Fowl attitudes

When I pouted and complained about not having a dog and whined about wanting a dog and repeating that I was the only kid in my class without a pet my mom would say,"What about the chickens?" The chickens belonged to my Grandparents, well, actually, they were my Grandfather's pride and joy. He loved his chickens and would call and tell us when chicks hatched and of all their little adventures. When we'd visit them, just five minutes away from our home, my brother and I would immediately race to the backyard to see the chickens and maybe see what wild animal was caught in the live trap he had near the coop.

But they were not my chickens in my yard. I didn't name them, they didn't sleep with me and I couldn't hold and cuddle them as I watched tv. When it was St Francis' Day and we had the blessing of the pets at Sacred Heart Academy my Grandfather would be waiting in the school yard all smiles with a cage of chickens. My brother and I would be so embrassed to have the only chickens among dogs, crated cats, parrots, gerbils, mice, rats and fish. "CHICKENS! hahahah  (point) look it's CHIIIIIIIIIIIICKENS! Who brought the CHIIIIIIIIIIIICKENS, that's funny!" I would try to muster up the type of courage needed in this sort of juvenile situation. That sort of precocious courage one needs if one wants to be a true individual. It is hard to find when you are only eight years old. But I loved Gran-Po' and we wanted to make him happy and we did love the chickens who  needed all sorts of protection so we asked St.Francis to protect the chickens.

Just this year I found myself in the church parking lot with three Silkies. I carried them through the church and to the patio where children pointed and chuckled and yelled,"Look, CHIIIIIIIIIIIICKENS!" Their parents turned and laughed, all the adults with their dogs and cats and birds, fish, rodents...all turned and stared and smiled, laughed, pointed.  Then they approached me and started asking questions." What sort of  chicken is that?"