(I Think This Means She Explains It)
Beautiful sunny, although still chilly day! I took out the entire
Everyone was busy digging and sunning and running about--eggcept the Schmoo who stood motionless, intently pecking, again and again at the air. After all these years, I know ths signs of Serious Cogitation when I see it, so I asked her what was up, figuring she'd go on and on about particles or string theory.
To my suprize she responded, "STRING THEORY! Oh Mama, that just too simplistic for me. I've been reading Stephen Hawkings lately and have become fascinated by how he ties abstract physics into philosophical and even theological speculation. I feel this is a rich area for research! I figure if I can generate the right equations I can construct a model to prove the existence of the Chicken God! Wouldn't that be a magnificent contribution to the corpus of.."
"Ok Schmoo", I said, cutting her off. (She will go on and on, you know) "Are you envisioning that he has feathers, or are you thinking shapeless and spiritual??"
She cocked her little head at me and gave me the dread beak of suspicion. "OH MAMA, are you making fun of me again??"
"Never Schmoo. I'm just showing an interest. You ARE a bit beyond me sometimes."
"Humph!!", she replied, sounding just like Aunt Shorty. "I'm off to dust bath now, if you don't mind."
Yesterday the Schmoo was gazing fixedly upwards. An odd stance. After
some time I just had to ask, "WHAT are you doing, Schmoo?"
"Well Mama. I just have had it. Why can't we fly like those other birds?? Entirely unacceptable. Therefore I'm calculating how to increase the aerdynamic lift of the Silkie wing. I know I face formidamible problems, BUT it is definitely not inconceivable to fix this problem."
"What are you going to do, surgery to enhance wing structure??", I asked derisively. I really ought to know better than mock or goad the Schmoo. A genius has a very tender ego.
"MOTHER!!! You lack both intellect and imagination. HUMPH as Sister Shorty would say. I really can't even look at you right now!"
Ah well, perhaps I need to go and buy some crickets as a peace offering.
My sisters ask things like, "Well, can you eat it?" and Mama kinda
rolls her eyes.
S. Hawkings is my dream man. I think, if I'm A VERY GOOD GIRL, the Chicken God will let us meet in Heaven where he won't be all crippled and will be as handsome as his beautiful mind.
Anyway, I was hanging in the kitchen with Lucky. Mom was chopping up cukes to make relish for Auntie Frannie. It suddenly hit me that the seeds of the cuke were a symbol for chaos theory--utterly random, yet strangely ordered. This got me back onto the Chicken God since I believe She created the cuke to illustrate this fundamental truth of creation. I was on a roll when Mama offered us some cuke and I got to eating. Totally lost my train of speculation...
I was very busy today making 21 jars of bread and butter pickles and 4
of peppers. I went outside to find the Schmoo roosted under the
thistle feeder. A safe spot as it is right by the porch, under a lilac
and surrounded by perennials.
BUT ---- the wild birds did poop upon her.
"SCHMOO!", I said in eggasperation, "Didn't you notice that you have been pooped on!??"
"Oh Mama. You broke my concentration. I was a feathersbreath close to my proof of the existence of the Chicken God and now it's lost. POOP?? Poop! POOP ON YOU!"
I guess she told me.