Spring has a certain certainty about it; it reassures us that the world is
turning, that there's a predictability to things. The dogwood has a solo in
the step dance of bloom. The morning's quiet is often dry and bright. Green
is highly fashionable. Given these good omens, why not, on a Sunday early, put
the dog outside to eat and then go open the chicken coop? It's reasonable, not
without the bounds of a god's great plan. Released from the night's bondage,
Peccorino spied the dog and whispered to Rocky. They took off at a run. I
always smile when I see chickens running. I pottered, filling their water,
noting that my inner cup was running over. I walked inside, removed my boots,
climbed the stairs, passed through the kitchen. There they were, as you
guessed, gobbling the dog food. They feigned innocence. "What?"
I began with the obvious, "That's the dog's food."
"So?"
Rather than explain notions of private property, I simply removed the bowl.
They walked off, muttering. Into every life a little rain must fall.
Later, Mimo came up, "We have a question."
"Yes?"
"Some god..."
"Yes?"
Appenzeller, "At least we assume it was a god. On the other side of the fence?"
I nodded, "Probably. There aren't any chickens in the road."
"Quite right," said Appenzeller.
Mimo looked off into the distance, "Beyond our ken."
Cheddar decided to join the conversation, "Who's Ken?"
Appenzeller, "Anyway the point is this being was talking... to herself..."
"Could be a loon," I said. They looked worried, "or someone on the phone..."
Cheddar wanted to know if we have Canadians, "In the neighborhood?"
I let the question pass.
Mimo resumed, "And she said that something was something..."
I interjected, "...as one does..." The resulting noises I took to be a show of
irritation, so I shut up; there was a point coming and I was slowing the flow.
Mimo, "And then she said, 'As sure as eggs is eggs.'"
Cheddar wondered aloud whether that should be, "eggs are eggs?"
I nodded. "What's your question?"
Cheddar, "I believe I asked one."
Mimo and Appenzeller glared. "What can, 'Sure as eggs is eggs' mean?"
Happy I'd been asked an what I took to be an easy one, I responded too quickly,
"That eggs are something you can count on."
"No you can't," said Mimo. "They leave."
Appenzeller objected, "We do *count* on eggs. I'm sitting in the box, like
this... Now watch me: 'one, two, three...' But how does counting lead to
certainty?"
"We gods are reassured by accounting," I explained.
Mimo, "So whenever gods feel nervous, they count?"
"We like to know what we own."
Cheddar looked up at the sky and tested the proposition, "One bird of prey, two
birds of prey...No, not reassuring at all."
"We count gold, how much food we have, how many houses... that kind of thing.
We reassure ourselves that we have enough."
Appenzeller, "Don't you guys have a feeder?"
Mimo, "Or bread supplier?"
Like soccer players after scoring, they did a little dance, "Breeeeeaaaaaaad.
Breeeeeaaaaad."
I poured metaphorical water on their party. "The world doesn't work like that."
They looked sad. "May we offer you an egg?"
You've been to meetings. They start on time, or not, they're about something,
or not, they go on for the allotted period, or not. Exiting a meeting can be
accompanied by a good feeling, or not. Home after a particularly long one and
feeling a little out of sorts, I stepped outside. The chickens gathered at my
feet.
"Breeeeeeaaaaad?"
"Eggs."
I wondered if a problem shared was a problem halved. "The meeting was about
resilience," I explained.
"Whaaaat?"
"Faced with a choice about whether to do X or Y the question we'll now ask now
is, 'Does this tend to increase resilience?'"
"Y?"
"X?"
"Wensleydale was in favor of...resilience," said Cheddar.
You could see that some of the chickens thought the conversation was moving in
the wrong direction. Keep the god's mind on food delivery tactics; don't let
him wander towards the strategic or metaphysical realm.
Rocky, however, couldn't hold back her curiosity, "Wensleydale spoke
of...resili-thingy?"
"Resilience," Cheddar said. "Oh yes."
Mimo, "What on earth is it?"
Peccorino assured everyone there was dramatic potential in this subject, "I see
'Resilience' as a Western. Broad panoramas...dust...gunfights. You [she
nodded towards Appenzeller] could play the keen-eyed sheriff."
Appenzeller expressed doubts about her ability to fire a six-shooter.
"Maybe," said Rocky, "we could substitute cannon? We might be able to get some
kind of friction thing going in the touch hole...by pecking?"
I paused to consider a world with armed chickens. "Who on earth have you been
listening to?'
"Crows," said Peccorino, "not on the earth...in the trees."
"Very clever birds," said Mimo.
"Are they armed?"
"They have wings," said Cheddar, helpfully.
There was a long pause, while the world whirred. I suppressed visions, got
back to brass tacks.
"Resilience turned up in another conversation this week," I offered. "Seems to
be le mot du jour."
"What's that?" Rocky asked.
"French," said Appenzeller. "like my feathers. See...now they look black; now
there's a green tinge."
Peccorino wasn't having any of this loose talk. "Old hat. What's fashionable
this year...is dots."
"Maybe," I said, "that should be the measure of plans, whether or not they're
dotty?"
"Or conversations," said Cheddar, wandering off.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
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