When managing my father’s Mississippi Delta cotton farm, I earned extra money by selling honey and eggs. Like most normal folks, my three daughters — Olivia, Heidi, and Annabelle — kept their distance from the beehives, but loved the chickens, especially a beautiful Rhode Island Red hen that they named “Hennie.” One morning when they went to feed the hen a handful of her favorite snacks, they returned in a panic, shouting, “Daddy, Hennie’s gone!”
Assuring them that she was close by, I went to the chicken yard. Hennie had no sense of place; a fence was just something to fly over. Then I had an unsettling thought. She loved feasting on crickets, and when I returned from fishing trips would search for those that escaped from the bait box. The afternoon before, I had gone fishing. I wondered … was Hennie in the boat when I left? Had she flown out unnoticed at the lake? With all the predators roaming the woods in that remote area, she would not have survived the night. The Comment section of online publications is the new front in the ongoing Cancel Culture Battle.
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