Hens and Chicks

I am looking out my window on a rainy afternoon.   A hen and her five chicks are pecking around under the bird feeder just 15 feet from where I now sit.

They have escaped.  They came from the yard two houses over where the neighbors I have not met (nor want to) breed fighting cocks.  They found a hole in the piecemeal fence, stepped through the tall grass and thistles, and moved their head-thrusts in the direction of freedom.

No set meal time out there.  No food source readily available.  No protection from everything the world might bring.  No fence to shelter.  No fence to restrict.

I can almost see the rooster, flaming red coxcomb wobbling with each crow as he protests their departure.  Who said chickens can’t fly?

I suddenly think of the women and children of the FLDS, and I stand up abruptly.  Must go fill the feeders.  And sprinkle a little on the ground.

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