The Chicken Who Came to a Wedding

Kelly lived on a little bit of acreage, and her family kept a few fruit trees, two cows, an elderly donkey, several lost-and-found cats of unknown quantity, one scrappy border collie (“scrappy” being a redundant and totally unnecessary adjective), and about fifteen chickens.  No goats, as Kelly’s mom said they smelled.  Why she thought them more odoriferous than the other creatures, we are not sure, but No Goats Allowed.

 

The donkey was called Festus, and he had soft hairy ears to pet.  The cows, Ethel and Edith, were brown Jerseys, a breed known for the richest cream.  One could gain three pounds from drinking one glass of their milk.  The chickens were just whatever caught the family’s eye in the chick box at the feed store come spring.  They’d had Buff Orpingtons, Barred Plymouth Rocks. Speckled Sussexs, and Cochons, as well as ones they weren’t sure of.

No matter what the breed, chickens don’t always last long, as there are raccoons, bobcats, and various chicken maladies that can strike down our sweet clucking friends with sad regularity.  But one particular little hen, Henrietta, lived a long time, outlasting not only the stew pot but raccoon raids, bumbling bobcats, and many maladies, to become something that few chickens ever become—elderly.  She was a favorite of everyone on the farm, especially Kelly.

Kelly was getting married that September in the barn, and the whole family was commissioned to put up hanging baskets, sweep out old hay and put in fresh straw, fetch borrowed chairs, and iron tablecloths.  Henrietta perched on bales of hay adding instructive criticism when the tablecloths were crooked, offering opinions when the hanging basket might be too high or too low, and scratching the hay on the floor into a more artistic arrangement.

Everything was running perfectly, the afternoon of the wedding. If you asked Henrietta, it was due in no small part to certain little feathered helpers.  The barbeque was smoking fragrantly as guests arrived.  The lemonade was made and chilling.  Dad was looking mighty dapper as he stood on one foot then the other, joking with Kelly’s brothers.  Mom and Kelly were lacing up the back of her gown and fastening Grammy’s string of pearls around her slim neck, slipping a sixpence in Kelly’s shoe, and touching a curl into perfection.  Down the stairs came Kelly, beaming smiles, beheld as perfection in Dad’s tearful eyes.  They walked arm in arm to the barn, where the guests, the bridesmaids, and be-fluffed flower girl waited. 

The music started, the bridesmaids smiled and entered, then the flower girl started up the aisle.  Dad and Kelly were the last ones left at the door.

Scurrying around the corner, as if late, came Henrietta.  Someone had forgotten to shut the chicken coop door, and neither Dad, and certainly not Kelly, were going to chase her off now.  Henrietta looked up the aisle, heard the wedding march music, and proceeded to follow the flower girl up to the pastor.  The bridesmaids giggled at Henrietta following them in, but Henrietta, unlike either her winged species or bridesmaids, was unflappable. Kelly smiled at her dad, and up the aisle they went to her groom. Henrietta took her place closest to the bride, thereby outranking the Maid of Honor.  When the pastor asked, “Who gives this woman to be married?” both Henrietta and Kelly’s dad answered affirmatively.

Henrietta was very well behaved and did not get between Kelly and her groom at the exchanging of the rings.  But when it was time for the recessional, the flower girl decided that Henrietta should ride in her basket and Henrietta politely declined, preferring to walk in a dignified way directly behind Kelly, being careful not to step on her gown.  The guests chuckled and clapped for her, and Henrietta bowed to one side, then the other, enjoying her celebrity.

Henrietta died two days later while Kelly was on her honeymoon. But she’s never been forgotten, and her views on life haven’t been either. Who can deny that the greatest thing anyone can aspire to is to be part of the party and enjoy friends?  Way to go Henrietta, way to go.