Hooray — Hennie’s Home!

When I managed my father’s Mississippi Delta farm, I earned extra money by selling honey and eggs.

Like most normal human beings, my three daughters kept their distance from the beehives, but they loved my flock of chickens, especially a Rhode Island Red hen they called “Hennie.” One Sunday morning before getting ready for church, the girls went out to feed the hen some of her favorite snacks. A few minutes later, the backdoor flew open, and they were yelling, “Hennie’s gone, Hennie’s gone!” I assured them she wasn’t and went out to find her. The hen had no sense of place; a fence was just something to fly over, so I felt certain she was close by. Then I had an unsettling thought. Several times, I’d shooed her out of my fishing boat. She loved feasting on crickets, and would search for those that escaped from the cricket box after my fishing trips. The afternoon before, I had gone fishing.

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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 around that lake, she couldn’t have survived the night. Going to church was out of the question. The kids called until they were hoarse, and I realized that what I suspected really had happened. There was only one thing to do — go to the lake, forty miles on the other side of the Mississippi River. All the way, the girls held each other, staring straight ahead, and asking, “How much longer, Daddy, how much longer?” I tried to prepare them for the worst. Even if the hen hadn’t been blown out during the long drive, she probably wandered off into the woods and got lost or killed. Warning them was futile. Adults’ hope is just hope; children’s hope is more like faith. At the lake’s edge, the girls began calling, “Hennie, Hennie, we’ve come to get you!” We 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. When we pulled into the driveway, all four passengers awoke. The hen squawked, and in unison, the girls shouted, “Hooray — Hennie’s home!”