How To Dress A Chicken
No, this is no joke, so go
on, get it
out of your system so we
can get down
to the business at hand,
that of dressing
a chicken. You bet I’ve heard them all and
then some, the one about
not making the
mistake of dressing your
bird in plaids and
stripes or allowing them
to wear white shoes
before Memorial Day. If I had
a dime for every time some
wag has warned
me of the pitfalls of
taking inseam
measurements from a red Araucana
I could get out of the
business, maybe
open a chic café on some
quiet
side street, small plates,
espresso, pigs-in-a-
blanket the house
specialty, attract the
lunch trade, have my
evenings free instead of
fending off smart alecks
asking whether
my Barnevelder wears
boxers or briefs,
or speculating with
winking, wide-eyed
innocence on the mechanics
of how
a Cubalaya would manage to
tie
a Windsor knot and smoke a
cigar at
the same time, knowing
good and well chickens
have neither hands for
performing such a
complicated maneuver or
teeth for
clenching a fat
Havana. No, I’m done
with the whole business, I’m
hanging up
my spurs, flying the coop,
over chickens,
clucking hecklers, the whole
nine yards. Never
again will I stand by
patiently while
some jerk lewdly mimes the
delicate dance
of a Jersey Giant hiking
up her
little black dress to lay
one perfect egg.
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