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rted spying。

It's not really necessary to look over the Bakers' fence。 You can see almost as well looking

through it。 But Garrett kept sticking his head up; so I

figured I should too; although in the back of my mind I was aware that Garrett didn't have to

live in this neighborhood — I did。

The backyard was a mess。 Big surprise。 The bushes were out of control; there was some

kind of hodgepodge wood…and…wire coop off to one

side; and the yard wasn't grass; it was highly fertilized dirt。

Garrett was the first to notice their dog; sacked out on the patio between two sorry…looking

folding chairs。 He points at him and says; “You think

he's going to give us trouble?”

“We're not going to be here long enough to get in trouble! Where are those stupid chickens?”

“Probably in the coop;” he says; then picks up a rock and throws it at the mess of plywood

and chicken wire。

At first all we hear is a bunch of feathers flapping; but then one of the birds es fluttering

out。 Not very far; but enough so we can see it's got

feathers and rubbery red stuff。

“So?” I ask him。 “Is that a rooster?”

He shrugs。 “Looks like a chicken to me。”

“How can you tell?”

He shrugs again。 “Just does。”

We watch it scratching at the dirt for a minute; and then I ask; “What's a hen; anyway?”

“A hen?”

“Yeah。 You got roosters; you got chickens; and then there's he

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