One of the chickens loves me. Like “Lassie, Come Home,” loves me. If I were to fall in a well, she would totally find a way to save me.
I know this because whenever I go into the chicken yard, she comes over and stands next to me until I pet her. No lie. I try not to do it because, you know, the neighbors. They think things.
Actually, my neighbors think things like, hmmm, I wonder if Susan is going to bring us fresh eggs now that she has more chickens. They also may think it's marvelous when we don't clean up our yard, because it makes them look better. For all anyone knows, there's a crack house on down the block. Really, who would notice a crack house when there's US? Us with our chickens and our home brew diesel still, hidden in the stump of the old tree....
Not really, but there's still time for that.
Anyway, I have a pet chicken. A friend of mine told me to break it off with the chicken. It's not a good idea, he says, to have them as pets. Because of the children, don't you know, and the inevitable heartbreak.
Which is hilarious.
In spite of all Sugarplum's sugarplumness, she will totally rock bio lab. And physics. If a hawk were to fly off with one of our chickens she would say “oh no!” and then she'd start puzzling over the torque and velocity required to lift a well-fed chicken into the air. And then she'd explain to me what torque is.
She takes good care of our chickens, but she realizes that hawks and foxes are taking care of their families, too. In bio lab, she will probably like looking at the insides of a pickled frog, lest she ever be in the position to stop a frog from choking.
When I was little, my dad ran over a chipmunk with the lawnmower. Not on purpose. He didn't even know he had done it. I found the bits and went on a Don't Ever Mow the Lawn Again rampage.
What I am trying to say here is that I am not a rational human being.
Spending so much time away from my family is making me even less rational. I know it sounds co-dependent, but I really like it when Sugarplum tells me everything's fine. I like it when Chris sits there doing something completely unrelated to my problem, and then says the exact perfect thing I need to know. And Studley is just Studley and I miss his Studleyness.
I also miss my pet chicken. But perhaps it's best this way.