RED HEN
I was sitting at the keyboard as Roman came into the studio. He looked unhappy. He was holding a red chicken against his bare chest. Chickens have a highly organized social system that includes the unfortunate concept of the "pecking order." Some chicken is going to be at the bottom of the pecking order and is going to become injured or potentially even killed by the other chickens.
Being a committed couple of the same gender, we both tend to be sensitive to the idea of bulling even within the social order of chickens.
Roman had just seen this unfortunate red hen getting pecked by the other chickens and rushed in and swooped her up, the champion of the lady in distress. He was at a loss as to what to do next so he was walking around with her in his arms.
We could not put her back with the other chickens so I suggested we eat her. Wrong thing to say. I was cast into the role of being another chicken pecking at the pretty red hen. Roman's anguish and the red feathers against his dark skin were causing my pulse to pick up just a bit. Everyone has a good part, and for Roman it was his navel. It was currently at eye level and I stared at it just below his crooked arm which held the young hen.
I said, "There is a small cage in the barn. The hen can live here in the studio for a couple of days. Hens have very short memories."
That hen has now become a pet and it is difficult to imagine not living with the lovely red hen as well as her handsome hero.
Being a committed couple of the same gender, we both tend to be sensitive to the idea of bulling even within the social order of chickens.
Roman had just seen this unfortunate red hen getting pecked by the other chickens and rushed in and swooped her up, the champion of the lady in distress. He was at a loss as to what to do next so he was walking around with her in his arms.
We could not put her back with the other chickens so I suggested we eat her. Wrong thing to say. I was cast into the role of being another chicken pecking at the pretty red hen. Roman's anguish and the red feathers against his dark skin were causing my pulse to pick up just a bit. Everyone has a good part, and for Roman it was his navel. It was currently at eye level and I stared at it just below his crooked arm which held the young hen.
I said, "There is a small cage in the barn. The hen can live here in the studio for a couple of days. Hens have very short memories."
That hen has now become a pet and it is difficult to imagine not living with the lovely red hen as well as her handsome hero.
