Some well-meaning friends talked me into trying a Yoga class. They said it was just what I needed.
Gentle music played and incense wafted as the instructor guided our twists, our stretches, our breathing...while I wrote my grocery list in my head and tried to remember if Sarah's orthodontist appointment was tomorrow or next Tuesday.
After about a half-hour I actually began to get into the groove when, balanced on left knee and right hand, I twisted my head to look up at the clock---
Only nine minutes had passed.
Aside from maybe having a molar pulled, this was the longest nine minutes I'd ever endured.
Panicking silently, I tried to come up with an urgent excuse or a graceful exit, but could think of none. I would have to endure the eternal yoga class.
Believe it or not, it eventually ended. With the delightful Corpse pose which I mastered like a master. I rolled up my yoga mat and skittered out the door never to return.
Wikipedia tells me:
"The goal of yoga, or the person practicing yoga, is the attainment of a state of perfect spiritual insight and tranquility."
Heck, I don't need no yoga mat for that.
Because I've got a Chicken-milking stool.
No, I don't milk the chickens on this stool. But if chickens could be milked, this would be the perfect stool for the job.
I got it at Ikea for $7.99.
It lives out in the yard, and it beckons me.
This stool brings me closer to all things awesome.
Like Lucy's face.
Late in the day when the girls free-range, Lucy shuffles over to sit by the stool, knowing I'll eventually be planting myself there. I join the ladies every evening for free-ranging time on account of this:
which has taken up roosting here:
A Red Shouldered hawk. Actually, we've got a whole family of them, and they'd like nothing better than a chicken dinner.
Since Lucy can't get around too well, (click here for Lucy's story), she sits down and joins me on Hawk-Patrol.
Marky also keeps an eye out for hawks. He's a very good little watchdog.
he's doing his yoga.
Lucy, too... When she's not watching for hawks, she practices the Bharadvaja's Twist.
They take turns, so somebody's always on watch--
which leaves me free to seek a state of spiritual insight from the comfort of my stool.
At my feet is a telltale sign that Lil'White has begun her molt.
I find the rest of her beneath the forsythia,
where she appears to have exploded.
How does she do it?
While all the other molting gals look miserable and disheveled,
(poor little Pigeon, here, sports one pathetic tail feather)
Lil'White loses more than half her plumage and still remains the picture of beauty and poise.
Oh, the perspectives I'd miss
were it not for my chicken-milking stool.
And you know, I'm not the only one who seeks to attain a sense of peace and spirituality through chickens.
Here my friend Sharon Araujo does a modified Standing Half Forward Bend while Terry Golson of Hencam.com attempts an especially complex yoga position to attain the best chicken-butt photo,
and thus, spiritual insight and tranquility.