Sunday, November 04, 2012
Eight-year-old daughter Sara and her brothers are here in Colorado hanging out with me. Sara misses her little barnyard friends back in New Mexico. She writes about them here. "My best friend is a chicken named Miss Broodie. I build houses for her. Broodie is very brave. Splash, splash! Broodie was playing in a puddle. Snap, snap, crunch; my brother was walking up to watch me and Broodie. I also have more favorite chickens: Tiny, Dark One, Mohawk, Clayton, Mr. Nice, and Bold One. Drip, drip, drip; it started to rain. Boom! Thunder and lightning! I sat inside for fifteen minutes until the rain stopped, then I went back outside to play with Broodie. Broodie is not like the other chickens. She does not race away when a human comes. She does not cluck, cluck. I think she is hungry. I give her grain. It has corn and wheat. Broodie is entertaining. Why? She makes me laugh! She climbs trees. She's loveable. I love her more than I love my friends. Drip, drip, drip, drip. Oh no, it is going to rain some more. Drip, drip, drip. I've known Broodie for six months. Yesterday I was making a tire swing for Broodie. Mr. Nice wanted to go on it, too. It started to rain. I said to Mr. Nice, "Maybe later." Mr. Nice did not agree. He was not jubilant. He was morose, very morose. I said, "Go inside now," but he did not want to go inside. So, I chased him inside. Then it stopped raining. It was Mr. Nice's turn to swing, then Dark One, then Tiny. I like to play school with them. I teach them art, p.e., recess, math, and music. I use boxes for desks. I use grain for snack. I play with them every day after school. I don't think it is weird that some of my best friends are chickens. I love Miss Broodie."