Very often, when things are crazy around here -- dinner getting made, someone needing help with a homework assignment, someone else needing picked up from piano, all with Anders crying at my feet for attention -- I find myself saying, "Can someone please take Anders outside to see a chicken?"
It usually seems to do the trick.
They fluff their feathers and preen a bit. They stare inside – watching me go about my business. Judging? Begging? One can’t be sure with those unrevealing beady black eyes. I have to shuffle them all aside every time I need to get out into the backyard. They cluck and flap and protest, then, like a cloud of kicked up dust, slowly resettle.