When you do a little research it’s extraordinary how many famous things have
been said about chickens. Samuel Johnson, “When you are tired of chickens, you
are tired of life.” Wordsworth, “The chicken is a mighty harmonist.” W.E.B.
Du Bois, “I believe in Liberty for all chickens: the space to stretch their
arms and their souls, the right to breathe, and the right to vote…”
“Did you know,” I asked the girls, “that there’s a ballot measure affecting
nearly one million Oregonians including nearly four hundred thousand of our
children?”
Appenzeller, “That sounds serious.”
“I just heard it on a recorded message that was sent to our phone.”
Pecorino, “Fake news.”
Appenzeller, “Yes, yes. Don’t trust numbers like that. Where are you going to
find millions of whatever it was they said there were millions of? Harry
Gonians.”
Mimo, “What’s a Harry Gonian?”
“Oregonian. You’re one. Anyone who lives in Oregon is an Oregonian.”
“What I am is *orange*.” Mimo is clearly proud of her color.
Appenzeller, “What’s a bally measure?”
I smiled. “Ballot. It’s from the Italian for little balls, ‘ballotta.’”
Appenzeller, “I bet Italian chickens play football with them.”
Pecorino, “I bet they run into the penalty area and fall over them.”
“Now, now,” I said, “let’s avoid caricatures. The balls were used as counters.
You voted by handing in your balls.”
“More than one per chicken, I knew it!” Mimo has a sharp eye for justice.
“Cheating that is. One vote per chicken is the rule at our meetings.”
“Does Pecorino get an equal say?” I asked.
Mimo and Appenzeller suddenly remembered they were busy. There was a brief
pause. Mimo began to hum, as if composing. Suddenly she started marching up
and down singing, “I’m Mimo the orange I am, I am, Mimo the orange I am. I
lived in the pink on a floor; no one’s come back from there before…and every
day a wonder…never a fix or a jam (No Jam), never a silly or a damn (No damn)
I’m miraculous as a clam, Mimo the orange I am. Second verse, same as the
first…I’m Mimo the orange…”
“How on earth,” I had to ask, “did you ever get to hear Herman’s Hermits?”
Mimo, “Came to me through the door when I was poorly. Must have been the
Celestial Chorus registering I was hovering near death.”
“The Celestial Chorus sings, ‘Henry the Eighth I am?’”
Mimo, “What other explanation fits the facts?”
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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