A fellow educator told me Friday about a show she watched on one of those nature shows on cable. It followed a mother hen as her hatchlings emerged and began to scratch out an existence. At one point, near the end of the story, all the chickens in the coop scattered for cover. A hawk was overhead. The mother hen whose chicklets had just been born initially followed suit, then stopped and returned to cover her hatchlings, who were naturally as yet uncognizant of the threat posed by a hawk.
The hawk dived. It careened into the sky as feathers flew, a large bunch of them in his claws. The mother hen was still on the ground. Apparently, this young hawk didn't realize how many feathers chickens have or how thick the feathers are. He continued off in flight and the mother hen saw to her babies.
We are oftens ubject to the negatively denotated accusation of being chicken. Yet, in this story, this brave mother hen was willing to sacrifice her life to save her chicks. If that's what it means to be chicken, then I am proud to be called chicken.
1 comment:
Lovely. I would be proud to be a chicken too!!
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