When I bought the property that would become the sanctuary, the previous owner gave me some clucking feathered gifts; a rooster and five hens. The rooster was flamboyant; his tail a distinctive checker-board pattern in black and white, his shimmering feathers in shades of amber, alabaster and orange and a crimson four-pointed crown adorned his head. He strutted around the yard followed by his harem of adoring hens. Since I have a degree in anthropomorphology, I saw a quirky family from the fifties; dominant pampered hubby and adoring submissive (yuck) wives.
The rooster became Ricardo, a Cuban band leader. Two of the hens were orange and white; obviously Lucille Ball and Rita Hayworth. The very plump, full-breasted and platinum white hen; she was Mae West. Her slimmer but equally platinum sister was Jean Harlow. They were Ricardo's wives, fans, cheerleaders and singers in his band; they were the Eggettes. The hens were docile and shy of humans, closely following Ricardo like love-sick groupies... except for one of them.
And isn't there one in every group who just doesn't quite fit in? Round peg, square hole. I was to discover the fifth hen was the embodiment of a lunatic warrior, in a deceptively fragile feathered package. White, brown and nondescript, she did not join the Eggettes following Ricardo . She pecked her way over to me, stood in front of me looking way up until her beady eye caught mine. She winked.
Then she went over to the dog's dish and tried to steal a bone. Casper, the 110 pound Pyrenees mountain dog ran over. Seeing the little feathered ball of audacity pecking at his prized treat, he immediately leapt into action; woofing and hopping into the air with all four paws inches off the ground like a gigantic white frog. She regarded his acrobatic display dispassionately and stared him down for a moment with her beady black eyes, and she slowly walked away. I knew then that she was different, and either brave or crazy. I called her Amelia Earhart.
Ricardo and the Eggettes had a daily routine like we all do. At the first tiny red tendril of the rising sun, Ricardo would crow a loud, annoying four-note reverie; continuing this morning wakeup call until all the sleepy hens had tumbled down from their perches and nests in the hen house and joined him in the faint pink light of dawn. Leaving the enclosure through a small gate they began one of their daily clockwise tours of the land.
Amelia went in the other direction, by herself, immune to the judgemental glances of the Eggettes. As Ricardo and his harem worked their way clockwise through the orchards and gardens, Amelia headed for the driveway and under the shelter of the towering eucalyptus trees she found sweet morsels of grubs. The Eggettes and their dazzling leader inspected the horse barn and scratched busily in the hay while Amelia was in the rose garden, happily doing her own thing. Sometimes they met on the hill beyond the barn, where they dusted themselves daily with the fine sand. Other times they passed each other near the pine trees but Amelia was not interested in being part of a group. She continued her solo journey.
When Rita stayed in a nest in the henhouse instead of leaving with the others, Hector told me she was brooding and would soon produce eggs. Protective mother hen that I am, I immediately shut the gate to the hen enclosure so foxes or stray dogs could not enter and harm Rita or her eggs. I built a double ladder leading to a small door high in the enclosure fence. The hens could walk up the ladder in a few steps, hop through the opening and walk down the ladder on the other side.
The first day that Ricardo and the Eggettes returned from their daily rounds and saw the ladder, there was a lot of squawking and discussion. Chickens do not concentrate well; their little brains are helplessly sidetracked by a myriad of distractions; the leaf on the ground that might hide a meal, the tiny seed hidden in the gravel, the single white cloud floating by in an azure sky.
Finally, after 15 minutes of distracted concentration, Lucille remembered her wish to return to her nest long enough to conquer the complexities of the new entry. She hopped up the steps of the ladder, fluttered through the opening and hopped down the next steps on the other side. Even though the other hens and Ricardo were witness to Lucille's entry to the enclosure, it took over a half an hour for all of them to navigate the new access to their henhouse.
When Amelia returned from her daily forays, all the others were in the enclosure or in the henhouse on their perches or nests. She went over to the old entry and saw it was closed. She examined the small ladder, walked under it, around it and then away from it. She pondered the situation as only hens can ponder, scratching the ground for answers and grubs, peering at the ladder from all angles. After about 5 minutes of reflection, she climbed the ladder and entered the enclosure. Not only was she courageous, Amelia was also the Einstein of the flock.
© Sharyl Thompson May, 2013 Chile
Chapters two and three are on my other page, as well as 2 years of other original short stories from my well-lived life.
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If enough people show interest and subscribe on this substack page, I will post them here. I have an animal sanctuary to manage and the subscriptions help. Plus I want to surround myself with kind people.
© Sharyl Thompson May, 2013 Chile