August 15, 2014 – Mom came to see us today. A couple of her friends from town are stopping by in the morning to talk about backyard chicken keeping. In other words, someone wants to know how to have a brilliant flock of feathered finery just like our gang.
Mom reminded us to be on our best behavior – “No pecking, no playing “I’ve got the worm!” in the path of human pedestrians, and certainly, no speaking human or driving the truck, van or Vespa while our company is here.”
“I hear you, Mom,” I said. “We don’t want another reaction like the one we keep getting from Eunice the Librarian.”
“That’s right,” Peaches added. “Not everyone can handle how cultured and refined we are.”
“We’ve been around since the dinosaurs,” Wilma spat just before she pulled a stray pine shaving from her fluffy bits. “Of course we’re refined!”
“Still,” Mom instructed, “Happy’s right. Not everyone can handle independently minded poultry with a penchant for hootenannies and baseball. Please do me a favor and for the short time they’re here, speak and act like barnyard chickens?”
“So in other words,” drawled Wilma, “You want us to dumb it down.”
“Think of it as acting” said Mom smiling.
“Oh…I have a great idea!” I blurted. “Do you think our guests would be interested in beer samples from The Happy Chicken Brewing Company?”
The other hens thought it was a splendid idea.
“I’ll dress up as a waiter!” Tim offered willingly. “I will also,” Bo submitted, “though I will be the HEAD waiter.”
“Guys – thank you for being so hospitable. I appreciate your willingness to be welcoming, I really do. But for tomorrow only, I need you to pretend that you’re everyday chickens instead of the fabulously talented and joyfully minded souls that you are. Will you do that for me? “
We took a 2-minute huddle before turning back around and addressing Mom.
“We agree, Mom. No worries here. After all, it would be a terrible thing to set false expectations. Not every flock can be as magnificent as ours.”
“That’s the spirit!” Mom exclaimed, high winging each of us. “As a thank you, we will do something special this weekend.”
“LOBSTER AT THE BEACH!!!” we replied in unison.
“We’ll see,” Mom laughed. “I was thinking more along the lines of a mealworm pizza.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon sprucing up our coops and goading Wilma into taking a much-needed dirt bath. Why is it that she can’t smell her own stink?