Driving from town back up to The Hill, I encountered these ladies as they hindered my progress home. Even though my mind remained calm and I avoided impatience, I couldn’t help blurting out “Why are you doing that?”.
I remembered a day not long ago when driving in the opposite direction, while late en route to an appointment, similarly detained by the same brood, and, in fear of being late, I felt my mind go wild, and I yelled “Why are you doing that – right now??”
As this question has been pondered by many, in both instances, I recognized that perhaps this was a unique opportunity to interview a participant while in the act of crossing the road, and maybe get an accurate answer to this eternal question.
Both queries, one based in calm, the other in impatience, remained unanswered. During both encounters, the hens barely noticed me, my auto, or my question, regardless of whether gently or emphatically expressed. Had they answered, I still may not have understood – the only chicken-speak I am sure of is when a rooster crows “wake up… wake up… wake up…”.
They simply continued on their way. Though I probably could have gotten out of the car and followed them, I realized that the act of following them may cause them to deviate from their original intended course. Though I may learn their destination, I could never be sure of their motivation; I may learn the “where”, but I could never be certain of the “why”.
They would keep this secret to themselves. Disappointed at being apparently so close to a definitive answer to an age old question, I asked myself “If you had the answer, what would you do with that information?”
Despite their inscrutable ways, my curiosity still compels me to ask, if given the opportunity, “Did your first ancestor look like you, or like a small smooth oval stone?”