I really do think about things apart from chickens, at least occasionally

Last night, Owen and I were watching The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency and every time the background sounds included a chicken squawking, we would look at each other. We've become daffy like that. On the plane back from Boston, I finished one book and started another. Both had memorable scenes involving chickens. I will share: 

1. The farm-dwelling protagonist of All the Living by C.E. Morgan (strong, quiet novel -- Marilynne Robinson with more sex and grit) hates chickens, finds them stupid and ugly. Silly lady. Perhaps that is why she is viciously attacked by an enraged rooster whose wings make "a rushing sound like a woman giving chase in an old-timey dress with crinoline and hoops." Her boyfriend then slaughters the evil rooster and brings her his claws which leads to a big fight. She then proceeds to accidentally kill a bunch of her boyfriend's hens by giving them wet feed, which leads to another big fight. She also burns some fried chicken which is either before or after a big fight. In fact, come to think of it, the whole book revolves around chickens and big fights, with occasional piano playing and tobacco cultivation. It's a lot better than I'm making it sound. Good book.

2. In Pete Dexter's Spooner (a ribald dark comedy about which I'm not yet prepared to opine as I'm only on page 104) a character witnesses, in passing, this delightful scene: "There were also shirtless men in the poultry yard, two of them hidden in the shadow of a henhouse. One of them was having sex with a chicken and the other one was standing with his pants down around his knees. . ." It goes on and gets coarser and I want to keep my PG-13 rating so I'll stop. I count this scene against the novel because it has nothing to do with anything and while I guess you could say the same about posting this passage on my blog, at least I'm making a point about gratuitous sex-with-animals scenes and how much I loathe them. LOATHE. Do not include sex with animals in your books, please, please, please, or at least put a warning on the cover. I'll never forgive Larry McMurtry.

We have five brand new baby chicks. They are sweet little balls of gray fluff, and we are eager for them to grow up and go outside and join the flock, which seems very small and subdued now.  

There was a dog in our driveway today, a big, cheerful, bounding, barking gray dog who seemed like he was about to try to surmount the fence. I shooed him off and then realized I should have grabbed his collar to see if this is The Dog. I am not currently angry at The Dog, but if he comes back, I will be.

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