I wrote this at 2 a.m. and I felt dumb. “You’re writing about a chicken and you’re crying … at 2 a.m. There’s much bigger shit going on in the world.” But then, at about 2:15 a.m., I had a quiet realization. Sometimes it’s the “little” shit (like pet chickens) that gets us through the big stuff. And when the little stuff disappears, sometimes the big stuff seems bigger. And sometimes the stuff we think is little, really isn’t so little.
My last interaction with Henrietta was an important one.
Henrietta was a chicken, a hen, and yes. We had interactions. Every day. And more importantly, yes. She taught me something, as most creatures do.
We interacted on a Saturday. A very busy Saturday. In the morning, a customer/friend was coming to pick up a puppy. A couple hours later, an out-of-town friend was arriving followed by my boyfriend. And a couple hours after that, a presentation by my interns for VoiceBox Media on campus. Oh, and a 10-day vacation starting the next day. It was a very busy Saturday and I was running around the travel trailer like there was no tomorrow.
I went outside and Henrietta was there, as she very often was, and Leonard was behind her, as he always was. They were waiting for their dog food. I nearly walked away from her, but something pulled me back. Later that afternoon, after a couple drinks, I would call it “chicken energy,” but it’s fitting. The chicken energy was just right.
I grabbed a handful of dog food and Henrietta edged closer in anticipation. I held out my hand. She didn’t come. I took a deep breath in an effort to still my racing heart. She came closer. I took another meditative breath and breathed out the rushing, and she gently pecked a piece of food from my palm and then another. Leonard cooed in the background.
The chicken energy was right.
Leonard and Henrietta are dead. They were killed by a stray dog last week while I was on vacation. My mom called to tell me when I was about 15 minutes away from home.
“I didn’t want to tell you while you were vacationing. I knew it would upset you,” she said.
She’s right. After she told me, I didn’t want to come home. I didn’t want to not see those two lovers roaming around, one crowing incessantly (he was so proud of her) and the other eating the juicy worm he’d found her.
Don’t ask me how one gets this attached to chickens.
All I know is that when chickens die, they go to heaven. At least these beings did.
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