Wild and free

The van was in our rental house's driveway when we walked up: KW CHICK said the license plate.

There was a woman with a rooster in her arms nearby, and I walked over to say hello.

Aren't you Katha Sheehan?, I asked. She was -- the woman who runs the Chicken Store, renowned patron of our gypsy chickens. The friend in her arms was Diablo, son of "Public Enemy No. 1" in the Key West rooster roster.

She was there to coax a hen out of a mahogany tree on our rental's lot line. People had complained.

I told her how much I appreciated her work. She agreed to a photo, shy as ever, and I thanked her and left her to do her best with the hen.

Here's why I appreciate her so, from her website:

To me, they aren't yardbirds or even picturesque Key West chickens. To me, they are Kiwi, Curly Toes, Pecky Hen, Fluffy, Ranger, Scotty, Tony and Red Rover.

I wish everyone could live, if only for a day, the life of a Key West chicken. To be born wild and free, to stop traffic on U.S. 1 on a whim, just because the grass may be greener on the other side, or because you see a handsome rooster there. To eat 4-inch scorpions for breakfast, while creatures 20 times your size cower or run from them. To fight and mate on impulse, in the passion of the moment, with no regard for the consequences.

We humans have become the prisoners of our own rules, but there still are a few creatures out there who remind us of the breathtaking freedom and unbridled joy we have given up in favor of the safeguards of civilization. Key West's gypsy chickens are the creatures that have reawakened my creative energies and taught my heart to sing.

I think when it sings it's the rooster's salute to the dawn.