Meet the New Girl

My mom has a chicken, we’re southern if it makes more sense. Other mothers have hobbies, boyfriends or Cadillacs. But we always have to be different. Her name is Hazel, the chicken not my mom. And she sounds pretty sassy, for poultry. When I asked for her photo I get “Hazel doesn’t like to stand still” my mom says it won’t be easy, this chicken is camera-shy. “Hazel this” and “Hazel that”, my sister and I have been replaced.

I want some details about where she came from and who she belongs to. My mom is more than happy to believe Hazel was destined to be hers. Along with the crazy old run-down family farmhouse she and my cousin Jane just inherited. It’s in the middle of nowhere in Oklahoma. In a town so tiny, there is only one restaurant. Pie is .75 a slice. In a place where pie is cheap, chickens are too apparently. The previous owners won’t be putting up “Lost Dinner” fliers so Hazel is safe. May I suggest a collar with her name and address just in case she gets restless again.