Susan Pollack kneeled in the coop, in her floppy hat and overalls, spreading grain into her feed bin.
“Come here, my pets . . . My little ones.”
They were like family to her. Her only family now. Her one attachment of love. Except you, Bo. She smiled at her collie, snoozing on the porch.
“Yes, my darlings, over here . . .” They knew the nurturing rise in her tone. “It’s feeding time for you, it’s time . . .”
One by one, the chickens started to come over.
Tomorrow she would show him. That she had been loyal and true.
True to him.
All these years.
You never let me come along, did you? She smiled, conjuring up his delicate, chiseled face. Because you knew, didn’t you, that one day you would need me, my love. You told me, one day I would have to make sacrifices.
To earn your love completely.
And when the time came, I would.
That was why.
You said I had to be ready.
The excited birds made their way into the pen. She threw a line of seed in front of Desdemona, her favorite, with her smooth white breast and feathers. The proudest and the most vain.
The bird followed her, flapping her wings and pecking at the grain.
“You are my favorite,” Susan said softly, putting the feed bag down.
She grabbed the blade.
Nothing can truly be bad if it’s done from love, isn’t that right, Russell?
She picked the bird up and ran the knife slowly across its neck, muffling the bird’s startled squawk, blood running down its soft white feathers and through her hands.
Just as she wished she could have done all those years back then.
When you left me behind.
You said I had to sacrifice. To be ready.
For you to need me.
And I am ready.
She threw the dead bird down and looked at the others.
I will show you now.