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rted spying。
It's not really necessary to look over the Bakers' fence。 You can see almost as well looking
through it。 But Garrett kept sticking his head up； so I
figured I should too； although in the back of my mind I was aware that Garrett didn't have to
live in this neighborhood — I did。
The backyard was a mess。 Big surprise。 The bushes were out of control； there was some
kind of hodgepodge wood…and…wire coop off to one
side； and the yard wasn't grass； it was highly fertilized dirt。
Garrett was the first to notice their dog； sacked out on the patio between two sorry…looking
folding chairs。 He points at him and says； “You think
he's going to give us trouble？”
“We're not going to be here long enough to get in trouble！ Where are those stupid chickens？”
“Probably in the coop；” he says； then picks up a rock and throws it at the mess of plywood
and chicken wire。
At first all we hear is a bunch of feathers flapping； but then one of the birds es fluttering
out。 Not very far； but enough so we can see it's got
feathers and rubbery red stuff。
“So？” I ask him。 “Is that a rooster？”
He shrugs。 “Looks like a chicken to me。”
“How can you tell？”
He shrugs again。 “Just does。”
We watch it scratching at the dirt for a minute； and then I ask； “What's a hen； anyway？”
“A hen？”
“Yeah。 You got roosters； you got chickens； and then there's he
