Chicken Stories

Playing truant was always appealing. Always. Two nine-year-olds deep into their school days would always know better than what adults told them. Your years in school were not the best days of your life, and you don’t need to attend classes to get clever to get good jobs. They knew it all, so didn’t need to bother attending, and why do maths lessons and cross-country runs when it was much more appealing to play on railways...

Here I sit writing. Pardon me a moment. Something is poking me in the butt. Ouch, that hurt, as I pull a feather out of my butt cheek. I feel several other pin feathers there. I scratch my head with wonder. Why am I growing tail feathers? Am I changing and if so why? I eat a lot of chicken and eggs. I think I developed some chicken traits lately. I scratch around looking for nothing in particular. I flap my arms, but get...