novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- the fox and the hen "when you are afraid or excited, you begin to squawk," said the fox. "well, that's very characteristic of hens, now, isn't it?" asked the hen. "it may well be," the fox allowed, "but it certainly isn't an attractive sound." "oh," said the hen. "foxes don't think like hens do. they have an entirely different mindset. it's not that we don't care; it is that we are made not to." "oh," said the hen, clucking softly and wishing she had something more alluring to add to the conversation. she did not, being a farm hen, know how to be direct without being blunt. she decided to simply say "oh," again. "oh," said the hen. "you are brooding," the fox decided. "only a little," the hen managed to admit without squawking. (she was making a real effort now, having digested the fox's rarest of explanations.) they sat in silence a few moments, the hen watching the fox's eyes dart around the henhouse. feathers rustled. after a minute or so, the hen grew uncomfortable, and in wanting so badly to hear the fox's voice fill the room again she asked without thinking (as she is wont to do, being a farm hen): "don't you wish we were more symbiotic creatures? like ducks, or better yet: lobsters. it is very hard to tell lobsters apart, and they are rumored to be very affectionate sea-dwellers." the hen paused for breath, during which the fox seized the silent opening to declare: "i'm afraid you've lost me again." and then he was off, in search of more demure prey. the hen sighed, and began to brood, brooding over how she was unable to divert the very nature of her personality. the henhouse was uncommonly quiet that night. 8:04 pm - 05.31.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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