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I Have a Dream...and It Involves Chickens

For some years now, I have harbored a fantasy that seems on the point of coming to pass.

You can't watch a movie that takes place anywhere in the third world that does not feature a scene of people on a bus, train or other similar public transport carrying live chickens. I watch those people with chickens in string bags, bamboo cages, held by the feet and I want to be them.

I admitted my fantasy to friends, and it went from being my own private obsession to one shared with a small, deeply disturbed community. And it has gone from myself alone with a single chicken in some sort of suitably restraining enclosure to a huge number of people in bizarre costumes invading every sort of public transport between SJ and SF with an impressive array of barnyard fowl.

Just picture it [insert fadeout with nauseating wavelike motion and "doodley-doo" music here]:

I'm standing at the bus stop with at least a-five a-chickens in a string bag. As the bus stops in front of me, the driver takes in my fur cap (earflaps down), plaid shirt over a bright, flowered skirt over at least four pairs of socks and my most beat-up work boots. And I am at the head of a queue of people who all look like me, only worse.

As I clamber uncertainly onto the bus, the driver looks at my string bag. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, you can't bring that on the bus."

I squint at him uncertainly, as though I don't speak English, and continue on the bus. I sit down, all the while the bus driver is yelling "You have to get off. You can't bring those on the bus." In the meantime, at least ten other people are also climbing on the bus with their paper bags, Samsonite suitcases, cat carriers of live chickens. I lean forward, putting my arms protectively around my chickens, just in case someone might think that mine are better, more desireable than their own.

The bus driver gives up and sits down, cursing loudly. Once we get to the light rail station, we all get off and take over at least two cars on light rail. All the other passengers flee because by this time it's getting to be late in the morning and there are a lot of chickens here. The smell is...fowl. (No, I'm not particularly sorry.)

From the light rail, it's on to Cal Train where another car is emptied of people whose only wish on a daily basis is to NOT HAVE THIS HAPPEN TO THEM.

We ride Cal Train all the way to BART, where we can stride from car to car talking extremely loudly in unplaceable accents and smile broadly at other people in the car, drawing everyone possible into the joke.

And then we ride BART to the end of the line. We get off and celebrate our victory over civilization and good taste, and then take our chickens home and have fertilizer for the gardens and lovely eggs and pets that are every bit as stupid as goldfish or hamsters, but more useful.

I can hardly WAIT!


( 9 comments — Leave a comment )
(Deleted comment)
Feb. 24th, 2004 09:23 am (UTC)
Re: WOW!
No, see-- you have to do this somewhere were someone walking aruond with a box full of chickens is not a daily occurrance.



Good luck this weekend with the chickenschildren.
(Deleted comment)
Feb. 24th, 2004 10:07 am (UTC)
Re: WOW!
I don't know how old your husband's children are, but your children will most certainly fit into string bags! Another lovely option is Army surplus duffel bags. If a soldier can carry two months' worth of clothes and supplies in it, it's certainly large enough for even a very unwilling child under 10.

Not that I would know from experience, mind you...
Feb. 24th, 2004 10:13 am (UTC)
man, i want to see that in a screenplay...
Feb. 24th, 2004 10:20 am (UTC)
When Boy was small, he came up to me one day and announced that he wanted chickens. He wanted chickens and he was going to get a chicken and by gum, he was going to get a chicken. He was!! Mama even said they could get a chickens and he was going to own chickens.

I went toddling down to my mother and asked her why she told Boy he could have chickens. I don't know much about the CCRs in my parents neighbourhood, but I'm going to walk right out onto that limb and say there's a no livestock or fowl restriction. Mama looked at me oddly for a few moments and then laughed. No dear, Boy wants kittens.

And that, my friend, is how Missy and Edmund came about.

Feb. 24th, 2004 10:35 am (UTC)
Re: Chickens
I have bad news for you. He wasn't kidding. He meant chickens. Each one of those creatures is just two chickens stuffed into a cat suit.

They're not purring. They're clucking very quietly....
Feb. 24th, 2004 10:21 am (UTC)
Chickens II
It also reminds me of Goodbye, Farewell, Amen.


Feb. 24th, 2004 08:41 pm (UTC)
Hey, can one substitute a parrot for a chicken?

(You are one crazy freak! I like that about you.)
Feb. 24th, 2004 09:50 pm (UTC)
If the parrot will submit to being cooped up in a string bag/bamboo basket/huge ornate forged-iron cage, and if your costume is bizarre enough, ABSOLUTELY.

Extra points if your parrot can scream obscenities in foreign languages!
Sep. 11th, 2004 11:00 pm (UTC)
Attention Monkey
I have been reading your journal for lack of better things to do and I have determined that this would interest you:


Hens = Funny.
( 9 comments — Leave a comment )