One of the first duties of a writer is to know what kind of story he is
telling: travelogue, historic tale, fable, parable. No idea what this is.
Sorry.
On the third day she returned among us.
" Mimo," I said, " I told the world you were dead."
"Chickens cannot be held responsible for the errors of gods."
"Agreed...if indeed it was an error. You disappear without trace and then you
reappear amongst us. I'm wondering if I should get in touch with the pope. We
might be past the first hurdle to beatification, some place at the very back of
the line looking for a magazine to read. We could declare Fort Squawk a Place
of Pilgrimage. Are you any good at holy shit?"
" I beg your pardon?'
The other two moved from the hydrangea to under the Juniper. "In case of
smiting," Pecorino explained.
"Less likely to catch fire, Juniper, "said Appenzeller.
"I'm Prodigal," said Mimo, "you're supposed to supply food."
"I shall fetch the fatted bread," I said and returned with toast and butter.
"Happy Hanukkah."
She looked pretty ratty and she was both hungry and tired, so I thought I'd
hazard another guess. "You went walkabout?"
"There was word of a gathering."
"Ghost dancing?"
"Something like that?"
"The chicken version of Little Big Horn?"
"Can we do this another time? I'm asleep on my feet."
I'm not making this up. It's not a dream sequence or a flashback. Mimo really
is alive, at least for now. To backtrack a little. I was grading papers so
the house was very quiet. It was getting on towards lunchtime on Tuesday.
Mimo had disappeared on Saturday. Outside I heard chickens alerting. Worried
that the predator had returned, Hamish and I rushed over.
I'm not sure he was actually worried; more like, "Yay, something's happening."
I saw the full complement...two chickens under the hydrangea.
No, wait...three!
After her resurrection Mimo spent four days wandering nearly as usual-chickens
aren't the kind to say, "Welcome back, all is forgiven." We left for a
vacation on Thursday. Before we left I was too busy to spend much time finding
out what really happened. E. and N. are house sitting.
At roosting time on Saturday Mimo again disappeared. Then came the scene from,
"Lassie".
E. "She's under there? Under the deck?"
Hamish, "That's what I've been trying to tell you."
N. "Not fallen down the well?"
Hamish, "We haven't got a well."
"Well spotted, Hamish. Well spotted."
They texted a photo of where Mimo was sheltering. I'd just come from the hotel
jacuzzi, above which there was a sign, "No children under ten." I counted nine
children under ten.
Not much I could do. Nothing in fact.
This morning the news is she's peering out, but not coming out. She must be
feeling poorly.
To be continued.
David Ritchie,
Hawaii------------------------------------------------------------------
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