Ginger on Tour

“Oh, I just don’t know if I will fit in with all these city birds”, thought Ginger Chicken as she set off for a morning of sightseeing in London.

Ginger couldn’t remember the days of city living in Louisville, KY, not having a memory for such things.  For the last year she had been living in a box, in a house, on a farm in North Carolina.  Ginger hadn’t even mingled with the country chickens, much less sophisticated birds in London.

Ginger settled in to traveling by coach around to the different sights.  This is what she was used to: being stuffed into a little bag or a box didn’t bother her.  She didn’t mind not seeing Parliament and Big Ben or St. Martins College of Art and Design where Stella McCartney received her degree.  The trouble began when the chatty group of SLIS graduate school got off the bus to get closer to St. Paul’s Cathedral. 

“Oooh.  The points on that roosting place look dangerous”, she said while passing the gate to the College of Arms.  “How is a decent chicken supposed to sleep on that?”

The London Millennium Bridge looked like a better place to roost but she knew that she might be scooped up and roasted if she wobbled off by herself.  She also heard that the bridge itself used to wobble.  When humans walked across it in big groups, their footsteps would get into sync causing the bridge to sway.  Ginger clucked with dismay at the thought! Better to stick with the solid path.

Once at the destination, the tour guide impressed Ginger with his knowledge of poultry history.  He pointed to the roof of St. Paul’s Cathedral and brought attention to a statue of the cockerel. 

It was the gent who had crowed after Peter denied Jesus three times.

Things began to look up as the group approached an ancient building at the end of a narrow alley.  It had wavy thick glass windows and delicious flowers hanging from hooks.  Best of all was the picture hanging above the door.  It was a drawing of the most handsome roosters she had ever seen.

“I think they call them cockerels over here”, she remembered.  For future reference she took note of the name of the place.

“The Cockpit.  I wonder if there’s a whole pit of those handsome devils in there!” she wondered.  She looked back longingly at the sign, knowing that her human probably wouldn’t be welcome in such a fine establishment.  She was the messy one.

A little later on the tour Ginger began to crave bird contact.  This was a new feeling for her; she had always been satisfied being stuffed in a box or slobbered on by a little boy named Franklin. 

After looking at more BIG buildings that were supposed to be occupied by some royalty of the human species, she found herself in a wonderful place that was completely green.  She heard from the tour guide that it was called Green Park.   Something came over Ginger.  She just had to join creatures that were more like her down in a natural environment.  She glided down to the grass and gazed at the blue and gray birds that were walking around here. 

“They don’t seem so bad”, Ginger thought as she and the birds eyed each other.

“Maybe I could get used to this place.  Maybe, just maybe, I can find the rooster of my dreams.  Better yet, maybe I will make some friends.”