Hazel - Fluff

Never in my life had I figured that I would be in a position to be surrounded by so many feathers or low sounding clucks. Chickens were alien to me. They were practically alien to the market. Yet, Hazel had purchased several of them and had forced everyone she knew to build her a state-of-the-art coop where she proceeded to carve sigils to keep the chickens safe from wisps that presumed the form of foxes. It had been a long couple of days of figuring out how to build the structure. Of hearing Malcolm curse under his breath and Milo threaten to eat the chickens., But Hazel cooked the entire time and plied everyone with food. When the straw was spread that final evening, she asked if Milo and Malcolm wished to stay, but the two of them begged off quickly. Not before she shoved a food basket in their hands for their service.

Now, I sat within the coop, legs crossed, with three chickens in my lap. They were smaller than anything I had ever handled before. Hazel claimed that they would be ugly in no time, going through the awkward teenage years within weeks of birth. But for now, they were peeping loudly at me, while across the way, the older ones were nesting in their box and eyeing me as if they were trying to figure out if I was a snack or another chicken.

“Look at you,” Hazel cooed, coming into the coop. She hadn’t changed from her work clothes yet and was still in her overalls, rolled at the cuffs, and a yellow flowered crop top. Her hair was pushed back with a knitted bandana, and her face was still flushed with exertion. “If I didn’t want to marry you already, this would do it for me.”

“Me sitting with chickens?”

“It’s sexy,” she said, sauntering over to me to sit by my side. “And they love you. That’s a good sign. Chickens have a sixth sense, you know. They can tell when someone's a good one or not.”

I looked down at the little balls of fluff in my lap. One was falling asleep. The other was simply walking in circles and yelling, and the third had just pooped on me. I grabbed the linen we had brought in and wiped it across my lap. Thank the gods for magic and the ability to swipe away any messes.

“I’m afraid I’m going to break them,” I told her.

“They’re resilient.” Settling down next to me, she looped one arm through my own, leaning her head on my shoulder. “They are attached to you. Imprinting. Soon they’ll follow you all over the yard.”

One particular big grey hen squawked at us. “I don’t think she approves.”

“She’s just laying an egg.” Hazel looked on at the little babies in my lap, peeping back at them until they all got into a chorus that had Hazel wrinkling her nose in laughter.

“Why don’t you sit with the chickens for a bit, and I’ll go get us something to eat,” I suggested to her. 

But Hazel refused to let me go. “No,” she squeezed. “You’re not getting up. Your lap is too comfortable. You’ll break their little hearts. I know how it feels when you’re all comfy in Night Market lap, and then you’re forced out into the cold.”

I laughed a little, tipping my head onto hers. “Bit dramatic.”

“Says you. You aren't the one who has to deal with the trauma.” She reached out, running a finger over one of the chicks heads. “I just want to stay here for a while. With you. This has been a fantasy of mine for so long.”

“To have chickens?”

“To be with the one I love, raising the chickens.” She tipped her gaze up towards me. “I know it’s silly and there are so many more aspirations I could have, but this is just perfect to me.”

Hazel didn't get domesticity when she was younger. Childhood was wrought with an uncertainty, and her years where she should have been able to branch out and thrive had been marred by death. I understood what she meant by this being her fantasy. It was simple. It was easy. That was the one thing Hazel wanted the most and had always struggled to obtain.

“I’ll get you all the chickens if this is what makes you happy.”

“And build a coop extension?” she grinned.

“We might need to wait on that.” My thumb still smarted from where I had hit it with a hammer. “But, how about you and I come out here every evening, no matter what is going on, and spend time with the babies.”

“Really?” She practically was jumping in her seat, scaring one of the little chickens off my lap to go running towards the big hen. It burrowed itself under a plume of feathers, looking out at Hazel with beady eyes.

“Really,” I told her.

She hugged me close before shooing the rest of the chickens away. “Alright, chickadee’s. My turn for the comfy lap.” No sooner had the chicks jumped off did Hazel jump on. She squirmed around until she sat comfortably, my arms coming around her waist. She was practically vibrating with the excitement of her new coop.

“Thank you,” she whispered after a long moment.

“For what?”

“For not thinking I’m crazy.”

Leaning forward, I placed a small kiss against her cheek. “You’re my crazy,” I told her. “My crazy chicken lady.”

Hazel laughed. “We’ll get a sign.”

Little did she know, I was already having Malcolm pain her one.