Hooray — Hennie’s Heading Home!

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 kids called until they were hoarse, and began crying when she didn’t show up. After explaining what might have happened, they pleaded with me to take them to the lake — some forty miles on the other side of the Mississippi River. All the way, the girls held each other, sitting bolt upright, staring straight ahead, and asking constantly, “How much longer, Daddy, how much longer?” I tried to prepare them for the worst. Even if the hen had not been blown out during the long drive to the lake yesterday, she probably hopped out at the lake’s edge, unseen by me, and got lost or killed in the woods. Warning them was futile. Adults’ hope is just hope; children’s hope is faith. At the lake’s edge, the girls began calling, “Hennie, Hennie, we’ve come to get you!” They looked everywhere, but found no sign of the hen. Then we heard it — Hennie’s familiar squawk. Right above us, perched on a limb, was the Rhode Island Red. She flapped down, let herself be hugged by the girls, and got in the pickup, just like she was one of us, which she was. On the way home, the girls, so relieved and happy that they had found the beloved hen, fell sound asleep, as did the hen. As far as they were concerned, God was in His Heaven, and all was right with the world. Driving along, I sensed a peace that surpasses all understanding. I realized that acts of love and kindness, however small, are never wasted, and in due time are reciprocated, not just between people, but also between people and animals. The girls loved Hennie, and she loved them; they were kind to her; she was kind to them. As we crossed the mighty Mississippi, the girl sitting next to me woke up, looked at the hen, still snoozing peacefully, gave me a big hug, and with a sigh of great relief, said: “Hooray — Hennie’s heading home!”