Chicken Love

    He had chicken on the brain, had obsessed about chicken--actually chickens--plural--after Mitzy left 3 chickens on his doorstep in a cage shaped like a basket and a note: "Happy New Year, for the man who loves chicken!"

Well, he had said that, had said, "I love chicken" when she was deep into extolling the virtues of vegetarianism. 

        "Better for the planet,  ecologically the right thing to do, opens the door to cuisines and foods we've never tasted."

    "But I like chicken," he'd said, repeated like a chorus after her every glowing sentence.

    "Beans and rice are a complete protein."

    "But I like chicken." 

    "Quinoa, farro, couscous, kernza--a world of grains we know nothing about."

    "But I really like chicken."

    "And the pleasure of a variety of curries, stir fries, soups, stews, endless options available."

    "But I do love chicken," he had said, enjoying the game, ready to wear her down, with his refrain to stem her litany of the virtues of a vegetarian life.

    So now that's what he had, on his porch, chickens--plural, three of them, very much alive, and agitated from their long trip from who knows where. And Mitzy nowhere in sight. Just the note on the cage. He turned it over.

Chickens need to be fed and water changed daily. They need to be let out of the coop each morning and put into the coop at dusk each night to protect them from predators. They love vegetables, fruits, greens, breads, and rice--just like us. Eggs should be picked up twice a day. The coop and pen should be cleaned out weekly. With proper care, they will learn to love you as much as I do! 

 

   Illustration by Kate Tucker