I felt like a jailer today, checking in on the chickens. They’re doing good with their time in solitary confinement. We’re getting more eggs than usual because some of the mores secretive hens can’t escape to wherever it is they hide their eggs. Abby found a spot up in the rafters of the barn that I missed. A few months ago I found a bunch of frozen eggs hidden within the bags of kindling in the barn.

I suppose it makes sense. If I were a chicken I wouldn’t want the mostly benevolent giants that leave me food but sometimes kill dozens of my friends to take my eggs, either. 

The relationship between humans and their animals has always fascinated me. Mostly that fascination has been focused on our relationship with dogs.

I love dogs, I’m frustrated by them, attached to them, obsessed with them, disappointed in them, inspired by them. It is an incredibly deep and illuminating relationship by which I have learned more about myself than mostly any other relationship in my life. 

While I have a hot and cold relationship with the very notion of understanding, I think there are at least many glimpses of divine truth hidden within the folds of the time spent with dogs and chickens.