Rogue Chicken (A True Story)

  Our mini-farm has been home to a flock of free range chickens for the past three years. What that means is we have fresh eggs and no landscaping. I hose the poop off the porch every few days -- letting them go free range wasn't my idea, but oh well. The girls, as I like to refer to them since they're all hens, are quite a diverse flock with distinct personalities. Some are quiet and wait patiently for me to fill the feeder, some are obnoxious and greedy, shoving their sisters out of the way to get to the choice table scraps, and one even crows like a rooster when she gets excited. Since many of them look alike because they're the same breed, we didn't give them names, with the exception of the weird-looking Silky that's huge and has a deep voice. Her name is Goonhammer.
  This story isn't about Goonhammer. This is about one of our new arrivals, an all-white hen. Just to be politically incorrect, I'll call her Cracker. With the addition of Cracker and two unnamed Rhode Island Reds last month, we had eighteen chickens in our flock. That's a lot of poop -- but it's also a lot of eggs, so we take the good with the bad.
  There's another reason we don't name the chickens: they occasionally die, and we don't want to get attached. They're not pets, they're farm animals, and we live out in the woods with foxes, possums, and other critters that find chickens just as delicious as a take-out box from Bojangles. We've only lost three in three years. A hawk killed one, one died of exposure because it got locked out of the coop on a freezing night, and one just keeled over after looking lethargic for a few days. So not a bad track record for a family of farmer wannabes.
  Last Wednesday night, our son who closed the coop reported that there were only seventeen chickens. Thursday morning's tally confirmed that one was absent. I made a list from memory and determined that Cracker was the one who had gone missing. She wasn't in the coop Thursday night, so we assumed she had wound up on the wildlife menu.  
  Five days later, Cracker turned up at the water feeder, looking none the worse for wear. When I went to close the coop that night, however, she was missing again. The next day she reappeared, joining her sisters for a squabble over a handful of cracked corn. But this time I kept an eye on her to see if she would sneak off again.
  Frankly, I was astonished that Cracker had survived outside the coop at night. The weather has been warm, but the coop protects the girls from predators. Since chickens have no night vision, they always put themselves to bed at dusk, and all we have to do is close the doors to the coop.
  Sure enough, Cracker headed off on her own and I followed her to a pile of brush wood. She crawled inside the logs and branches, almost out of sight, and stayed there. No amount of coaxing or food could get her to budge. That's when I knew Cracker had gone broody. In other words, she was sitting on a nest. A hen's mothering instincts kick in when a nest box has about seven or eight eggs, which is why it's important to collect the eggs every day. Hens don't know the eggs haven't been fertilized and will sit on a clutch until Doomsday.
  My husband moved some of the logs, reached in, and picked up Cracker, who put up quite a fuss. Sure enough, the crazy hen was sitting on fifteen of her own eggs. Since hens lay an egg about every other day, Cracker had been laying her eggs in this brush pile the entire month she had been with us. When the clutch got to seven or eight, she decided to begin her vigil to hatch them. Poor deluded bird wasn't happy to have her eggs taken away, and she didn't know what to do with herself when it started to get dark. She returned to the brush pile but my son and I herded her into the coop. I'm sure it will take her a few days to recover from the loss of her imaginary chicks.
  Surprisingly, Cracker's eggs were all good. They each sank when placed in a bowl of water -- no floaters to indicate a rotten egg. Still, it felt weird to add them to the collection in the 'fridge after she so lovingly sat on them for an entire week. Fifteen eggs! She was one determined chicken.

