July 31, 2014 – Mom was cleaning our coops today before the rain moved in. We were in our run, but Bo was out securing the perimeter as he is commanded to do by his official post within the animal kingdom. It’s been awhile since he has visited with any of the ladies, if you know what I mean. He mostly likes to keep company with the Orpingtons in Coop #1, since he himself is of that very culture, but there are not enough of them to keep up with his raging libido. That’s why Mom has limited his visitation time. If we’re not ranging, he is. He makes his rounds around the outside of the chicken yard and every now and again takes a few minutes to visit with the ducks. Now that the Silkie bantams have their condominium, he patrols their neighborhood as well.
Today must have been tough for Bo. He kept trying to get in to Coop #1 while Mom was cleaning it. Good thing for him that they get along so well. She just shooed him away. But Bo was persistent and kept returning, trying to find a spot around Mom to get into the coop.
At one point, I called over to her.
“Do you need any help? We can invite Bo over to Coop #3 for tea if you need a few minutes to finish cleaning the henhouse.”
Mom thanked me but said it was alright. She was almost done.
“Bo’s just looking to get lucky,” she laughed.
“Lucky…?” Sawyer repeated stepping up to the fence. “There’s no one in Coop #1 by that name.”
“You’re right, there’s not,” I said shaking my head. “I saw Mom’s poultry records once. We had a wisp of a thing years ago that went by the name Lucky, but she passed on to the great henhouse in the sky before we were even hatched; poor thing.”
“Sounds like Lucky wasn’t very lucky,” Sawyer said thoughtfully.
“Oh my goodness!” I blurted, catching Sawyer by surprise. “That’s it! What if Bo’s trying to connect with Lucky? What if he’s on a search to find her? Maybe when she was alive she lived in Coop #1. I think we need a séance. I’ll get my crystal ball and bandana!”
“Don’t forget the hoop earring!” Sawyer called after me. “I’ll plug in your psychic reading sign and let the flock know you’re open for business!”
Ten minutes later I was sitting behind an empty wine barrel fully decked out in my psychic garb. Sawyer had draped a deep blue cloth over the top of the barrel on top of which I gently placed the crystal ball. Normally, I read tea leaves, but connecting with a chicken that has passed on…? This required a more powerful medium.
When I felt that I was good to go, Sawyer invited Bo over for a personal reading with me. I think he thought I wanted something different. I thanked him for the twig he handed me that had four unpicked blueberries dangling from it and the bottle of moonshine that he placed at my feet.
He didn’t understand what we were doing, but I didn’t need him to. I just needed him to sit in front of me with his wings upturned next to the crystal ball while I called forward the spirit of the tiny barred rock.
“Close your eyes,” I said to him, “and picture us getting Lucky.”
I thought we were engaging in a serious spiritualistic session, but Bo kept chuckling. Sawyer looked at me perplexed and we both shrugged our shoulders. I continued trying to channel the hen that once was.
“LUCKY… can you hear me? Are you with us? If you are, please send us a sign.”
Now, Bo was the one with the confused expression. I shot him a look to be more serious, and he quickly closed his eyes again.
“Don’t be afraid, hen of bygone days. We mean you no harm. Send us a sign that you are with us…”
The room became chilly, undoubtedly filled with the spirit of the dearly departed chicken.
I was about to ask Lucky another question, when at that exact moment, Wilma dropped a book from her spot on the roost which landed on the floor with a deafening thud. You should have seen Bo hightail it out of his seat! He tore out of Coop #3 before I had a chance to give him his complementary comb – something that all of my customers receive.
Wilma couldn’t stop laughing. Sawyer called after Bo.
“Where are you going?” she yelled from the doorway.
“I don’t need to get lucky that badly!” he answered without breaking stride. He spent the rest of the day under the smelly bush reading a motorcycle magazine.
“WILMA!” I chastised. “That was not nice. Now we may never hear from Lucky.”
“Did you ever think that maybe Lucky doesn’t want to speak with you? I haven’t seen any sign from her since you wrapped that silly bandana around your head.”
Just then, a clap of thunder grabbed the ground and shook it like a rag doll until it relinquished power. Wilma screamed and had to use her wings to steady herself.
I tossed her one of my raised eyebrow looks. She huffed out the door.
“That’ll teach her,” laughed Sawyer.
“Do you think the thunder was Lucky trying to channel us?” I asked.
A butterfly flew in through the window and perched itself on the roost in the exact spot that seconds ago Wilma had so ceremoniously vacated.
“I’d like to think this is her,” she said looking at the magnificent insect.
We watched her leave through the same window and flutter over to Bo. She landed in the middle of his magazine. We were too far away to hear the conversation between them, but we watched Bo throw his head back in laughter. Whatever the butterfly said, Bo sure looked like he was the luckiest rooster in the world.
I kept the psychic studio open for another hour completing a handful of readings to satisfied customers. I can tell they were happy, because they were all using their new plastic combs.