That damn chicken outsmarted me again. I expected that from the foxes. But the chickens were worse!
By day it was all clucking, pecking, and thanks for all the eggs.
But at night, it was if there was cabal among them planning.
And sometimes building.
We’d come out to the yard in the mornings and find that things moved around in the night, or whole new structures were built.
Then they would be gone the next morning.
That was the point where I began to think that perhaps chickens were not something I wanted to be responsible for, and began to entertain thoughts of just starting over. Starting over with something less clever and less able to run amok. Like corn.
This morning I awoke to find I was tied to the bed.
The three foot square slab of stainless steel was hot, and stayed hot from opening at dawn until we decided to close sometime after lunch. It was hot and heavy, and was always the perfect temperature for a pancake or fried egg. It was decided not a good place to sit.
Unless you weren’t quite mortal, I suppose.
The kitchen was in a brief lull when she appeared, sitting on the flattop and looking like she belonged there. I just stood there for a moment, staring. I suppose I was waiting for the inevitable scream. It never came.
I gestured with my spatula, but she declined to be turned.
I looked around. My prep cook was in the other room, chasing after something in the walk-in. The wait staff were all out on the floor. In short, I was the only witness to her impossible comfort in the very spot that a full stack of cakes had occupied just moments before her arrival.
This was going to be a very interesting conversation.