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Chicken Adobo


The morning after Adobo's disappearance, I was hopeful that I'd walk out to my lanai and see her waddle and chirp happily towards me like she always does. But I could only hear the stupid wild chickens who always tried to steal her food a mile away. I knew. Adobo was gone.


Yes, I named my chicken after a Filipino dish. She was beautifully brown and she was a chicken so whatever, I didn't think too much about her name. It was instinctive. Adobo also had a sister that my 5-year old neighbor named Poopy-Bum, a chicken that shat, it would stick to her bum, and harden on her fluffy chick fur. Poopy-Bum died 2 weeks after I got her- she was eaten by a mongoose in the field.


Adobo was a survivor until her unexpected disappearance. Part-cat, part-mini-dinosaur, part-human. She became accustomed to my two preteen kittens, Raw Shrimp and Atreyu, and adopted a lot of cat behaviors like rubbing her head on me, cuddling under my neck, or grooming herself constantly. She was the most-loving and smartest chicken I've ever met, and I knew that once she got older, she was going to be playing checkers with me. She'd wait for my kittens to kill a gecko or coqui frog, and eat the remains like a vulture. She was plump and healthy, too young to have looked so mature the way she did, and was afraid of the dark. After the sun would set, and the coqui frogs sang their songs, I would pet Adobo's awkward small head until her head lowered completely flat on her bed and she'd fall asleep.


Relationship advice: Get yourself a chic that'd be down to hang wherever and whenever

I never knew I'd fall in love with a chicken. I got her because I wanted fresh farm eggs, but after her sister died, she became so attached to me, and I attached to her. She would perch on my shoulder in the morning and groom herself as I sipped on my Kona coffee. Sometimes, she wouldn't want to leave, so I'd be making books with her on my shoulder. When she was only a couple days old, I'd keep her in a cross-body satchel to keep her warm while I worked in my studio. Once she became a pullet, she ventured further around the farm, testing her courage every day, and scaring the hell out of me when she was too far. But she always came back no matter what.


I just feel stupid. Like a bad mom who gives her children too much freedom to eff-around and then they get kidnapped. I cried when I couldn't find her, but I was confused because a part of me kept saying "she's just a chicken." But she was more than a chicken! I made myself some Kona coffee with some Evan Williams and a dash of milk for her. It's 10:30am, but tomorrow's my birthday, so I have an excuse to start my birthday early. Cheers, Adobo. Wish you were still perched on my shoulder!


You mother clucker- had to go off and die on me. Mahal Kita.

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