United We Stand, Divided We Fall: Thoughts on the Divisiveness of Anger

  If you pay any attention to the news -- granted, it's usually bad, very bad, or horrible -- you've probably noticed a lot of anger these days. Anger seems to be escalating, like an avalanche that threatens to bury our great nation. Everybody's angry. Lots of reasons why, and most of them are political, but I'll try not to get on a soapbox here and point out some things I've observed about this unpleasant emotion.
  Anger clouds judgement. People who are angry cannot make rational decisions. Try talking to someone who is angry -- tell them to "calm down" and see how well that goes over. What once was a civilized debate with two people trying to share opposing views on a topic is now a shouting match laced with profanity. There is no middle ground. Civil discourse seems to have gone on permanent vacation and taken common sense with it. You may have noticed this phenomenon every time you get on Facebook. There are more 'organizations' now that took a grievance, whether real or imagined, and ran with it, using violence to get our attention. Somehow these organizations believe that if they resort to bullying, raping, rioting, murdering, and setting off bombs in public places, that they will earn our respect.
  They couldn't be more mistaken.
  Now let's consider our nation's leaders and those who aspire to be elected our next crop of leaders: why do they keeping stirring up anger? Harping on grievances, whether real or imagined, tends to earn them followers. They speak the words that people with grievances want to hear. Words like "equality" and "fairness." The divisiveness becomes a weapon for them. Just when we've calmed down enough to start a discussion on the real issues, they kick the hornets' nest again, and the media is all too happy to help with this effort. Why?
  It's all been done before, of course. Many world leaders have preyed on people's anger, assuring them that they would have justice, that the rich would be made low, that no one would feel like an outcast or a victim anymore. They kept stirring the hornets' nest because they knew that if their rabid followers stopped a minute and really thought about what they were offering, and how it would be accomplished, that their powers would be stripped away in an instant.
  You know their names: Mao, Stalin, Hitler, Pol Pot, Hussein. There are many more and they are still among us. Anger is the tool of tyrants. Make them angry enough and they'll never question your motives, never take an objective look at your checkered background, and believe every lie you repeat.
  Now let's consider our current crop of leaders or leader wannabes: which ones utilize all the arguments they can concoct to keep you seeing red? Which ones make you feel like you've gotten a raw deal out of life, and that the unfairness heaped upon you must be avenged? Which ones distract you from asking any questions of substance so you can make an informed decision?
  Which ones compartmentalize you by gender, race, religion, sexual orientation, income, etc.? Why do they do that? Simple, by dividing us up into angry little groups, these leaders and wannabes know we will never take the time to seek the truth for ourselves. Compartments keep us under their control. It feels like they come out with new compartments every day. The 'them vs. us' mentality is working.
  "United we stand, divided we fall" is impossible in a culture on anger. Again, the media is complicit in fueling this anger. Propaganda has always been the tool of tyrants. I'm not going to tell you who to vote for this year, but I hope that you will set the anger aside -- if that has been your determining factor -- and take an objective look at what you're being offered in exchange for your vote.
 
 

The Orphan Ship Trilogy is now available on Kindle!

http://www.amazon.com/Orphan-Ship-Trilogy-Sterling-Walker-ebook/dp/B01BWAT1WE/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1455794343&sr=8-6&keywords=the+orphan+ship
Own all three books in one volume for $7.99. Special thanks to my cover artist Jessica Bartlett for putting this together so quickly.

Valentine's Day Romantic Excerpt from The Last Orphan

Danae found a chair and watched the show for a few minutes. Sirikit directed the electrode androids to rotate Ting’s hands and flex his fingers, one at a time.

All this Pinocchio needs is a nose that gets longer when he tells a lie. “If you cooperate with the therapist, you could get out of here sooner,” she advised Ting when he paused mid-harangue to catch his breath. “All that swearing uses up energy you need to get stronger.”

The helmsman glowered at her before settling into a moody silence. As his ankles rotated and his toes flexed, one at a time, Danae had to work hard to stifle a giggle. He does look like a puppet.

Behind Ting’s back, Sirikit gave her a thumbs-up to thank her for getting the helmsman to be quiet. The therapist glanced past Danae to the doorway of the room. She assumed Erik was standing there. His short break—or rather, his escape attempt—was over.

The doctor brought a chair over and set it down a meter away from Danae. He sat, took out his medical scanner, and appeared to be concentrating on its screen. The cold shoulder had morphed into the silent treatment.

Ugh. Why does this have to be so difficult? Danae had spent some time soul-searching, as Shima advised, but still had no idea what to do. In order to have a cordial working relationship with Erik, however, she would need to discuss what she already suspected he knew.

She decided to see if he would bring it up himself. “Something you need to talk about?”

“No.” Erik kept his eyes fixed on his scanner.

Well, that was abrupt. “Since you’re acting so distant, I just assumed you’re mad at me. Would that be an accurate assumption?”

No response.

Feeling irritated, she tried again, this time with sarcasm. “Since I failed Mind Reading 101, maybe you could try verbal communication.”

After another uncomfortable silence, Erik spoke in a quiet monotone. “There’s nothing to talk about, really. I think I made a big mistake. I should have stayed on the station.”

Danae was waging a losing battle with her patience. “No one’s keeping you here. Find passage back to Mars if that’s what you want to do.”

“I’m under contract.”

“I’ll expunge it from the ship’s legal files. You’re free to go.” The thought of Erik leaving made her sick to her stomach. But he should know by now I don’t play games.

There was another long silence as she waited for a response.

