Insane chicken better than antidepressants (06/19/06)

You can tell that someone is a great friend when she mails a mottled pink and orange insane chicken to you. She is either a true friend or my favorite sister born to different parents but whoever she is, she made me almost fall over laughing last week.

When I took in the mail there was a card from my daughter. It was full of baby pictures. There are few things cuter than a five-month-old granddaughter in a bikini unless it would be a daughter holding that same baby.

After I got done admiring the pictures, I turned to the box that had materialized on the porch under the mailbox. I use the term box loosely. The box consisted of thin pieces of curling cardboard that were barely held together by packing tape. Lots of packing tape.

Gracie, the calico cat, was convinced the thing was hers even though she has never received a package addressed to her in her entire life. She figures there is a first time for everything. She tried to help me open it. She looked on with interest as I cut the tape and the box fell apart. She wiggled with anticipation as packing peanuts flew across the floor. When I finally extricated the chicken she was sure it was hers and sniffed it excitedly. Then I set it on the floor. All was well until I pressed the button on its wing and it began doing a demented version of the chicken dance.

Gracie flew out of the kitchen so fast I almost expected to hear a miniature sonic boom from when she broke the sound barrier. The chicken continued dancing to its own beat that played ever faster and faster until it finally stopped in exhaustion. It wore a plastic smile of satisfaction because it startled the cat and made me laugh.

My friend is cleaning out her house in preparation for retirement. She and her husband plan to sell their house, buy an RV and travel the country. This sounds like a perfectly horrible thing to me as I get carsick plus I get tired of eating out after about a week. Then there are the plants to take care of and the cat has a morbid fear of cars, really, it’s not my cup of tea at all.

On the other hand, this kind of life is perfect for my friend. She and her husband enjoy traveling together, don’t have an unnatural attachment to their plants and their dogs think car trips are a treat. So they are on a whirlwind schedule of fixing up the house so they can sell it. In the process they are getting rid of - or relocating - excuse me - streamlining their possessions. Hence, the chicken now lives at my house.

The last time we got together for a “girl day” the subject of depression came up. We were talking about how the lack of sunlight in the winter makes us more depressed than usual and the things we did to counteract that feeling. I usually just wait for spring or summer to come and I start feeling better. If it lasts too long or gets too bad I turn to prescription antidepressants. My friend said that whenever she has had a bad day and gets depressed she had this chicken that makes everything better. I made an offhand comment that maybe I should get one of those chickens for myself. Meanwhile I was thinking, “Chicken? Uh huh. Sure. A chicken. Right. Whatever works.”

Now I know she is correct. A chicken really does make everything better. Plus it has no weird side effects or small print like the commonly prescribed antidepressants do. OK, so it does freak out the cat but that’s just an added benefit. Maybe I should make an infomercial touting the curative benefits of dancing chickens or write a magazine article titled, “I regained my sanity with the help of a funny fake fowl.” I can benefit from the positive power of the chicken any time of the day and it doesn’t matter if I take it with food or not.

It is only a true friend who would mail a person their own personal depression cure. I will have to watch for any sign that she may need it back. I’m sure Gracie will help me pack it up. Meanwhile, I think I’ll give it a chance to dance some more.

Watch out Gracie![[In-content Ad]]