SUVs and Other Unexpected Places

(Chapter 1 from the book "The Chicken Who Didn’t Know Where
to Lay Her Eggs")

Shellie had a bumpy beginning in life, but at least she had auspicious genes. Her father was the largest, most dominant rooster in the farm yard, and her mother the most productive layer in the entire coop.

When it had become apparent that Shellie wasn't going to come into the world the normal way like most chicks, farmer’s wife, Paula had had to step in and take drastic measures. It hadn't been at all clear whether even those measures would be enough, but, in the end, Paula seemed to work the magic that her husband often said only she could.

After Paula had gotten Shellie past those touch-and-go first few days, both she and Mike, Mike, had assumed that Shellie would turn out to be like any other chicken. They had assumed that she would spend a couple of weeks being a cute and precious furry ball with spindly legs, a tiny beak and eyes, and then evolve into a scrawny, long-legged adolescent pullet. They were right at least that far.

They had then assumed that Shellie would blossom into a plump, full-feathered layer that would be just as pragmatic and predictable as any other hen in the farm yard. As both of them knew, all chickens are basically the same, and they do fundamentally the same things. A chicken gets up with the sun, spends a large part of each day pecking around for food, and, above all, makes a comfortable nest and lays all her eggs in that spot and only that spot.

Shellie didn't quite fit the pattern. For one thing, she remained a very small hen, only half the size of the other hens in the yard. For another, Shellie developed some very unchicken-like behaviors and views on life.

When Shellie was fully grown and it came time for her to take her place beside the other chickens in the coop, even the best genes from the whole farm yard didn’t seem to have the right programming.

Instead of finding the perfect spot for laying her eggs, Shellie laid them anywhere and everywhere. She laid eggs out in the middle of the farm yard, on the front-door mat, and in the old refrigerator under the giant oak tree in the backyard that served as a fishing-worm bed for Paula.

Paula sometimes found eggs in the mailbox, in the kitchen sink and under the hood of her SUV. Those under the hood of the SUV were the most perplexing. Theoretically, it shouldn't have been possible for Shellie to lay eggs there. All the spaces were very tight and seemingly too cramped for even a small hen like Shellie to squeeze into, much less lay an egg. But that's exactly what Shellie managed to do. And she managed to do it without getting any oil or grease on her feathers. Shellie was, if not a typical chicken, at least a very clean one.

Mike occasionally suggested that the best way to solve the problem was simply to get rid of the SUV. He had never wanted it in the first place. The only reason he had bought it was that his sister, Desert Doe (although he often called her "Dessert Donut"), had purchased it but then couldn't make the payments. Mike had bought it from her to get her out of a tight situation. He had given Desert Doe a small used car in turn, which he had picked up for a very good price. Mike appreciated the value of used cars. He was proud to let people know that he had never bought a brand-new car in his life, only used ones that were in excellent condition. Once he bought a used car, he drove it until it fell apart from rust or he wrecked it. He had already wrecked a number of vehicles. When he was driving, he tended to look at the crops in everyone else's fields rather than at the road. That led to him driving into a number of ditches.

Paula often assumed that it would only be a matter of time before Mike also drove the SUV into a ditch. Fortunately, she told herself, it was far sturdier than most vehicles and could withstand such mishaps better.

The SUV was certainly a very nice vehicle. But it also had a few negatives. It gobbled gas faster than any vehicle Mike had ever had owned, and the insurance on it was high. Mike certainly didn't need the SUV. He had enough other powerful vehicles and trucks for getting around on the farm.

But Paula liked it. She frequently praised how extremely reliable and safe it was. Moreover, she loved driving it up and down the dirt roads and through the fields on the farm. One of her greatest pleasures was to drive it as fast as she dared on the dirt roads and make the dust fly up behind her in giant red clouds. She relished looking in the rear-view mirror and seeing those red dust clouds so thick behind her that they blocked out everything else in sight.

And Shellie certainly liked the SUV, especially as a place for laying eggs.
Every time Mike and his wife got ready to drive the SUV, they had learned that they better open the hood to see if Shellie or any of her eggs were under it. Spotting Shellie was easy enough, but finding her eggs was a real challenge. Shellie had a knack for laying them in very hard-to-see and hard-to-get-to places. Often, Mike and his wife couldn't find the eggs even if they used a heavy-duty flashlight.

The SUV was actually about the only place Shellie ever laid eggs more than once. Otherwise, she just laid her eggs wherever she happened to be when the egg was ready to come out. She tended not to spend any time thinking about laying eggs even when it came time to lay one.

The only place Shellie didn’t lay eggs was where she was supposed to – in the chicken coop. She had never even built a nest there.

Unlike the other chickens in the yard, Shellie rarely ventured into the chicken coop. She just didn't see much point of going there. From the way she saw things, the chicken coop was already full of chickens and one more would have just made it that much more crowded. She preferred spending her time in the house with Paula. The house wasn't at all crowded with other chickens. The only other beings there besides Paula and herself were Mike, the rat terrier, and, every now and then, the cat.

