sleep all day

Then I saw something odd. Something vibrantly alive down by the water that was entirely the wrong color. I called back my vital scouting info and my family gathered around me. We looked down the steep verge toward the slough, screened by underbrush. We couldn’t quite make out what it was. The only thing we could agree was that it certainly wasn’t a duck. However it was about duck sized and roughly duck shaped. It just wasn’t a duck.

This led to some heated debate amongst my siblings and I but we were forbidden to scramble down the muddy hill to harass the mystery animal. Reluctantly we continued down the trail, speculating wildly when a chicken popped out of a bush in front of us with a train of several chicks.

We froze. The chicken did not. She placidly herded her little puffs across the trail, pecking happily for seeds, unbothered by our proximity. My family had not yet delved into farming and this was the first time any of us kids had seen a chicken up close. It was like a fairytale thing, a creature we had seen over and over in books was suddenly here in the wilderness of the park. We all realized the mystery creature had likewise been a chicken.

Another couple came up the trail and saw us staring.

“Is this your first time at the park?” They asked?

We nodded.

They informed us that this park had become a dumping ground for unwanted chickens. Once the chickens were dumped they were park property and the locals didn’t mind the eccentric additions at all. No one looked after the chickens, but they got on surprisingly well.

As the years went by we visited the park regularly. Signs were added to warn people not to dump off chickens or they’d be fined. They were also excluded from snatching the existing chickens. The hope was that the chickens would eventually run their course and the park would go back to normal.

It did not.

Instead the menagerie grew. Peacocks cropped up occasionally, turkeys; and one visit we saw guinea fowl. But there were always chickens. Eventually feed dispenser were installed so park goers could pay a quarter to enjoy the motley flocks.

Because we’d moved into a house with land my mom started up a chicken coop and we got our very own chickens at the feed store like proper folks. The first rooster we had was a gentleman, politely clucking at us when came into the coop, but the second proved troublesome a year later. He either adored or hated me. Every time I entered the coop he’d dance and flounce and brandish his spurs.

My mom didn’t want to off him frankly she didn’t know how at that point but his fascination ended with him flying at me and the rooster was sentenced to banishment.

We drove to the park.

We saw him there for years afterward, clucking dutifully around a small flock of hens. He did pretty well in exile.

Anyone who’s kept chickens knows that eventually there’s always a tragedy. Ours happened when a neighbors dog broke into our coop and slaughtered the flock. I was absolutely distraught, my lovingly hand reared chicks all decimated in a flurry of senseless bloodlust. I have not loved a chicken since. They are too fragile to bear it.

After a few days of mourning my mom offered that she knew where to find some more chickens. To make up for the massacre she planned a night raid with us. We stayed up past our bedtime and drove to the park with tarp covered kennels in the back of the truck.

We crept down along the gravel parking lot, looking up into the trees, spotting the telltale lumps of shadows that meant chickens. We quickly developed a strategy. We picked a chicken branch, creeping close underneath. Then we reached the end of the branch and gave it a good shake until the roosting chicken glided down to the ground in confusion. It was easy to scoop them up and we went home the proud new owner of a handsome flock of chickens.

Short

Sesquipedalian

Fifteen-lettered

Conceptual

Blue

Business-related

Inanimate

Misspeled

"The hat is customizable," he said, struggling with the velcro patch on the front. "If I need it, I have an ICE one too. I pick based off the business i walk into."

"Customizable is an important hat descriptor," I said. "what can I get you?"

"You wouldn't believe how offended people get these days," he said. "And I'm supposed to do something about it if you're offended? You chose to be offended!"

"We all have hundreds of thousands of decisions everyday," I said. I thickened my accent. "That's what my stepdad always said. But I can make one easier - we have a delicious Ethiopian roast available."

"Like if I told you you have a bull ring," he said, "because bulls have rings in their noses. Is that offensive?"

I laughed. "I've heard that before."

"It's a joke, but people get offended. Maybe you're offended."

I looked at him. I smiled. "You aren't trying to offend me though, right?"

Of course he was. I was being friendly and the friendlier I was, the faster he switched topics. He was saying anything inflammatory he could think of to see if I'd take the bait. After about 20 minutes of my redirecting and deescalating, he settled into a more normal interaction. He took up too much of my time showing me a product I'd feigned mild interest in to get him to stop talking about getting accused of inappropriate behavior at work. When we finally disengaged, he spent 10 minutes trying to catch my eye again. When he failed, he left.

There's this new breed of customer who insists on trying to incite political conversation through their clothing and, when that doesnt work, their snide little comments. If I owned my own business, maybe I would have given the guy the fight he wanted. But I work for a corporation and I love paying my bills so I deescalated.

Yeah, yeah. It's bad. We get it. Kinda hard to miss right now. You know what? So is everywhere else. You are not going to find a single government, a single nation, anywhere on earth that is perfect and unproblematic.

We need to acknowledge this. Nowhere is perfect. Everywhere has corrupt people who actively seek positions they can use to exploit power and enrich themselves at the expense of others. The vast majority of countries in the world have a lot of blood on their hands and were founded in war; loads of countries have a history of colonization and exploitation of other countries, and a lot of that is continuing to this day.

Now raise your hand: who here was taught as a child to believe in the good your nation can do for its people and the world? Who here was raised with the idea that your country had an awful past but has learned better and is trying to move forward to do better and be better in the future?

Short of buying a boat and hiding away at sea, you are never, ever going to be free of nationality. Not even if you burn it all down; something new will just arise in its place. This is the world we have; this is the society we have to live in. Do you not wish it was better? Do you not wish that is did reflect that optimism you were raised with?

The reason children around the world are taught to believe in the good side of their nation is NOT because the people teaching us want to indoctrinate us into the cult of nationalism (okay yeah, some do do that on purpose, and sometimes that's just the result despite teachers' best efforts), but because they want us to see that good side, see what things are like now, and get angry and disappointed and energized enough to fight to make it reality. To actually do better and become a better world for everyone.

It says we are creating a more perfect union. In less flowery language: a better one. Closer to what we want to be. We're not there yet. (Fun fact, many of the founders agreed we were nowhere near there yet!) But we have the tools to get closer, and closer. And perhaps one day to reach it.

(also, she was never judgey - if my meal was a single potato chip she would simply say good job eating a potato chip today <3 )

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I'm a cow milk fan but this ad is baffling. "Don't drink oat milk it's made of oats!!!" We know that's why it's called oat milk. Are they against porridge too.