As in most small towns, Bilton news traveled faster than the weekly Bilton Gazette. Walker Bugh usually heard the latest when Dillface Donna came over for coffee but this morning it was Blonde Belinda with the news.
"You heard about Aunt Billie Rose," Belinda announced.
"She's the chicken lady who is suing Ben Alstein for murdering one of her chickens?"
"That's Aunt Billie Rose. She's right you know. Ben didn't have to kick that chicken in the head just because it was pecking his ankles. Aunt Billie Rose said that was her Henrietta's sign of affection."
"I hope Henrietta made a good chicken soup."
Blonde Belinda shook her head. "You are so cannibalistic. Henrietta was taken to the vet for an autopsy and will have a proper funeral. Aunt Billie Rose has already made up the head stone."
Walker Bugh felt a little contrite. After all, her old cat, Felicia, was buried in the rose bushes under a flat stone inscribed with a heart, and if her recently adopted Sassafras didn't quit clawing her couch to shreds-
"The neighborhood is invited to Henrietta's funeral Saturday at one," Belinda said. "You have to go Walker. Aunt Billie Rose needs our support."
"For heaven sakes, it's a chicken! She's got dozens."
"All named," Belinda affirmed. "Last time I was there, Bella pecked my ankles, and I got the best dozen eggs I ever had. Bella lays them under Aunt Billie Rose's bed. Now if you want brown eggs, Speckles lays hers behind Aunt Billie Rose's couch."
Walker Bugh glared at Belinda. "Cats are pets, goldfish, hamsters, Petunia the deer that Donovan tamed, even Rude Dude, the neighborhood dog that everybody feeds and nobody claims. But chickens? Billie Rose is one egg short of a dozen."
"As a kid, Aunt Billie Rose hid in the hen house when her father got drunk. Their clucking soothed her. That's why she loves chickens."
"I apologize," Walker said. "I didn't know."
"Bring chicken feed to the funeral and maybe sunflowers if you can find them because my friend, in one way or another aren't we all one egg short of a dozen?"
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