Unfortunately, we were right in predicting a loss. It brings us no joy when these types of prophesies come to fruition. It was not a good night for our boys. Pretty craptastic, if we’re being honest. Like we said, without our most handsome boy providing the juju, we’re not so competitive.
We accept our powers, knowing that they’re not as powerful as the Moirai.
Secure in our limited capacities to alter world history, the hens and I decided a stroll about the compound was in order.
We first came upon Uncle Tony P., who is the oldest amongst us. He is an uncle, after all. From a bit of a distance, we heard him humming:
Having heard this, I turned to my beloved hens and said, “This is what Wolff needs to do. He’s too beholden to his system. Changes need to happen. Changes in tactics, changes in personnel.” They nodded in approbation. All we want is Josh to turn to us and say:
Slan heard me talking to my hens. He thinks I’m a bit looney by my incessant conversations with them. Between you and me, gentle reader, I think he knows they understand me, but is unwilling to admit it to himself.
Nevertheless, he interjected, “I heard you talking of changes. You know this song?”
I didn’t, but it’s good. After hearing his a cappella rendition of it, I told him why we were discussing changes. He agreed in our assessment. Too little rotation. Too predictable. This all leads to predictable results. His equanimity concealed his sadness. Yes, Slan. You are not alone. We are all hurting. You have many shoulders to cry upon.
At the end of our walk, we came upon Andrea, who was in a full throated version of this classic:
Excitedly, we ran up to her and asked if she was talking about Wolff and his squad rotation. She affirmed. This brought us untold amounts of joy. We trust her. Perhaps she has a little prognostication in her, after all.
Elated, I turned to Wolfie and San Julius, scattered the ethically-sourced pelleted feed, and watched them go to work. They gobbled it down like Eddie Murphy eating a Ritz cracker.
I blissfully watched as both hens, in perfect synchronicity, took two steps to the right. But then, tragic to say, they took two equal steps to the left.
(Sobbing) Yes, dears, I understand.
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