Paula wasn't at all bothered by having Shellie in the house, and she didn't care where Shellie lay her eggs. As far as she was concerned, Shellie could lay her eggs anywhere she wanted. As she told her husband, there wasn't a single verse in the Bible – or in any other book that Paula had ever read – that said that a chicken had to lay her eggs in one place and only one place. Paula figured that if the Bible didn't tell chickens where to lay their eggs, they could lay them wherever they wanted.

Mike was a little less tolerant. He found it irritating that fresh eggs could turn up anywhere at anytime. When he wasn't careful – which was usually the case – he stepped on them, sat on them, or lay down on them. When he did that, he would always say something unmentionable about Shellie beneath his breath.

But he especially got irritated when eggs ended up under the hood of the SUV. The fact that Paula fed Shellie fresh garlic every day didn't make things any more bearable for Mike. Shellie's eggs always had a slight garlic aroma, and Mike wasn't fond of garlic. The ones who liked garlic were Paula and the preacher.

When Mike switched on the SUV, the eggs that didn't end up hard-boiled would sometimes explode. The egg yolk and egg white would splatter on the hot parts of the SUV and burn to a crisp. The smell of burnt garlic egg would get into the air-conditioning or heating system and fill the inside of the SUV. Mike would have to sprinkle baking soda throughout the SUV and roll down the windows for days to get the smell of burnt egg out. He especially resented the smell of burnt garlic eggs on hot days when he wanted to roll the SUV windows all the way up and turn the air-conditioner on full blast. He repeatedly told his wife, "It's an SUV, not a chicken coop."

Every time an egg would explode under the hood of the SUV, Mike would beg his wife do something about it, especially since she insisted on keeping the SUV. He even proposed a few things himself. He told his wife that he could quickly find other useful purposes for Shellie.

The one idea he put forth most frequently was to make Shellie the main dish on the Sunday supper table. He figured that Sunday supper was the ideal time to have baked chicken with applesauce. That was always the time of the week the preacher, his wife and two children were most likely to drop by unannounced. And the preacher’s favorite meal was baked hen with applesauce.

But, fortunately for Shellie, Paula had no intention of letting her end up on Sunday's supper table. To her, Shellie was much more than just a chicken. She didn't care that Shellie couldn't figure out the proper place to lay her eggs. The important thing was that Shellie was Shellie.

Besides, Shellie's eggs were extremely tasty with their slight garlic favor, and quite big for such a small hen. Paula just took it in stride that she might find one of Shellie's eggs in the most unexpected of places. On one occasion, she had even found one on her bed pillow. She had never told her husband about that. Shellie wasn't supposed to go into the bedroom. But Paula sometimes let her do so when she knew Mike was going to be gone all day. It was just one of their secrets. They had lots of secrets.

Anytime Mike suggested putting Shellie on the Sunday supper table, Paula quickly pointed out that that would be short-sighted. She pointed out that the preacher loved Shellie's eggs. He bragged about their delicate garlic flavor every time he and his family dropped by unannounced. He said they were tastier than any other eggs he had ever eaten. He particularly liked them when they were devilled.

But there was an even more important reason that Paula would never let Shellie become Sunday supper. For her, Shellie filled an important role that nobody else could, not even her husband or her daughter. Paula called Shellie "her therapist". She found Shellie a particularly good listener, and Shellie never offered useless advice. Paula could talk to Shellie about anything. She could tell Shellie things that she didn't dare tell any human – neither the preacher nor her husband nor her own daughter.
Shellie and Pau
la spent large parts of each day together. Shellie frequently sat in Paula’s lap for hours on end as Paula watched baseball on the living room TV. On cold days, the rat terrier would also sit there with them. Normally, however, he preferred his own chair. To him, three in a chair was usually just too crowded. He had trouble stretching out and dreaming about chasing rabbits.

The only one who never sat with them was the cat. She had never thought much of Shellie, and she thought even less of the rat terrier. She spent very little time in the house, and, when she did, she was either lying on the rat terrier's blanket or eating his food. The cat didn't actually like the rat terrier's food. She just ate it to aggravate him. She liked to eat his food, make him mad enough to growl and whimper at her, and then just flick her tail at him as she kept eating. She knew he wasn't brave enough to do anything more than growl.

As Paula and Shellie sat there watching baseball in the easy chair, Paula would occasionally stroke Shellie's back gently and tell Shellie her thoughts. She would often tell her about her life before she came to live on the farm.

The only time either of them got up was when Paula wanted another glass of ice tea or when Shellie needed to lay another egg. Otherwise, they would sit there and watch the baseball fly back and forth across the field hour after hour. When the team Paula was rooting for hit a home run, Paula would give Shellie a kernel of corn from the bowl she kept for just that purpose on the little table beside the chair.

Mike often scoffed at his wife when he saw her sitting in the chair with Shellie. He sometimes told her that she preferred Shellie to him, her own daughter and her grandson.

Paula rarely replied. She merely kept her eyes glued on the baseball game, took a sip of ice tea with one hand and stroked Shellie's back with the other.
If she said anything at all, it would be something like, "Is Desert Doe coming this year?"

Mentioning Desert Doe was always a good way to make Mike quit fussing.