The White Chicken Gives a First-Hand Account -from an Associated Press story I love the red wheelbarrow rusting by the barn, my sturdy nesting place, my refuge the night raccoons laid waste the coop, killed all the laying hens but me. Farmer buried them in the far yard, and Laslo, the brown dog, dug them back up, nuzzled each gray bundle against the long hen house and, there, all morning stood guard. Laslo, brother of my heart. Just Married J U S T M A R R I E D sprayed in shaving cream on the back of a blue Volkswagen Bug. The couple inside is young, deliriously happy and in love. Like we were the day we drove away from the waves of well wishers in that tinny, tiny Renault-10 headed who knew where and with the rest of our lives to find it. Today, we are stalled in this lane of serious traffic behind the blue Bug. We are not young, not delirious, not in love. We are just married. Full Moon At the distance of your arm, it’s the size of an aspirin. Take it. Don’t wait till morning, call me.