absurdist soup, and I was the main ingredient.
I saw things no chicken should ever have to see. I learned more about poultry punk rock than I even want to know. And electric kiln repair. And the Dewey Decimal System. And quantum physics!
Some mornings you just don’t want to get off the roost. You want to turn around on the perch, fluff up your feathers, and go back to sleep. This was a summer of those mornings.
But sometimes you can’t go back to sleep. Sometimes you have to drag yourself off the roost and do what needs doing before the lid’s slammed down on your soup pot for good.
My wife and I live on the east shore of British Columbia's Kootenay Lake. Here, we spend our days making pottery in our home manufactory and tending our small flock of backyard chickens. Though our Little Dog has gone to Doggie Valhalla, we still share our Peoplehouse with a cat and an African grey parrot. Alas, we have no unicorns.