From the Bench

Several weeks ago, the front page of this website was graced with a picture of a chicken that had been hurriedly and, as it turned out, carelessly, named "Clarence". Two weeks later, "Clarence" began to cluck, warning us of our error. Roosters don’t cluck.

"Clarence" became "Clara", and yesterday she thanked us by confirming her gender with a small brown egg, deposited on the back steps. This morning there was another one. Now a nest is in order, since no self-respecting pullet should be expected to lay her eggs on concrete.

There is just one problem. The day before Clara displayed her talent, we promised her to Diana and Bob, who have a farm out in the country off Wildcat Bridge Road, and who promised not only that they never slaughter any of their creatures, but also that Clara would share the wide open spaces with birds of a feather.

We thought about reneging on our gift, but that would be selfish and unfair. Clara deserves better. A soft nest, space, companionship.
Wonder if Diana and Bob have a rooster?

Clara would make a good mother. You could sense it. Funny how much you can learn about a chicken in such a short time.

After becoming that one in a million that escapes from a poultry truck, Chic FilA, and the Colonel, Clara deserves it. Destiny’s pullet. Another inspiring story of a refugee saved from the clutches of a mass murderer, memorialized on the pages of "From the Bench."

One bit of advice to Clara’s new owners. Her eggs are small, not uncommon for a young pullet. You will need to get some laying mash in her if you expect bigger eggs and stronger biddies. Scratch feed won’t cut it.

There will be one request before we turn Clara over to Diana and Bob. If Clara becomes a mother, name one of the biddies for us. But be sure and check him out first. Don’t make the mistake we made.

Even an old rooster has pride. Just plain pride, without any adjectives.