Chapter Sixteen
Morons
One Man’s Moron Is Another Man’s Saint.
The next day, Helmut trotted down his skid-free steps. There was not a poop in sight. He stood at the bottom and stared at the superbly fenced-in pond. He wanted to thank the postman almost as much as he wanted to see Red again.
A hen peered through the fence and squawked at him.
It seemed like a hello, like she was missing the steps, its shelter, and Gary’s Indian leftovers.
The hen blinked at Helmut.
He looked at his toast oozing with peanut butter.
“There you go . . .” he muttered and tossed it at her.
The other hens fluttered around followed by the drake.
Helmut stopped, thought, went back inside, and brought out his bucket of vegan scraps.
He emptied it over the fence and watched as the hens tucked in along with
