All You Need is Trust

I don’t get it. Our chakras were aligned, our auras had been cleansed, essential oils had been applied.

We were so happy to see each other again. Predictions were made. Predictions, as it turned out, that were way off.

I was at a loss. This had never happened before in all my career taking the chicken auspices. Luckily, I attended a session at my CLUCK (Continuation for Learning and Understanding Chicken Kinetics) Convention that addressed this selfsame issue.

According to Dr. Gallus, Head of Chicken Behaviors at the University of Bantam, auspices go afoul whenever there is a deficiency of trust between hen and augur. I had a plan.

I cleared a spot on the compound grounds and laid out some rugs. I then burned some sage to cleanse the air.

Having called the hens to area, I explained to them that we must work on improving our mutual trust. Their nods told me that they agreed. I began simply. I asked them what their fears were. I was expecting fears of inadequacy, imposter syndrome, and the like. Nope. They all had the same answer: foxes.

We proceeded. I explained that, in order for us to truly trust each other, we must make manifest that fidelity. Words don’t matter here, only actions. I spelled out what was next for us: a trust fall. If we can trust our bodily safety to each other, we can more boldly and correctly predict match outcomes.

I see myself as the leader of this motley tribe. As such, I volunteered to go first. I demonstrated with sticks what was about to happen. The hens understood and lined up where I asked them. They raised their wings in eager anticipation of catching me.

I stood up and turned my back to them. I closed my eyes and crossed my arms. I said aloud, “Remember, I love you all and happily entrust my entire self to you.” I began to lean back.

It was at this moment that Alistair Dennis shouted, “Whoa! Is that Megan Fox walking up to the compound?”

At the word “Fox,” panic shot through San Julius and Wolfie. A true, spasmodic, freak-out. They darted away faster than green grass through a goose. Rodney, however, stayed true to the purpose. She stood there, brave and strong, wings up. My beloved, strong, brave beauty. Loyal and true to the end.

My 6 foot frame landed upon Rodney with the thuddiest thud you’ve ever heard. Befitting her character, upon contact, one last egg shot out.

I scrambled to my feet. No! No! There she lay, flattened as if ready to be chicken fried. Gentle reader, I don’t have words to describe the emptiness within my soul. It’s fried. My guilt is boiling over. Hard. I could just look at the sunny side of things, but that would be over easy. I can’t treat myself in a deviled way. No, that would be coddling me. Should I go away to Holland? No. That’d be too saucy an action.

In the meantime, all I can do now is reflect on this quote from Cicero’s Phillipics, XIV.32: “Brevis a natura nobis vita data est: at memoria bene redditae vitae sempiterna.” (“A brief life is given us by nature, but the memory of a life lived well is eternal.”) 

Please be kind to each other.