Tuesday, August 3, 2010


I did not count my chickens before they hatched. But I did count on chickens.
The latter was clearly no less foolish than the former. We incubated 25 eggs and 15 lovely exotic chicks emerged. When they were about a month old it became clear we had a rooster in the henhouse, Alonso. Alonso crowed his lonely doodle mornings and evenings. Eventually he was joined by Attila, and soon the duet went to Yonkers. Once they had departed, Tux started crowing and a while later he was joined by Snowflake. They too went to Yonkers to grace a stewpot. Once they were departed yet another rooster started crowing, a shy black and white thing (to remain unnamed for obvious reasons) that had not previously emitted a peep. And another and a third. About 2 weeks later they were named Sopa, Empanada and Rosti-Pollo.
Only then, in our depleted henhouse, did yet another rooster proclaim his masculinity, only then did he trumpet the testosterone flowing through his avian veins. He has handsome too, with a black and white striped scarf and iridescent green feathering.
He’s now gone, with 2 more cohorts. So from 15 eggs that hatched, we are left with 5 chickens of the hen-variety. And that is wishful thinking.

Alternative titles:
And No Cock Crew
With one Fell Swoop, from the Harem to the Nunnery
All's Quiet in the Henhouse
They Call me Sopa

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