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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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