Gracie was quite emphatic that we had to do something immediately. We had to help The Big Boy at the end of the street because he needed eyeglasses much more than the new bicycle he had gotten for Christmas.
As with most concerns which my chickens have kept to themselves, it often takes a good deal of questioning to get to the bottom of the real story.
She insisted we had to take up a collection or have a yard sale or a bake sale or something to raise money for The Big Boy’s eyeglasses. It was causing The Little Boy at the end of the street a great deal of stress and tears.
Chickens may not totally understand and they may often misinterpret, but you do have to appreciate their caring hearts.
“Gracie, tell me why you think The Big Boy at the end of the street needs glasses.”
“He keeps telling The Little Boy ‘You’re a chicken,’ when he is clearly not a chicken. He is a boy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, The Big Boy will ride his new Christmas bicycle back and forth in the street and in circles around The Little Boy and say ‘Chicken! Chicken! Chicken!’”
“I see. Does The Little Boy ever ride his own new Christmas bicycle back and forth in the street.”
“Not even a little?”
“No. We’ve seen him rolling it when The Big Boy is not around.”
This was not going to be an easy explanation.
“Gracie, it’s like this. He was calling his little brother ‘Chicken!’ because he was afraid to ride the new bike he got for Christmas.”
Gracie looked very puzzled.
“Gracie, when people say ‘You’re a chicken,’ it is like saying, ‘You’re afraid.’”
“People think that about chickens? That we are afraid?”
“Well, not all people, but some people.”
Gracie sat down in a huff. “That is very insulting to chickens!”
“And they need to stop doing that!”
“I know, Sweetie.”
“Why do they do that?”
“Well, I think The Big Boy wanted The Little Boy to get up the courage to ride his new bicycle and not worry about falling off or crashing.”
“So he was trying to help him?” she said, still perplexed.
“Yes, I guess you could say it that way.”
“And he was helping him by pretending he couldn’t see well enough to tell he was a little boy and not a chicken,” she said, still doubting this whole confusing situation.
“Yes. Sort of like that.”
“I will never understand people.”
“I agree with you. Neither will I.”
We both chuckled and shook our heads.
“Gracie, I love you.”
“What’s not to love? I’m a chicken!”
“Yes, that’s it, Gracie! He was calling his little brother a chicken because he loved him. He didn’t want the even bigger boys to pick on him even more.”
“So it was a good thing?”
“Well, is being a chicken a good thing?”
“You are so right, Gracie. And I would never call you a scaredy cat.”
The same puzzled look came over her face again, but she quickly decided to leave her “scaredy cat” questions for another day.
My Life With Gracie taught me the importance of saying what you mean and meaning what you say.
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