I’m youngest in a large family. My sister N., the oldest, is an artist. Sometimes she dresses animals in hats and sunglasses for children’s books. (Yeah, I know it sounds weird but they’re really cute and funny.) She’s also an incredibly kind and gentle spirit. People and animals in need just sort of find her. When there was a stray dog that half the neighborhood had fed and tried to catch at one time or another, he chose her front gate to sleep in front of. He’s now a happy member of the family. That’s just who she is.

Earlier this summer, she was walking the dogs near a park and found a chicken. A live chicken. Just hanging around, waiting for some kind vegetarian soul like my sister to take her home. I was insanely jealous, as I’d love to keep a few chickens around for fresh eggs, but my husband has nixed that idea more than once. There were tornados in southern Ohio earlier this summer, and some had reportedly hit some chicken farms. Perhaps that’s how the chicken came to end up in the park. At any rate, my sister took the chicken home and named it Dorothy. (Dorothy, twister–give it a second) With two dogs, she couldn’t keep it, but found a good home for Dorothy with a friend whose husband is open to urban chickens. N. will chicken sit when necessary.

Dorothy is a lovely chicken. When the kid and I went over to meet it, she was lying in my brother-in-law’s lap, stretched out nice and comfy like a cat while he petted her. Who knew chickens could make such a great pet?

Here’s me meeting Dorothy.