Erik turned his head to look at her. “I mentioned once, not too long ago, that I never wanted to do anything that would add to your pain. I feel like I might be . . . standing in the way of an opportunity for you . . . to be happy.”

Don’t say it. Danae hated being on the defensive, even if it was her fault they were having this awkward conversation. She could feel her anger building and knew she would say or do something she would regret if Erik didn’t stop being his usual calm, level-headed self. He was clearly trying to give her an easy exit, and she couldn’t explain why this made her furious.

The doctor wasn’t making eye contact or he might have noticed that she was about to go nuclear. He kept talking. “If you’ve found someone else—”

“Where did you get such a stupid idea!” Danae ignored the shocked looks on Sirikit’s and Ting’s faces. She was on her feet, facing down Erik with her hands on her hips.

“What you saw yesterday—don’t deny it!” she snapped when he started to shake his head. “What you saw was a mistake! Cade had me cornered and I—!”

“You weren’t cornered!” He sprang from his chair, glaring down at her from his towering two meters, his pale complexion taking on a bright pink hue. “You think I would’ve just stood there and watched if I thought he was trying to take advantage of you?”

Erik took a deep breath and made a visible effort to rein in his own temper. “I would’ve given York a brain biopsy without anesthesia if I hadn’t seen with my own eyes how much you were enjoying that kiss!” His bass voice cracked on the last word, but he wasn’t finished hurling accusations at her.

“Just be honest with me, Danae! That’s all I’m asking! Just admit you’re interested in York and—!”

“I’m not interested in him! What happened yesterday was a mistake!” Even as she said it, she realized it was how she really felt. “It was a stupid, impulsive mistake! I should’ve said no and pushed him away.” She hesitated, lowering her gaze to the breast pocket of Erik’s scrubs shirt so she wouldn’t have to see the hurt in his eyes. “I don’t know why I didn’t. I shouldn’t have given him the wrong impression.”

Mingled with her fresh pang of guilt was an overwhelming feeling of loneliness. Why do I keep pushing people away, like Shima said?

“I wanted to tell you in the galley this morning, but you took off like I had some kind of incurable disease.” This thought rekindled her temper and she glanced up at his face again. “I guess expecting you to be understanding was my second mistake.”

Erik flinched at her words, but she didn’t give him a chance to respond. “I don’t need people in my life who are quick to judge me and bail out at the first sign of trouble. You may have noticed that I seem to attract trouble.”

Her emotions were jockeying for position, but Danae couldn’t decide which one should win. Was she angry or was she afraid? Was she right to send Erik packing, or was her stubborn pride pushing her to make a huge mistake? Her hands started to shake, but she slipped them into her hip pockets, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

The doctor glanced down, following her hand movement, but then he brought his eyes back up to her face. His disgruntled look seemed frozen in place, but she thought she saw a flicker of remorse in his eyes. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but was making a concerted effort to keep his mouth shut.

Danae’s energy was fading. She was tired of arguing with oversized men who questioned her decisions and felt an irrational need to protect her as if she were dainty and helpless. Cade wants to guard my body and Erik wants to shelter my emotions, even after they’ve both seen me handle situations under pressure—under gunfire!—without their help.

 She was tired of the emotional roller coaster. She wanted to get off the ride, permanently. But before she walked away, she had a few more things to say. “I can’t believe I risked everything—my ship, my crew, my freedom, and possibly my life—to return to Mars Station for you! I must have been out of my mind! It was a stupid, dangerous—!”

Danae wasn’t sure how it happened. Even with her spacer’s reflexes, she was taken by surprise. She experienced a split-second of fear when Erik lunged at her, his hands out as if he intended to throttle her, but he grabbed her by the waist instead and picked her up, cutting off her rant mid-sentence with a kiss that was nothing like the one Cade had pressured her to accept.

Erik’s warm lips briefly touched hers and then he drew back a few centimeters, not saying a word. He looked into her eyes as he held her in this awkward hug, with his arms around her waist and her feet half a meter off the floor.

Danae was confused, and her conflicting emotions only added to her perplexity. It took her a full minute to figure out he was waiting for her to respond. She could demand that he put her down, or she could accept his unspoken invitation. It was her choice.

My choice. The indecision was gone, replaced by a fleeting moment of clarity.

Her hands were still trembling as she placed them on either side of Erik’s face. There was a hint of white-blond stubble on his cleft chin, but she thought it suited him. She studied the unusual white eyelashes that brought out the startling turquoise color of his irises. She saw only warmth and concern in those eyes, and a trace of apprehension.

Erik mustered a hopeful smile and that’s what broke down the last of her defenses.

