Walker Bugh had never been to a funeral for a chicken before and she didn't know the proper protocol. "What should I wear?" she asked Dillface Donna.
"Damned if I know. I only know the chicken lady from the times I stop, and Billie Rose always met my car with an armful of egg cartons."
"Blonde Belinda said they lay their eggs under Billie Rose's furniture."
"She would know," Dillface Donna muttered over her coffee.
"What do you wear to mourn a chicken? What do you say if Henrietta, is in an open casket?"
"For heaven's sake, Walker, don't have a panic attack. All I know is that her damn chickens peck your ankles. Wear armor."
Walker Bugh finally chose her heaviest slacks and wore two pairs of socks under her loafers. She bought an armload of sunflowers from Donovan who owns a second-hand store and learned he had fashioned the chicken's casket at no charge. By the time Walker arrived, half of Bilton was there, the half that weren't related to Ben Alstein who was accused of killing Henrietta with a kick to her head. Alstein claimed self-defense.
Mona Felderhoff delivered a eulogy over the tiny, closed casket. Mona was a vegetarian who wouldn't swallow a fly, but she praised Henrietta's long endurance laying eggs for half of Bilton. Her eulogy was followed by the chicken dance around the casket and 200 yellow balloons released into the late summer breeze, a symbol of the eggs Henrietta had donated to so many Bilton's breakfasts. The funeral buffet, spread under an oak tree, close to Henrietta's final resting place, featured egg dishes from deviled eggs to souffles.
"I can't wait to see how the Bilton Gazette writes up this one," Dillface Donna said, nodding to their lone reporter who was snapping pictures and taking notes.
"Why don't you write a letter to the editor with your viewpoint?"
"You're the writer." Donna took a bite out of the deviled egg. "I've got to go to work."
All went well but after the reporter left, Billie Rose invited Henrietta's feathered friends to join the farewell party. They fluttered in, wings flapping, clucking comfort as they pecked ankles in appreciation and flew up on the buffet to check out the dishes that their fruits had brought forth. A few scratched the fresh grave and found tasty bugs and worms, more to their liking.
Most of the unfeathered mourners soon left to the strains of "I Can See Clearly Now," but Walker Bugh sat back in the Adirondack chair, sipped her wine, and hummed. She loved that song.
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