Unfortunately, nobody noticed for quite a period of time. Yes, maple syrup is sweet—but have you seen a baby chicken? Talk about sweet—right there in the cup of your hand!
“Look at it!” Macie exclaimed.
“Look at this guy!” Chevron seconded.
“Look at mine!” I demanded.
Nobody looked anywhere but into the sweet beady eyes of their very own chick.
“What should we call them?” I asked.
“Chickens!” Chevron shouted.
Macie answered: “Mine is Selina Veronica West, Chevron’s is Seamus Bartholomew Gorsuch the III, and yours is Rick.”
“Rick?!” I smacked. “Mine is not named Rick!”
“Rick,” she said, addressing the chicken now. “Your prattling owner is smattering and prattling once again.”
“Don’t talk to him like that—”
“Rick,” she said.
“Rick, like me—you’ll just have to get used to it.”
“Don’t listen to her, Rick,” I cupped my hands to shield its ears—though I wasn’t quite sure where the ears were. This startled Rick, and he began to fight back. And—I’m not embarrassed to say—he put up quite a fight. “Ouch! Ouch! Owe!”
“That’s the way, Rick,” she laughed. And Chevron laughed too. Macie and Chevron—and even Selina Veronica West and Seamus Bartholomew Gorsuch the III, they all were laughing at me. Rick, too!
Well…“I don’t have to put up with this,” I said. I sat down right there (even though it was leafy and the leaves were muddy). I plopped Rick onto the ground beside me and, with a dismissive wave of the hand—as they laughed it up— I pushed off and slid down into the ravine.