When all is said and done, the chickens return to their place in the barn. Mother Hen is by no means an exception. Hers is by the window on the triangle-shaped top of the barn, facing a distant other farm where all the cows and bulls reside.
Her sight might not function well at night but her hearing is razor sharp. Tonight, as with every other night, she sits still, ignorant to what is happening around her. It has been a long day, with the party and all.
She seems occupied. And rightly so. If you listen, really listen, you too can hear that melodious music-to-the-ear-and-the-heart sound of Spanish guitar. It is Emilio’s, the next-barn Spanish bull that can huff and puff like no other.
And if you really really listen, you can hear the tune … no me ames (popularly sung in the human world by J Lo and her what’s-his-name husband). (note to the less exposed to education: No me ames means don’t love me).
As with other nights, Mother Hen starts humming the tune. Her voice is carried over by the wind to the barn next door. Emilio hears that vague familiar chirpy sound that somehow manages to stay in tune to his guitar. He smiles as he knows who that would be. He looks at the barn far away. Their eyes meet.
Their thoughts fly back in time. To the day when Mother Hen ran frantically to chase those naughty chickadees to the cow barn. She bumped into Emilio. Oh the sweet enchanting smell of that bull! Eh-em. We leave it to your imagination how the story on that day continued. (We know that some of you already start fantasizing! Ck ck, do your parents know how wild your imagination works? Worrying)
To cut long story short, from there on, Mother Hen changed her starting year of living as a chicken. Her life started on the day she met Emilio. That was when she started living, loving. But that day was also the day when she left her heart and soul in the next door barn. What is here is only her physical form. An empty feathery shell. How can soul and body live separately in this world?
Awww, such is life. C’est la vie. La vida es asi. It is impossible to be together. For one, well, hello, they are of different familia. One mammals, another aves. What to do, what to do. All she can do is to face the cow barn every evening, listening to that heart-warming serenade from Emilio the Spanish bull.
A chill breeze blows from behind. “I know, Boo, I know,” she smiled and whispered affectionately to Boo, her nickname for Chick-A-Boo. “But I cannot help it. Let me have these moments, at least.”
Another chill breeze blows. This time it is ticklish, playing with the soft feathers of Mother Hen. “He he, yes yes, I am chicken after all,” Mother Hen chuckled.
Then another, warmer breeze blows, as if gently hugging Mother Hen. “Thank you, Boo. Love you, too,” said Mother Hen warmly, quivering, smiling, sighing. Eyes never stray away from the cow barn. Religiously listening to the tune still.
“OMG, OMG, are those like tears we see in like Mother Hen’s eyes?” whispered (not so quietly) the overtly excited 20-odd chickadees, which have been staying low just about two meters behind Mother Hen. They have been there for the last 30 minutes, as they always are every night, to watch this romantic chick lit. We strongly suggest Mother Hen to buy TV or radio instead to provide late-night entertainment for the chickadees.
Honestly. Rude little rascals. Don’t they know that these are private moments? (Note to self: Remind us to dig tonight’s dirts from those rude little rascals tomorrow morning. We want by-the-second details. Exciting!!)
DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction and any resemblance between the characters and persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Or perhaps you are just being so vain. You think this song (story?) is about you, don’t you? Don’t you?
