The thing I notice about my chickens, other than the fact they they are about as demanding as a group of five world leaders looking frantically for their secretary, is that they like being together. In fact, when I am in the chicken house they like being with me. I thought for a while that it was just that I brought the food and the water and the fresh straw (though I admit, perhaps not often enough). But then one day I fed them and stayed in the room for a while before collecting the eggs in order to complete "the transaction." I hung out and they cam over after a bit of nosh in order to say hello and ask me how my day was going. They did not use words of course (well...once they did but every time I mention it, people look at each other and roll their eyes so I keep it to myself!) they just cluck around and peck gently at my boots and let me pick them up and pet them like a cat. I think they kind of purr....well, not so much purr as stop cackling and get all quiet and sort of intoxicated.

I watch them wander the farm on our Sabbath days (When I have a day off - which I call a Sabbath day to piss off my pagan friends- I let them out to free-range - sort of like prisoners allowed to walk the yard.)I am amazed at how they pretend to be all "get-away-from-me-and-let-me-find-my-own-bugs" when in fact they are constantly eyeing each other and me and never go very far away.

I'm sort of that way with God. I want to pretend I am a master of all I am doing and the creator of the vision of, my life - all very..."blah, blah, blah, look how great I am, blah, blah. " when in fact I keep looking around for signs that God is not very far away. Problem is that when I turn my head to find him, our noses touch which freaks me out and I pee a little. But I am glad not to be alone. And glad to be so loved. All any of us want is relatedness. I just wish the Church was better at facilitating it.