In rural areas, it's common to slaughter pigs and sheep for the Lunar New Year, and meat products are usually stocked up. Growing up in the countryside, I remember this vividly.
Last year, when we slaughtered a chicken, we usually discarded the intestines. After killing the chicken, we'd just toss them on the ground. As soon as the intestines were on the ground, a dozen or so chickens rushed over and fought fiercely, none willing to give way. My eight-year-old nephew asked, "Why do chickens even eat their own kind?" I said, "Chickens are heartless creatures, even worse than pigs and dogs. You can try taking a piece of pork from home, throwing it in the pig trough, and then piling bran all over it. You'll see the pigs definitely won't eat the bran."
My nephew ran away quickly after hearing this, while I continued watching the chickens. Just as the chickens were fighting fiercely, a dog ran over—our dog, a three-month-old puppy. The puppy circled the chickens a few times, but the chickens didn't notice and continued fighting. The dog just watched them without approaching. One chicken seemed to notice the dog's presence, glanced at it, and then quickly retreated. The other chickens noticed this action and saw the dog at the same time; they all did the same. The dog took another step forward, and the chickens scattered, leaving only their ripped intestines.
A few minutes later, my nephew ran over shouting, "Uncle, it really is exactly as you said!" I smiled but didn't say anything. My nephew asked again, "Where did those chickens go?" I told him they were scared away by this dog. My nephew looked surprised and said, "Such a small dog can scare away a whole flock of chickens?" I shook my head and smiled wryly, "That's true."
In the afternoon, my nephew rushed over, holding a map, and said to me, "Uncle, our country looks like those chickens." I said solemnly, "It's not just the appearance; it's even more like them in their essence."
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