|Chickens of Valley Street in more salubrious times.|
Mike said to Claudia he had seen some of the earlier-that-morning kerfful in which some dogs without leashes walked through the neighborhood, spotted Claudia's 'free-range' chickens and promptly attacked. Claudia went ape-shit -- as did Mike from a distance and I listening from a third-hand vantage point. The dog got the white chicken in its mouth ... Claudia grabbed a broom and the owers apparently told her to go fuck herself. I never did find out how the white chicken fared. Claudia called the cops and the animal control officer. I asked if she got into trouble because her chickens, which wander about with the straight-spined arrogance of a marquis, were not exactly under control either. Never did get an answer, but I still stand with the chickens: How many chickens do you know who would attack either people or other animals. Geese, sure ... but chickens? They're 'chicken,' right? This (chickens, rancor, warm weather) all could be grounds for a sissy version of the Hatfield and the McCoys, save the fact that people around here use the descriptive "hand-crafted" as if it were something serious in the world.
Doreen, Mike's wife and a good spirit in the neighborhood, has finished on bout of radiation/chemotherapy and it worked, as best I understood it, but now there is some lung cancer that cannot be operated on because of its integration with veins, arteries and other delicacies on the lung. It's being zapped in what everyone hopes is the last bout of trips to the hospital. I miss Doreen's laugh, which, from a porch diagonally across the street, can be heard without straining. She's tired, but recuperating well, says Mike.
Today's was just a little 10-minute convocation on the street, but very pleasant as another day (tomorrow) of snow and the rest of winter cuts off a quick retreat into spring .... although my wife says there are flowers doing their best on the backyard lawns.