Dear Betsey the chicken,

When we bought the farmhouse in 1993, all the otherbuildings on the property, including your chicken coop,became ours. Because the previous owners were unwillingshove you in a pet carrier for the long drive up to Vermont,you, like your coop, became ours. It must have been hard tobe passed onto our family, treated like the old tools leftin the barn. Although my mother, who rejoices in St Francis,would talk to you and pet you, I ignored you completely. Asa self-centered 13-year-old, I could only find it in myheart to hate you, and for this I apologize.

I was so embarrassed of you because, even though SouthWindsor, CT is a rural town, the “livestock” peopleowned were more along the lines of Golden Retrievers andbeta fish. Instead of rejoicing in your uniqueness as a pet,I thought having a chicken was “lame and stupid.” Whatdo we need a chicken for when there’s a Stop-and-Shop inthe town center?! I protested to my parents.

When the kids on the bus called me “Chicken Girl,” Ishould have defended you. But at the time all I did wasglare as I marched down the driveway before slamming thescreen door to the house.

I’m not sure if you knew, since you never saw the insideof the house, but I also refused to eat your eggs. Althoughmy mother swore they were the most delicious (and obviouslymost fresh) eggs that had ever touched Teflon, I would skewup my face at the thought of something that came from yourbutt.

Now, I know you were just living your chicken life the onlyway you could. You never did anything to purposely embarrassme and I’m sorry I not only rejected YOU, but the wholeidea of chickenness. And like the honorable beast you were,you went on laying a single egg every morning, never showingthe deep hurt I inflicted upon you.

So, Betsey, I’m sorry. I would give anything to watch youbobbing for grubs in our backyard or to hold one of yourbutt-warm eggs in my hands again. I hope you’ve got a nicecoop up in Heaven.

Love,
Catherine
*Read at The Apologies show on 4/7/07*