Unusual Chickens for the Exceptional Poultry Farmer Read Free

on a farm, I guess I might as well be a farmer.) Anyway, I was still wondering about that house. This might seem a little strange to you, but I wanted to make sure I didn’t just dream about it. That it was really real. And maybe I could start getting things set up like they used to be, just in case we could make this into a farm with animals again.
    So I went outside, before I had breakfast or anything, back by those stumps I was talking about. And the little house was right where I remembered it. And a little white chicken was standing in front of it, glaring at it, first with one eye and then with the other.
    She looked at me. (I think she was a girl chicken? She didn’t crow.) She looked pretty mad. Also, she looked like the right size for the house.
    It’s about as long as I am tall, but I dragged it out of the bushes eventually and got it upright. My arms got pretty scratched up, and I didn’t have my gloves, but it’s okay; we all got tetanus shots before Dad’s insurance ran out.
    The chicken looked at it, and then she looked at me. Then she started pecking at the ground.
    I thought she was probably hungry. I didn’t want to leave her there all by herself, but I didn’t know what else to do. When I stepped closer, she hopped away, only a few steps, but fast; I wasn’t going to catch her like that.
    So I ran back to the house, and very quietly got some wilted lettuce and an apple. They seemed like something a chicken might eat. And I filled up one of Great-Uncle Jim’s ten thousand jam jars with water. No one will miss that. Then I very quietly went outside again, and ran back.
    I couldn’t see the chicken anywhere at first. I was nervous for her, and sad for me. Then I saw the blackberry bushes shake, and my heart about stopped for a moment, and all my muscles got ready to run. I thought maybe it was that black thing; maybe Mom was wrong and it was a wolf or a very small bear or something dangerous. But then I saw it was just the little white chicken, scratching around.
    I put the lettuce and the apple down with the jar of water, near the little house. I didn’t try to catch her or touch her. She held very still while I put them down. She didn’t try to peck me. When I took a few steps away, she rushed at the food, so I guess she was hungry. She kept looking around, though, so I wonder if she was lonely.
    I didn’t tell my parents. Not yet.
    I think I’m going to draw a picture of her for you. That way, if I can’t keep her, I’ll have something to remember her by.
    Te extraño,
    Soficita

June 11, 2014
    Mr. James Brown
    Valhalla, maybe? (I asked Dad where you would be now, since you’re dead, and he thought about it for a while. Then he told me about Valhalla, because he said your great-granddad was Norwegian, but he doesn’t know if you believed in that stuff or not.)
    Dear Great-Uncle Jim,
    Did you have a small white angry chicken? I hope so. Maybe I could keep her if she was yours. Did she have a name? I hear you had lots of animals while you were alive. Is that why you had a barn? What happened to them? I like your barn.
    Dad says he brought me here to visit when I was really young. I wish I remembered, but I don’t. I’m sorry. And I’m really sorry you died before I came back. Dad feels really bad about that too, especially since you left us your farm. Gregory says you were a good guy, always inventing things. I bet he’d tell me to say hi if he knew I was writing to you.
    Love,
    Sophie
    PS What were you saving all those piles of junk for? Inventions?
    PPS What am I supposed to do with this chicken now?
    PPPS Don’t come back from the dead to answer, okay? I’ll figure it out somehow.

June 11, 2014 (later)
    Mariposa García González
    Mictlan (I asked Mom if there was anywhere like Valhalla in Mexico. She said maybe Mictlan, where dead people do everyday stuff except for on El Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, when they go see their families. Mom says maybe if you were in