She closed her eyes, brought her chin forward until she found his lips again, and responded to his invitation with an RSVP he could appreciate. He was more than willing to let her take the lead, and it turned into a long, passionate kiss.

Danae didn’t need to use her imagination, not with Erik. All of her worries melted away and she lost track of time. She forgot she was angry, forgot she was lonely, forgot about the empty place in her soul that Alex had left behind.

“Get a room!” Ting’s shout jolted them back to reality.

They broke off the marathon kiss, but Danae was reluctant to let go. She pressed her cheek to Erik’s so she could whisper in his ear, “I’m scared . . . and I’m not ready.”

What she wasn’t ready for, she couldn’t articulate. Not ready to let my guard down, not ready for a relationship, not ready to get serious . . . not ready to take a chance on love again? Somehow she knew he would understand what she meant, and she was right.

“I’m scared, too,” he whispered back. “You take all the time you need.”

“Shima told me you’d say that.” Danae couldn’t help it, she giggled.

“Shima’s a wise soul.” Erik was unsuccessful at keeping a straight face. His laughter bubbled up until his entire body shook. He set Danae on her feet.

They laughed until Ting got impatient and told them to chill. This struck Danae as so hilarious that she couldn’t stop laughing until Erik handed her a tissue to blot her streaming eyes.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so hard. I could get used to this.

The Story of Twinkie

  In the fall of 2005, we were in a new house in Apex, NC, and one of our two cats, Granite, decided to disappear, even though we had been in the house for several months and he seemed to have settled in. He had even gone outside a few times to explore. So when it was obvious that he wasn't coming back, we went to the SPCA to look at kittens.
  The remaining cat, Onyx, wasn't enthused about the two interlopers we brought home, Bandit and Twinkie. All three cats were female, and it soon became apparent that they despised each other. They quickly established a pecking order: Bandit, Onyx, Twinkie.
  Twinkie was the most pitiful cat we've even owned. Timid, she would find a soft place to hide and just camp out there for weeks at a time, emerging only to eat and use the litter box. She was always congested and the vet couldn't figure out why. I suspect she was allergic to people. She dealt with her lowest status by eating. She grew to be huge, like a fluffy couch cushion with eyes. She was so huge that she couldn't clean all of herself properly so she often needed a bath. She would tolerate the scrubbing as only a shy cat could. Even her meows were soft, like she had permanent kitty laryngitis. Like I said, she was pitiful.
  As she got older, her congestion grew worse. She snored loudly, and it wasn't clear to any of us when she became sick because she had always sounded wheezy. On Friday morning of a big ice storm last week, I found Twinkie in the girls' bathtub. She liked to climb into bathtubs and showers to lick up the puddles--she was always thirsty, it seemed. Perhaps she had kitty diabetes. Anyhow, she had been unable to climb out of the empty tub. I called the vet, but they were closed due to the ice.
  On Tuesday when it looked like we would be able to drive safely, Twinkie seemed to be feeling better. She slept a lot but would eat, drink, and make a pilgrimage to the litter box at least once a day. Maybe it was just a cold. On Friday she refused water and I finally took her to the vet.
  Pneumonia, an infection in her ear, dehydration, and a heart and lungs that were shutting down. She was half her original weight. She had always been so quiet that I didn't realize how sick she had become. Faced with the prospect of hospitalizing her at great expense from which she still might not recover and euthanizing her, I opted for one of the most painful decisions I've ever made.
  Twinkie glanced back at me with those trusting eyes as the vet carried her out of the room. I used up a box of tissues until she brought Twinkie back twenty minutes later, bundled up in a piece of cloth like a package. She was still warm but the wheezing had stopped.
  Today the family will bury the package named Twinkie in the woods. Why do we adopt animals when they have such short lifespans and always break out hearts? I think it's because they love unconditionally and expect so little from us. I have many funny stories of timid Twinkie, but today I can't think of a single one. Suffice it to say that she will be missed.

My Big Birthday Sale

  In honoring of turning half a century this month, I'm offering all three of my books for .99 on Kindle. Get 'em while they're cheap!
http://www.amazon.com/Orphan-Ship-Sterling-R-Walker-ebook/dp/B00CW60ZPK/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1453138159&sr=8-1

Merry Christmas!

  It's been too long since I've posted, and I'm sorry! Happy Thanksgiving, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year! I've been blessed more than words can say in 2015, and look forward to more adventures -- and hopefully a new book to publish -- in 2016. Here are a few photos of my gorgeous family. I'll try to post something substantial before Valentine's Day.