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Revised 26 December, 2009

CHICKEN FEATHERS

Nature abhors a vacuum and for that reason, God gave us imagination to fill the void.  Through the imagination of children is created the great “what if-s” of life and the sense of humor to forever act out our silliness to the perplexity and wonderment of our adults.

Many of us grew up in the country.  Our bountiful land provides us with the nourishment we need to survive, but it is our Yankee ingenuity and our ability to wonder at the improbable that gives us the lightheartedness necessary for surviving the long winter months of our lives and only a child can envision the total and utter means of bringing about absolute humiliation into the wonderment of our adulthood.

Trucks are meant to convey.  Eggs are meant to be eaten.  Children should probably never be added to the mix.

Consider, if you will, the results of a certain small child, a chicken ranch, and an old, broken down truck thrown together through no fault of their own.  Ask yourself what such a combination can add to the chaos theory of life and follow through with the results.

The pick up in question was well worn.  The driver’s seat had finally given up the ghost and was down to its bare springs.   And where, in the totality of it all, is the moral, if any, to this story?

We know that a chicken will make a nest of eggs and sit on it to hatch the eggs and thus, create new life.  If this were not so, there would be no baby chickens.  A child, however, does not necessarily make the correlation behind this theory.  Consider this hypothesis:  What if the child were to create the nest by filling all of the holes in the truck seat with eggs. Then, what .if someone were to then sit on these eggs…….. shouldn’t they hatch?  Apparently this is not the case.

The reality is that adult males, in the disguise of one’s father, do not make good chickens.  They cannot hatch eggs.  In the broader lesson of life and even broader beam of one’s father’s behind, the weight of the matter tends to prove fault in the relativity of this theory.

The lesson to be learned from all this blather, if indeed a lesson is to be learned at all,  is that the need for great speed and the ability to hide in obscure places is a good attribute for a small child who’s father has potentially cracked the limit of his patience.  It is sometimes best to allow the adult to blow off steam from the resulting explosion, thus giving them time to clean the mess from their indignity before explaining why we do not waste food and having our posteriors painted red in the process.

I once had a friend who said they wished their father would build them a nice red swing in the back yard just like mine, but that’s another story.  And for the record, I cannot take credit for this incident, but my best friend can and did.

Some of us frequently end up with egg on our faces.  I guess the seriousness of the issue and how you view it depends upon which cheeks you have in mind……eggs-actly!