(This is the last entry!!)
…………………….
DAY NINETEEN
100% chance.
It rained all night.
All morning.
All afternoon.
And it’s still raining.
Passing cars splash baby tidal waves and rain gutters pour waterfalls.
You know the sound.
The girls are huddled together, dry under the porch awning, waiting it out.
Not me.
The back garden is a thousand shallow pools, growing deeper by the second. And I’m running back and forth, splashing. Sinking into soft, fresh mud.
Clucking.
Carpeing this diem.
I feel the girls watching, a little concerned.
Chickens.
Some creatures hide from weather; others delight in it.
I am variety B.
And so are my humans, blaring Indian music with the doors open wide.
Sometimes you gotta act a little crazy to feel sane.
And today sanity is dirty feet, grey skies, wet feathers, and secure knowledge that I got first dibs on all the worm action tomorrow.
Is that Beryl in the compost?
DAY TWENTY
roaches and biscuits
Heck ya that’s me in the compost!
Jenkins gave me the stink eye I was in there so long, but truth be told I’m feeling a little feisty.
Maybe because my toe’s growing back.
Simple things feel magic when they’re new again.
Like nesting and the weighty pull of a forming egg.
The natural order of things.
I like the word order. It means rightful place.
Like me on this roost next to my sister.
G’night, Beryl, she coos, her head against mine.
And we were just about asleep when Jennifer screamed so loud the girls shot up like toast.
But I knew better.
Either she saw a roach or popped open some biscuits, I explained calmly. My eyes still closed.
Then we hear a clunk —a shoe perhaps— and think we know the answer.
Wanda giggles first, then Jenkins.
Then me.
Then Babs, who never laughs at anyone.
Then we squished together.
The four of us sleepy.
The four of us remembering.
You know that sudden bursty feeling when all your happies come back?
That.
A moment of silence for Mister Roach
2016-2016.
THE LAST DAY
the trill of pleasure
I made a brand new noise for my humans today.
A soft warbling trill from the back of my healing throat.
When they look it up on the Google, they’ll find it means
thank you.
I’m happy
I love you.
And life is good.
.
.
.
My name is Beryl.
I’m a beautiful lady chicken.
And I’m gonna
I made it.
3 weeks later, Beryl re-established her dominance.
.
.
.
.
…………………..
Thank you for reading my diary, people humans.
If you like it, I hope you’ll share because that helps Jennifer, who’s pretty okay sometimes.
I wish you the very best things in the world.
love, Beryl
Gin and tonic in hand on this very sultry summer Christmas eve afternoon reading about Beryl. My day has improved. Thank you ❤
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I read the adventures of Beryl with baited breath, similar to Beryl’s after she dines in the compost pile. Just kidding, I know it’s spelled bated. Please keep me updated on future chicken news.
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LOVE, LOVE, LOVE The Diary of Beryl the Lady Chicken! OK, Jennifer, how many more animal diaries are in the works? I have a just a glint of a vision of a whole published series! With photos! Please, please, please?!?!?
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I have a kitty story working. Remember the one we found trapped behind our wall? It’s a lot darker than Beryl’s story. And you’re the first person to know this. ❤️
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Perfect
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Gosh, I’m going to miss Beryl’s stories! Can she visit once in a while and keep us posted on her backyard fun?!!!
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Can Beryl come back and visit us once in a while with her words?! I will miss hearing of her antics in the back yard and want to make certain she is a happy, healthy girl – always!
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Loved the story❤️
Sent from my iPhone
>
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I’ve enjoyed the chicken stuff…but…DO YOU HAVE A BRIDGE IN YOUR BACK YARD???
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I do. Leading to a magic tree house.
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