I am watching a show on chickens on PBS.
I turned it on in the middle.
The first shots I saw were of chickens in a chicken house? Stacked one on top of each other, laying eggs, no room to move their wings, thousands of eggs being packaged and shipped and sold for us to eat every day and making me feel guilty that if I could I would eat KFC everyday and twice on Sundays.
This segment was subtitled and silent. Reverent, even, of the plight of those birds nurtured solely for our enjoyment.
Then it switched to a woman in Florida who has a pet white bantam rooster named Cotton. Soon into her segment, there was a shot of her swimming with Cotton in her fountained pool. Next, she washed his feathers with baby shampoo and dried him with a pink hair dryer, a voice over of her reciting a poem about chickens that had little rhyme, meter, or tone and even less style could be heard as she worked on primping Cotton up.
And I must admit, Cotton is handsome, for a chicken. Fluffy and well mannered and cuddly looking.
She explained she leaves the tv on for him when she is out. That or turns on classical music. He loves Pavarotti, which made me half smile and half wince because Katia, too, is soothed by video of Pavarotti.
Cotton, I found out next, also wears red satin panties this lady has designed especially for him. They slip over his wings so that he does not have any "accidents".
I am not sure why I am writing this email.
Chickens in red satin underwear is a unique subject and, I am sure, worthy of attention.
And to be sure, I am more interested in this program than watching Nancy Grace talk about Caylie Anthony's mother or Sarah Palin lie repeatedly about bridges to nowhere and ear marks (spread the word: she did not give that money back when the bridge plan got scrapped...every last dime of it still when to Alaska, the very state and the very project McCain had ridiculed in speeches for the four years before he picked her to run with him AFTER those around him told him he could not pick Joe "turn coat" Lieberman). It is also more soothing than watching McCain squawk about pigs and lipstick when he has referred to Senator Clinton with such a term over and over again. And a hell of a lot more inspiring than watching Obama ignore the swiftboat that is riding over his ass (do something brilliant now, Obama. Show us you went to Harvard A-SAP). But I do wonder how such a film gets funded and gets air play. I suppose the fact that my daughter and Cotton both love Pavarotti should be enough to prove chickens should be appreciated. But I would like to see if this filmmaker can write a grant for me. There's a jet black squirrel who lives in my neighborhood that would look great in a thong and I think I can get a play out of it if someone were to mail me a check for fifty thousand dollars.