It’s as if one had dirty glasses on. Streaks of sunlight interrupted the otherwise drab and foggy sky. My boots paddle along the dirt and gravel with dust clouds adding to the haze but yet giving away the path from where I came. An object lies incongruently on the ground and despite its best efforts to blend in, on the contrary, it just looks way out of place. It’s a chicken feather which reminds me that it once lived on a vivacious bird but this quill is dead as a doornail. Making more sense, not more than 3 feet away is a wooden frame partially enclosed by green garden wire on one end, and a dog house providing shelter on the other. No one but the builder of this contraption could tell you what it’s for, but the feathers betray the fact that chickens live in this structure which, in fact, is a chicken coop. The ground covered in a layer of chicken waste confirms those suspicions beyond any doubt. I open the cage and see a tripod looking contraption and upon closer look, one figures out it’s a chicken feeder. I’m not sure how Dad got into raising chickens in the middle of Cupertino, but I’d be hardly surprised if I later discovered I descended from a long line of farmers. A neat line of vegetable beds further confirms the farmer theory. From a dog house, you’d expect a dog to emerge. But ever since I can remember, it was my best friend, “Little Coop” which emerged.   

But not today. I’m reliant purely on my memory. I imagine Little Coop greeting me with a smile, but looking back, it was impossible that she smiled. Chickens don’t have the ability to smile. It doesn’t matter. Mine did and who’d want a cat or a dog when you can have a Little Coop. She and I kept the best secrets. I remember a time around second grade when I read Dr. Seuss’ Green Eggs and Ham. I thought it was the coolest that Little Coop did in fact lay green eggs. I promised to never tell anyone. Little Coop marked the seasons. I would always know school was about to start when Little Coop stopped laying eggs and started molting. Christmas would arrive when she got all her feathers back. Spring was my favorite because there would be lots of Oxalis Sourgrass (aka weeds) growing in the backyard. It was a yellow flowered plant that had a juicy stem. Little Coop would gobble these snacks out of my hand. Sometimes she was my assistant chef. She would try my carrot shavings or my watermelon scrap ratatouille and peck away aggressively showing her support. But those days are gone now. Little Coop has moved on. I imagine she’s a “Big Coop” now just like I’m a big girl now. As Winter approaches, I miss her molting feathers making a mess of the backyard. I miss that no one is there to greet me. I miss that no one did figure out who took their Crayola markers to give Little Coop a makeover. Wasn’t me! Really! I miss Green Eggs and Ham. To the coolest chicken a girl could ever have– I leave you a bouquet of nature’s finest Oxalis Sourgrass.