Chapter Text
The Uchiha Clan had kept chickens since time immemorial. Existing downwind of the Uchiha Clan had always been a pungent experience, though throughout the ages not a single Uchiha ever believed anyone else about just how bad the smell could be. It had even been a serious point of contention during the founding of Konoha. Hashirama had been willing to accept Madara’s cultural heritage as part of the new village, but had to insist that certain measures be taken to minimize its impact on the rest of the village’s inhabitants.
Despite the smell that setteled over the village on hot, windless days, the Uchiha had their good points. They had a disturbing tendency to hover over you like a broody mother hen, which was terribly smothering in some instances and terribly frightening if you were a hostile Iwa-nin trying to finish off an Uchiha’s teammate in the midst of battle. They were flighty, twitchy people as a clan, prone to anxiety, which meant their eyes always spotted trouble first, whether in accounting rolls or on the battlefield. So now that Hashirama had finally managed to make it through Madara’s thick head that maybe not murdering each other all the time was a reasonable plan, the residents of the newly founded village decided they would just have to get used to the smell.
And besides, all that chicken poo made for great fertilizer.
Fugaku Uchiha resented, a little, the presupposition that Uchiha took up the traits of their clan animal.
Nobody accused the Nara of acting like deer. Nor did anyone ever claim the Aburame were particulary insect like. And the Inuzuka were not referred to as “the dog clan”, at least not within reasonable company. Only the Uchiha were regularly described as “overbearing mother hens” and only the Uchiha clan taijutsu was nicknamed “chicken style” by other ninja.
The favorable comparison to fire-breathing phoenixes, Fugaku was fine with. He did rather enjoy the idea of bringing the flames of justice on wings of fire. Or something.
He sighed and squatted down to feed Kin a handful of seeds. His old, ill-tempered rooster made an appreciative noise and began to peck at the seeds.
Kin was something like thirty years old and had hatched when Fugaku had reached genin. The Uchiha breed of chicken lived some fifty-odd years, usually, tended to be quite a bit larger than the average chicken, and universally seemed to have a mean streak that never quite seemed to leave the bloodline. Some people kept geese to ward off intruders -- Uchiha never had this problem. Uchiha chickens were perfectly able and willing to rip out your eyes if they decided you were unwelcome. Kin was a blooded warrior, even, having been out on campaign with Fugaku when they had been attacked by an Iwa assassination squad. Kin’s spurs had made bloody work of one of the enemy ninja while Fugaku had finished off the other three.
That said, Kin also stayed home after that. Fugaku had no interest in risking his life again.
“Ah, well, let them call us the chicken clan,” Fugaku sighed as Kin considered a sunflower seed. “I suppose there’s no getting around it when you’re so important to us, right Kin?”
Kin popped open the sunflower seed and swallowed the kernel, before cocking an eye up at Fugaku. He bukked loudly.
“Indeed,” Fugaku said, nodding. “Chickens are indeed the best.”