Every day, the hens get less territorial and fearful, they are coming to accept the Red Hen as one of theirs.  They have no date but their own instincts. The Red Hen is a different breed, a different color, has a different temperament. But today, they let her share the fallen birdseed, they accept her as part of the flock pecking for seeds and bugs in the warm weather out in the pasture.

The haughty and fancy Brahmas no longer seem to care how different the Red Hen is from them. She is part of their community now, she can hunt and peck for herself. There is safety in numbers for chickens, they are acting in their own best interests.

The Red Hen moves gingerly, shares food, is careful not to provoke. But like my grandmother, she is hard-working, determined and seems brave.  How curious that chickens can do this but people can not. We have this fantasy that somewhere out there is all of the data we need to see into a human soul from afar. We have this idea we can guarantee the future of the human mind and conscience.

The life of the chicken is perilous, we can’t put a fence or wall that will keep out every ferret, hawk,  fisher, raccoon, dog, fox or coyote. They don’t stop living their lives out of fear and hate, and they remind me not to do that either. Do they really think, I wonder, that they can guarantee the future of every person who comes to us from a foreign land, or put a gun and a guard around every harbor, boat or forest border?

How, I wonder, can anything so dumb and clueless as a chicken teach me so much and remind of so much, and inspire me so much? I’m grateful for the Red Hen. The best part of being a human being is learning how to love, to give, to be generous.