When You Have to Spell Things Out

copyright © 2011 by Robert L. Blau

Everyone says I'm a dumb cluck, so I guess it must be true. But dumb cluck though I may be, I went straight to the farmer when I saw what had moved into the nest next door.

"They're just chickens, Henrietta," said the farmer, with a deplorable lack of urgency. "Just like you."

"That is not a ...," I began. "Wait a minute. What do you mean, 'they?' I just saw the one."

"Every coop has at least a couple, now," said the farmer with maddening equanimity. "A chicken's a chicken. That's probably why you it didn't make much of an impression."

"A fox is not a chicken!" I squawked. I know it doesn't enhance my credibility, and I've been trying to cut down, but sometimes, only a squawk will do. "And that thing that was eyeing me hungrily down its snout, is definitely a fox!"

"Oh, fox, chicken, chicken, fox," scoffed the farmer. "Look, it's a High Court ruling. The Hale Court says a fox is a chicken, 5-4."

"They don't have feathers," I pointed out, rather unnecessarily, I thought.

"Their fur is their feathers," said the farmer.

"They don't have beaks," I said.

"Their snouts are their beaks," replied the farmer.

"They don't lay eggs," I said.

"Their pups are their eggs. Anyway, they have eggs."

"They're not birds," I said, as kindly as I could.

"Their Canidae is their Aves," said the farmer blithely.

"And that's what you think?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter what I think," said the farmer. "I'm just the farmer. It's what the court thinks."

"But how can the court think that?" I protested. "How can they make such a ridiculous ruling? That's ... dumber than a chicken."

"Not if you have friends in the ... Differently Feathered Chicken Lobby," mumbled the farmer, "Look, the Farm Association Rules do not say that a fox is not a chicken. According to Chief Justice Force Hale, that means that a fox is a chicken."