99.9% of the time she kept a face of stone, only reaching out to the monkeys once, the .1% of time in which she showed a slight interest in anything other than the groupings of children standing next to her pointing out the same monkeys, was when she saw two chickens wandering the grounds. Chickens? Really? Monkeys, picking fleas, swinging effortlessly from branch to rope right in front of her eyes, big ones, small ones, fuzzy ones, bald ones, and she wanted to chase the chickens? Was it the thrill of the chase? Knowing that they were free and there was a small chance that she could actually touch them. Or maybe she is like her dad and seeing animals in cages makes her sad. She was thrilled with the idea that these chickens had somehow found freedom from the small world of cages, plastic trees and makeshift wooden boxes supplying shelter from the greedy eyes of children.
Mostly I think she longed for the thrill of introduction. She stood in the middle of the grass, one hand in dad's and the other waving "hi" to the chickens. Here first words were "hi" and "bye, bye". She loves greeting strangers in the super market or at the park. She loves saying "bye, bye" to her dad in the mornings or before bed. She treated the chickens like any other living, moving thing deserving a proper greeting. She said "hi" when first approaching and "bye, bye" when they waddled out of her sight. When one chicken left the grass, she pursued the other till it too got tired of pecking the ground at her feet. Both chickens were gone and she was stone faced once more, surveying the grounds for something else to chase with her new found legs and friendly disposition.
