Full Moon and Crooked Toe

For Eva Sofia

Story and image by Belan Woo, all rights reserved.

Dumb animals! Birds included. That’s what I often hear humans say. But we are not all dumb. Nooo! I’m not dumb! I refuse to be corralled in the same flock as the rest of my nincompoop siblings. No way! I know things. I know better. And I have a story to prove we are not dumb.

Our mistress (she’s human) named me Henrietta, Henri for short. I am a young red- feathered chicken from Rhode Island according to the humans, not that I recall coming from anywhere else other than having been hatched in a nest, then, growing up on this farm.

I have a wonderful best friend. His name is Bleu. Bleu and I hatched only eyeblinks apart, and like a pair of wings in one body, we’ve always been together since we spilled out of our shells.

Bleu is a goose, a one-of-a-kind in our flock — white as cheerful-weather clouds and sweet as honeysuckle nectar, unlike my sour-tempered siblings ... well, not all of them, but most of them. Several of my crazy brothers and one air-headed sister are cruel, self-inflating bullies — they think they are all so perfect and beautiful, and that Bleu and I are ugly and full of defects. They constantly make fun of me and Bleu, calling us by all kinds of stupid, hurtful names, so we stay way away from them.

*****

Away from the flock one day, Bleu and I are soaking up sweet sunshine while pecking at tender grasses by the swaying crowns of daffodils. Bleu loves daffodils. He said their smell and feel and color soothe and speak to him, whatever that means. Oh, but Bleu is special that way; he has a sensitive, quirky side I find adorable and amusing, at times, outright hilarious.

Bleu and I are tickling grasses to spit out insects when we hear human laughter: Our mistress and a friend are coming out of the house to the porch above us. Mistress is carrying a wooden tray laden with mugs of coffee and some pastries; the aromatic mugs tinkling with their cheerful chatter. Mistress sets down the tray of goodies on the low table, then, she and her friend sit on the Adirondack chairs flanking it. Inhaling deeply, the friend combs the flower garden with her eyes. “Spring at last! My favorite season.”

“Mine too,” Mistress says handing her friend a steaming mug. “And daffodils are a delight after a long cold winter. Let’s enjoy the flowers and watch these funny birds while we eat.”

Bleu and I smartly position ourselves in high expectation by the porch for the humans’ best viewing. I tell Bleu to wiggle his tail because Mistress always giggles when she sees Bleu do that.

Sure, says Bleu, ever ready to oblige and elicit human laughter—music to his ears he calls it. He exaggerates a waddle before twitching his tail, then, turns his head back at the humans on the porch confident of their kudos to his performance.

The humans laugh. “What a showoff that goose is. And what an unusual pair those two birds together make!”

“Yes, that’s Henri, the chicken, and Bleu, the goose, they’re inseparable. Great friends like you and I,” says Mistress. Our tactic worked! Both Mistress and her friend giggle with delight and throw pieces of bread for us. Bleu and I eagerly peck at the scattered pieces. Buttered bread! Oh my! What a treat! All my senses go into gobbling up our delicious reward until I hear: ... fingers would fall off.

Huh! I stop eating right there and then, Humans have fingers. Chickens have toes. Whatever it is that can make human fingers fall off, it has to also make chicken toes fall off. I hate my ugly, crooked toe. It is the reason my cruel siblings taunt and ridicule me. This ugly crooked toe, I want it off! I give all my attention to the humans’ conversation.

With his whole focus on eating Bleu is oblivious. The friend sips her coffee. “Oh, what scaredy little girls we were then!”

“Yes. We were such silly girls. Absolutely none of our playmates could make us point at the full moon! Not even when the boys tried bribing us girls with candies,” the Mistress laughs, “... and me with such a sweet tooth too!”

“We were so afraid of losing a finger that we kept our hands balled up just so we wouldn’t accidentally point a finger at the full moon, remember? Oh, but playing hide-and-seek under a bright round moon was magical, wasn’t it? What lovely memories from our youth ...”

“Yes, full moon and hide-and-seek. I loved those nights of carefree play in the old neighborhood,” the mistress sighs with nostalgia.

“Those childhood games are wonderful stories to tell your little granddaughter Sofia,” says the friend, her voice gradually fading for I have lost interest in the rest of their conversation.

That’s it?! All I have to do is point my crooked toe at the fat moon, and this ugly toe will fall off, and no more crooked toe for me? “Why, that is easy!” I blurt out. Bleu stops eating and gives me a puzzled look. “What’s easy?” he asks. Oh, nothing, I feign nonchalance. “I just caught a ‘hopper ... easy-peasy.”

*****

The moon waxed to its fullest nights ago and is now shrinking. I pointed at the moon nights before and during its fullest. I pointed at the moon for three more nights after its plumpest, for good measure. I watched and waited all night and all day for my crooked toe to come off, but it stayed snug and stuck to my foot. I was furious at the humans and their wrong belief.

Poor Bleu walked on egg shells because of my foul mood. Like I told you, Bleu is sensitive. I felt sorry for him and upset at myself for being so grumpy, but I couldn’t help it: frustration, disappointment and lack of sleep made me so cranky. Hmph. You would be cranky too if your burning hope is squashed like a big fat bug! But I learned a huge lesson. I learned that humans are not always right, that they can sometimes be wrong. Imagine: They believe that a finger could fall off by merely pointing at the moon. Bah! And they say animals are dumb!

I did not tell Bleu of my very disappointing moon-and-toe experiment. I know he would not laugh at me if I tell him about it, but just the same, I’m keeping this sad story to myself. I’m just proud to have found out an important lesson on my own, from my own experience.

I hope that the Mistress’s granddaughter, Sofia, is smart and brave, that she thinks things over many times before she accepts what others tell her as fact and true. I would tell her about my moon-and-toe experience to save her trouble and grief, but she’d only think I am just a dumb animal and what do I know? not to mention, humans don’t understand chicken lingo. Hah. But humans don’t know we animals understand theirs! Yep. We animals know more than we let on.

Young Sofia just has to learn about things for herself. Good luck Sofia!

The End