Urban Farmer

It was raining, and the chickens were miserable. The chicks, well, chick, singular, was pretty much ignored by the young hen who continued to sit on the remaining egg while her offspring cowered in the corner of the so-called shelter Rudy had built (as in hastily constructed when Marla insisted.)

"They need shelter," she said, twice. "You're the one...." which was all she needed to say because he knew what was coming ....the one who wanted chickens.

Which was true.  He wanted and knew now but admitted to no one, that what he really wanted were fair weather chickens strutting around their suburban yard, proof of their ecological instincts, their commitment to a healthier earth, to organic everything--even though the reluctant environmentalist, Marla pointed out, "Monsanto corn is still organic--anything that lives is organic, even you!"

So they got chickens. Well, he got chickens, for the eggs, he said, from a farmer, that a friend of a friend recommended, 3 noisy hens, that immediately hid in the hosta when he released them in the back yard. 

"Free range," he said when Marla complained.

~

They were down to two chickens by the next day...who knew why.

"They have wings," Marla pointed out.

"True," he said, "but I didn't know they could actually fly!"

~

That was over a month ago--and now there was only Henrietta the hen and, inexplicably, a single baby chick, soaked and miserable in the so-called shelter.

"About your urban farm experiment," Marla said, "it was the right thing to do, ecologically and all that, but we were the wrong people to do it."

He waited, silent, because she was right, waited for the harsh words, the litany of his errors, the truth.

"And, I think," she continued, "that the farmer would take Henrietta Hen and Baby Chick back, free of charge."

"You think?"

"Yes," she said, "I'll load them up, and you can drive."

Saved again by generosity and love.