One of my chickens always manages to fly the coop. I build the fence ever higher, but she still flaps her way over it. This is Camilla I'm talking about, of course--the impetuous one. In case it isn't obvious, by the way, I named her after Gonzo's girlfriend.
Her partner-in-laying (but not in a sexual way) is Hennessy. She's always getting shouted out by rappers and it's so sweet! But I do wonder, sometimes...why are they so into her? What goes on in that coop at night?
Anyway, Hennessy is very well-behaved in daylight. But Camilla always flies the coop. This might not sound like much of a problem since chickens really do always come home to roost. She doesn't wander off. But she does shit all over the patio and dig up my plants.
So I was thinking maybe I should clip her wings.
Are you crying? Doesn't that sound terrible? Clip her wings, oh god: I couldn't handle the metaphoric implications.
Then I recalled that I am already fencing her in. And keeping her cooped up.
Maybe whenever you take up something humans have been doing for a really long time you bump into the origins of metaphors. It's kinda awkward because you're like, oh, hi, you're literal.
I noticed it when I started gardening, sowing seeds and reaping harvests, making fertile ground and the like. And when Brian started working down at the docks (okay, yes, he does payroll), I found out that some people literally put down anchor and set sail. Go overboard and ship out.
I know. It's pretty mortifying that I never thought about all that before. But the chickens don't think I'm stupid. Course they're freakin bird brains.
My proud front yard circa May 2006. I shan't pretend it looks like this now.
