chicken little

when i would go out to the barnyard in my flip-flops, our chickens (RIP) would always waddle over to my toes and peck at my painted toenails. when i bent down to offer them scraps from my hand they would often lunge at my wedding ring instead. they thought that my red toes or my shiny ring were bugs. i was always amused by this and would most often allow it (pecks don’t hurt). after a peck or two they realized that there was no protein to be gotten from those toenails and would move on to the scraps in my hand or the offerings i had dumped in the corner pile.

bean is my little chicken little. when i’m doing things with my hands in front of her–showing her how to clap, waving at her, pointing out my fingers or her nose–she grabs for my tiny but shiny wedding ring. when i’m sitting on the couch and she’s playing around on the rug, eventually and always she shimmies her way over to my oft-tapping, dancing toes. she grabs at them, tries to contain them, slaps at them, claps at them, sometimes puts her mouth on them. she loves to watch them wiggle.

she’s my little chicken.