She called the chickens
Like other writers of blogs, I tend to pay attention to what searches people do that lead them to my page. Usually, I can figure out what they meant and how they got there. However, as on a few other occasions, today I am stumped.
Someone got to me with a search of “she called the chickens.” Aside from the fact that I don’t remember ever having talked about chickens in my blog, I am puzzled by what this person wanted to know. The first thought that comes to mind is that the person who was searching wanted to know WHAT she called the chickens. Did she call them Henny Penny and Chicken Little? It made me wonder what I would call a chicken if I had one. Perhaps “Dinner?”
Or was the person looking for a story about a farm with a motherly looking woman dressed in a checked apron, her hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, opening up the creaky screen door to call the chickens? What were they doing that required her calling them? I wonder if they were wandering out into the road.
Many years ago I used to drive my daughter to school each morning because her school was a good 40 minutes drive away and it was on my way to school when I was studying for my doctorate. There was a road that we used to drive on that more often than not had chickens walking by the side. Every once in a while, we would see feathers in the road and we would guess that not all of the chickens had successfully negotiated the traffic. But each morning, we enjoyed seeing the chickens and affectionately called the road, “Chicken Road.” Sadly, one day the chickens were gone and never returned, and from then on, we drove on “the road formerly known as Chicken Road.”
But could she have been calling the chickens for some other reason? Perhaps she wanted to paint a chicken painting and wanted them to come together to pose. Perhaps she missed their peeping. Perhaps she realized that the rain or snow was coming and she wanted them to be warm and dry.
We’ll never know. If the searcher finds out, perhaps he/she will tell us.
