Unusual Chickens for the Exceptional Poultry Farmer Read Free Page A

Mictlan you could read my letter. [Mom had a calavera with a typewriter, so maybe you could even type back.] I know you are a good Catholic, but maybe you could go to Mictlan for a visit? Like for a field trip? I wish I could really tell you all this.)
    Querida Abuelita,
    Here are some pictures of my chicken for you.

    Isn’t she beautiful? I think I’m going to name her Henrietta. Did you ever read The Hoboken Chicken Emergency ? It’s about a 266-pound chicken named Henrietta. This Henrietta is short, even for a chicken, I think, but that’s why it’s funny. We hung out for most of the afternoon. So far, she likes to chase bugs and peck at everything except me.
    After I finished dinner and dried the dishes that Dad washed, I went out to check on her. It was dark and windy and kind of spooky, the way pumpkin patches are at the end of October. Haunted-farm spooky. But I thought the chicken might be nervous too. I mean, she’s probably been through a lot, living on her own in the blackberry bushes.
    I wish there weren’t so many huge junk piles for things to hide behind, or all that rustling dead grass, or the weird twisted trees. I guess you don’t have streetlights in the middle of farms, but maybe I should save up for a bigger flashlight. LA is never this dark. It didn’t help my nerves that I saw right away that the little house’s door was shut with the bolt latched, and I know for sure I left the door wide open in case the chicken wanted to go inside.
    I stood there for a while, feeling creeped out all over. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and the wind was snaking all around and the weird nature sounds made me wonder what else was nearby. I know, I shouldn’t read so many scary books. But I really, really didn’t want to open that door. I really, really didn’t want whatever had shut that door to see me out there. But what if it had locked my chicken out of her house? How would she feel, locked out all night? What if she thought it was me who locked her out, or me who didn’t let her in?
    I stood there and looked hard at all the bushes and trees and junk and everything, to make sure nothing moved. But I didn’t even see Henrietta. I shined my flashlight all around, and the glass jam jar of water caught the light and startled me. I didn’t see any glowing eyes, but there were no white feathers, either.
    I made myself walk across the grass to the little house and unlatch the door. I know I held my breath while I opened it. But when I looked, Henrietta was inside, perched on a branch. She opened one eye and looked mad. So I turned and ran all the way back to the house and locked our front door. I think you’d agree that was only sensible.
    When Dad came to tuck me in, I wondered if he would say anything about the chicken. But he didn’t. I don’t think it was him that latched the door.
    I know I have to tell them. I just wanted to pretend for a little while that I could have a chicken. But I think maybe I waited too long. I think it’s going to be harder now to give her up.
    Te extraño mucho,
    Soficita

June 12, 2014
    Mr. or Ms. Catalog People
    Redwood Farm Supply
    Gravenstein, CA 95472
    Dear People Who Sell Special Chickens,
    Look, maybe Mom was right about not writing while I was angry. I’m really sorry I said that stuff. Probably you’ve been busy too. But now I really need you to write back, even if you don’t send me a catalog. Because a chicken showed up yesterday, and I think it must be one of yours, because it is really definitely not an ordinary chicken. I’m pretty sure my parents are going to freak out, and I really need to figure out what to do. What are you supposed to do with a found chicken—is it like a found dog? Do chickens go to the pound? But it’s got to be yours. It’s really unusual, for sure. Can you please come get it quickly?
    Sincerely,
    Sophie
    PS Don’t worry, I’m going to the library now and I’m sure they’ll have a book on how to take care of