CHICKEN [CONFIDENTIAL]
nagging suspicions, but they also have these wonderful eggs, and that eases the pain. What about the neighbors? Surely they know what’s going on. Don’t they tell? The short answer is “no,” again. The five hens are prolific enough to provide for the family and have eggs to spare, and the family is both generous and smart. I don’t want to call it bribery, this method for keeping the neighbors happy with their regular supply of fresh eggs, but it certainly keeps them quiet—and happy. Co-conspirators, as it were. John and Mary are so nice and so enthusiastic about this illegal activity of theirs, I begin to relax. So, I think at one point, this is how it happens; you are an upright citizen, and pretty soon you’re lured into this dark underworld and you become a part of it. Only in this case, the underworld isn’t really that dark; it’s more like just shady, since the backyard has so many trees, and it’s not really an underworld but more like an upscale neighborhood…but whatever. It’s still illegal. “So, these hens must be pretty good fried up,” I say, half joking, but I am stopped dead in my tracks by a horrified look from Mary. John rushes in to fill the uncomfortable silence. “These are more than just hens in the backyard,” he says. “These are pets. Two of the five are going through ‘henopause,’ because they have gotten old, so their egg production has significantly slowed. But we couldn’t think of getting rid of them, or even ‘frying them up,’ as you say. We love them.” “And now,” he says, standing up, “it’s time for you to meet them.” The moment of truth. I follow John and Mary to the back door, and out onto the deck. Merc, the Golden Laced Wyandotte, comes rushing forward to greet us, and the other four are hanging back, watching, gauging whether or not I am going to be friendly. They have Marley, a Dominique; Rosabelle; Pez; and Roosevelt. As we amble through the back yard, moving slowly toward the chicken house, Mary tells me about Rizzo, a very social hen who had apparently wandered off with a fox or a raccoon and met an untimely end. “That’s one of the most interesting things about these animals,” she says; “They are not stupid. They’re really very smart, and extremely social.
©Abraham Rowe
september/october | noalastudios.com |