Germaine Street - Chapter Five

“Look, I’m not going to hurt you” the attempted reasonableness in DiDi’s voice was betrayed by a touch of desperation as she sat at her kitchen table and addressed the wicker picnic basket in front of her, held closed with a rock.

“It’s a nice, beneficial arrangement; I give you shelter, food and water, you give me eggs.”

From the depths of the box came a muffled cluck that DiDi was tempted to interpret as a “yes”.

“Ok, so I’m going to open the basket, you don’t freak out, yeah?”

Another muffled cluck.

“Ok, Ok” DiDi muttered, more to steel herself than reassure her little prisoner.

She picked up the rock and placed it gently besides the basket. The basket’s occupant clucked uncertainly in response to the small noises of the placement.

“Ok, I’m going to open the lid” DiDi announced, hoping the chicken understood.

Her first attempt to open the lid faltered when her finger tips slipped and the lid bonked the chicken lightly on the head, “shit, shit, shit” DiDi muttered before trying again.

This time the operation was a fair sight smoother and the basket stood open. The chicken hid in the shadows of the recesses on the basket’s other side.

DiDi leaned forward to peer in, a big and, she hoped, welcoming, smile on her face.

“There we go, it’s okay” Di cooed in a way that seemed calming.

The chicken emerged, bobbing her head as her eyes adjusted to the light in the kitchen. Then she stopped, looked up, right into DiDi’s face and it happened.

As she had been carrying the fear paralyzed chicken home the previous night DiDi had thought about what was causing the terror (it distracted her from the taste of feathers in her mouth). The question had kept her from sleeping for a longer time than it should have and she didn’t have a solution until she awoke.

Chickens were stupid.

That wasn’t a petulant declaration on DiDi’s part, okay it wasn’t entirely a petulant declaration, but a realization that chickens lacked the filters, other, less simple beings did, that allowed them to ignore the nature of DiDi’s true form.

Where most beings saw DiDi as a girl in her early twenties or, when she chose it, a white fox, chickens saw her as both, simultaneously. The poor birds perceived all eight limbs, all nine tails, both sets of facial features, the multiple eyes, the clothes, the fur, all at once, with no differentiation.

Not even DiDi could see that, her mind rebelled when she even attempted it.

The chicken was in full panic attack mode now. Spasmodic flapping, squawking and...screaming? Di hadn’t even been aware that chickens could even scream, but clearly they could.

DiDi closed the lid and made “shh shh shh” sounds. In addition to having no perception filter chickens also lack much in the way of memory and object permanence and so the kerfuffle soon abated.

DiDi placed the rock back on top of the basket. Making sure she closed the backdoor securely this time; last night had been a nightmare in which she was sure she’d lose her fourth chicken in as many weeks, DiDi made her way across the yard to the little coup and chicken run complex her mother and father had shipped to her from Portland. Thinking of her father’s cheery teasing “Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?” in the note that had come with the boxes now made Di cringe a little in light of the last month of avian anxiety.

It had been fun building and decorating the thing. There was a little storage shed feature for feed and tools and supplies, a roosting house and an ample run. Truly it was the chicken dream house, DiDi had had such high hopes for it. Pouting, DiDi opened the door to the shed.

Locating the feed bin, DiDi filled the little cup about a third full and tuned to head inside. She stopped however when she felt the eyes watching her. Looking in the general direction of the garden fence that separated her yard from that of the house next door, DiDi at first didn’t see anyone. Then she realized this was because her eyes were at the level of a grown up.

Adjusting the angle of her vision downwards by a couple of feet, DiDi met the gaze of a boy of around eight or nine. “Hello?” DiDi called out to her audience, “can I help you?”

The boy shook his head but continued to regard DiDi with interest. DiDi approached the fence and sat in front of him. “What’s your name?”

“Serge” the answer was far more confident than DiDi had been expecting and this caused her to laugh at the incongruity of the moment.

“Delighted to meet you Serge, my name is Diaji, most people call me DiDi though”

A thought occurred to her, “Do, do you live next door?” as long as DiDi had been in residence, number 368 had been vacant.

“Do now, we moved in yesterday”

Ah, that explained it; DiDi had been buying supplies most of yesterday and had been required to deal with yet another runaway after she’d opened the live crate so had not paid much attention to the goings on in the neighborhood.

“Who’s we Serge?”

“Me, my sisters, mom and dad”

“That’s nice, how many sisters do you have?”

“Seven, and my brother but he doesn’t live with us”

“Nine? Wow, that is a lot, I just have one sister, she’s older than me, looks like you’re wer…” DiDi stopped herself, leaned in closer and surveyed Serge’s face “Oh! You are, do you know about the Rirsens?”

“No, but mom says there might be another pack around here, is that them?”

“Smart thinking Serge! They have a girl about your age called Abby, Maybe the two of you could be friends?”

Serge shrugged “Maybe. I like your henhouse”

DiDi smiled “Me too! When I have some chickens living there I think it’ll be really cool!”

“Ok, I think I should go inside now, mom was making breakfast”

“Well it was nice chatting Serge” DiDi stood up “I will pop around soon and say hello to the rest of your family”

“Ok. Bye” and with that the little boy turned and ran to the backdoor of his house., turning to wave before disappearing into what DiDi assumed was the kitchen.

Di picked up the feed cup and wandered back to her own kitchen.

Lighting the hob beneath her tea kettle, DiDi then eased the lid of the picnic basket up just enough to pour the feed in. Once the tea had been prepared, DiDi sat and contemplated the basket between sips.

She considered that suggesting the youngest in a pack make friends with his opposite number might have some unforeseen consequences but dismissed the thought; in any case they were both too little for the change to be a concern just yet.