VamPullet

VamPullet
VamPullet

To read VamPullet’s reviews, click here

When she’s not laying eggs, VamPullet is reading vampire fiction. Her interest in bloodsuckers began when she was five weeks old, fully-feathered, and big enough to move from her indoor brooder (basically a warm chick playpen) to her proper adult coop, a top-of-the-line Eglu. The Eglu is about as predator-proof as you can get: It has no windows, small (though adequate) vents, and a single door that automatically closes at sundown, sealing the chickens inside an impenetrable plastic vault. From the safety of her coop, VamPullet–who at the time, was known simply as Saul–watched through a slim aperture as raccoons tried and failed throughout the night to gain access to the coop. 

Assured of her security, Saul was preparing to roost, when suddenly she saw a cloud of mist gathering outside of the Eglu. When the smoke cleared, a large black hen stepped forward into the moonlight. Concerned for the safety of a fellow chicken, Saul was about to open the door and welcome her inside, but something wasn’t right: What kind of a crazy hen goes out at night, and why was she wearing a cape? What really gave her pause, though, was the teeth. Have you ever heard the phrase “as rare as hen’s teeth?” It refers to the fact that hens do not have them. Well, according to Saul, this one did. Long, pointy fangs, to be precise. The toothy bird put her glowing red eye to the vent and said, “It’s dangerous out here, what with all the raccoons and stray dogs. Please, little pullet, invite me into the safety of your Eglu.” Saul was mesmerized and about to do what the demon bird asked, when all of the sudden, she heard a voice in her head–call it her instincts or chicken conscience. It told her that, as surely as a visit to Tyson, opening the door would mean death. With all her might, Saul wrenched her eyes away from the hen and, in her loudest voice, refused entry. The caped chicken continued her coaxing but, sensing Saul’s resolve, she finally went away. 

The next morning, Saul collected all of the books she could find and, conducting a Buffy-style research session, made the grim discovery that the nighttime visitor was a vampire hen. On a mission to keep her flock safe, Saul vowed to become an expert on all things vampire and, from that point on, she has been known as VamPullet. To this day, the caped hen still scratches the coop wall, seeking an invitation, but VamPullet has read Salem’s Lot (and seen the movie): If the undead chicken is Danny Glick, VamPullet is Mark Petrie, ready with a cross. 

When I approached VamPullet about contributing to the blog, she agreed to do so on one condition–she would only review vampire fiction. Werewolves, zombies, serial killers–these things pose no threat to the coop, and she is always focused on keeping her skills sharp. For me, it was a no brainer. I agreed to Vampullet’s stipulation and am proud to have her on Tracy’s Terrors.