Well.  I was not going to bring up the chickens again any time soon.  I figured you all were growing tired of the Chicken Scoop.

But I scoop chicken poop from the chicken coop.  I think I’ve been duped.  By the entire troupe AND the group. Yes, oh yes.  Here sits a nincompoop.  But if they are not careful… they might become soup.

Oh.  I’m just jerking around here.  I love those chickens.  But not enough to kiss them, as was warned by a good friend, Jean Bussell.  Apparently, there are a lot of “Backyard Chicken Farmers” who really, really love their chickens.  Enough to kiss them on their little chicken lips.  They hug them and squeeze them and bring them into their homes.

I can only imagine.

Okay.  Truth be told, I do pick up the chickens and hold them for a bit.  I talk to them, while I am at it.

What about?  Oh… you KNOW.  The usual stuff.

“What’s new with you chicken?”
“I’ll peck your eyes out human.”
“Oh, c’mon chicken.  You like being held, don’t you?”
“You just trying to ruffle my feathers now, right?”
“Now, now there chicken.  I thought you and I could be friends.”
“Seriously?  I don’t really give a cluck.”

That’s pretty much it.  I don’t think they really like us so much.  They put on a great act when we have food.  But besides that… it is “Talk to the Chicken Butt.”

They know I am going to take their first born.
And their second… and as many dozen as I can pilfer.

Therein lies the reason for their dislike… for ALL the Fried Egg Eaters in the world.  We are ruthless.  Especially when toast and bacon are involved.

One of the most beautiful qualities of true friendship is to understand and to be understood.
— Lucius Annaeus Seneca

Since there is nothing so well worth having as friends, never lose a chance to make them.
— Francesco Guicciardini

Drawing on my fine command of the English language, I said nothing.
— Robert Benchley