One day in our neighborhood

The above chickens were my chickens. The hen's name was Pertelote. My wife and I lived in Barrio La Campana in a relatively large village in Southeast Sonora. It was pretty much like any other barrio in Mexico with lots of noise and activity. There were dogs barking, donkeys braying, roosters crowing, and a normal flow of venders hawking their goods. As usual one could see an occasioal woman sweeping her yard and the street in front of her casita. Here and there dish water flew onto the dirt street with a dash and a flare that indicated many years of dish-water-throwing experience. There were always a few women spraying water on the street to dampen the dust. Kids played in the dirt, sometimes a few ran up and down the street, pulling small hand-made kites. They were my neighbors going about their daily business of living.

My chickens ran loose like all the other chickens in the neighborhood. They continued to run loose as days turned into months, and the little yellow chicks began to turn into chickens. They grew larger and just about the time they were big enough to eat, my esposa and I had to move back to Texas.

That created a problem between my wife and I. I just wanted to leave them and let them run around the neighborhood as usual. My wife wanted them moved to a friend's house on the Rancho Rincon so our friends could look after them. Reluctantly, I agreed and borrowed a coop to move them in.

I picked up three good friends, and we returned to the neighborhood to catch my chickens. We didn't consider it a problem, allowing that it would take awhile because it is better to take your time and go about it slowly and deliberately. We were going to ease a chicken into a corner, throw a blanket over him and put him in the coop. Now I know, from experience, that best laid plans can go terribly wrong. Lacking a better plan, I opted to ignore the lingering doubt in my stomach, knowing that once the caper got started, there was no turning back.

When we arrived, got out of the pickup, moved the coop to a strategic place, retreived our light blankets, and discussed the plan, that, of course, created a lot of interest in the neighborhood. When we herded the first chicken into a corner and threw the blanket on him, all hell broke loose.

Every kid in the neighborhood started chasing my chickens, every dog started chasing any chicken, women were out in the streets yelling at the kids and beating at the dogs with their brooms. All the neighborhood chickens began squawking and were running everywhere. Some chickens were flying through the trees and down the streets. My wife was wringing her hands and crying. Hell it was a sight to behold.

Finally and a little to my amazement, all my chickens were caught and secured in the coop. The neighborhood returned to its usual routine, and all was well.

A few days later R and I left for Texas. As we drove away, I was well aware that I was leaving behind a nice time in my life and quite possibly a life I could not duplicate, ever again.