Page 18 of Honey Bee Hearts

“Nonsense,” Gunnar grins. “We’re just going to meet all the animals. Nothing crazy.”

Mel shares a look with Gunnar that I don’t understand before Gunnar holds the door open for me and instructs me to follow. The moment we’re on the porch, Gunnar reaches down and picks up a chicken I didn’t even see until he has it in his arms. Which is strange, considering how weird the chicken looks.

“What on earth happened to him?” I ask, wide eyed. “Is he hurt?”

Gunnar laughs. “Oh, no. Mr. Frizzle just looks like this.”

“But his feathers?—”

“He’s a Frizzle chicken,” Gunnar explains. “A particular breed characterized by their feathers turning up at the ends. It makes it look like he’s in a permanent hurricane, don’t it?” He settles the chicken on his shoulder, and to my surprise, the chicken is happy to perch there. “The ladies were being mean to him, and we don’t exactly want a bunch of Frizzle babies anyways, so he’s my partner in crime now. He prefers people company to other chickens.” He holds up a piece of bacon to the rooster and he takes it happily.

“He just. . . hangs out with you all day?” I ask.

Gunnar nods. “He does. He’s a great truck chicken. Rides on the center console and everything.”

“Can I pet him?” I stare at the chicken. His feathers do look like he’s been windswept. He gently clucks as Gunnar feeds him pieces of pancake and bacon.

“Go on ahead. He won’t peck ya.”

I reach up and touch Mr. Frizzle along his back. He makes a noise, but otherwise doesn’t move, just looks at me. His feathers are weird and stiff, but he seems to enjoy being petted.

“He likes you,” Gunnar declares. “He don’t even let Rhett pet him.”

“He doesn’t?”

“Nah, but that’s not unusual. Most of the chickens don’t like Rhett. I think it has something to do with the way he smells like honey all the time. They think he has food, and when he doesn’t show up with it, they get mad. Chickens are kind of just slaves to their hunger.” He holds up another piece of pancake which Mr. Frizzle happily takes. “They’ll eat anything. Hamburger, eggs, candy, fruit, even each other if one looks weak. They’re kind of brutal creatures.”

I blink. “Good to know. I never even realized.”

“Come on. I’ll take you to meet the horses.”

I follow Gunnar out to the horse stables eagerly. I was able to pet three horses that were in the pastures yesterday, but I quickly learn that’s not even a portion of the horses here. We go stall to stall as Gunnar introduces me to each and every one.

“This here is Wynona,” he says, patting a large brown snout as she sticks her head out. “And this asshole on the end is Houdini.”

“Oh, the escape artist,” I say, coming over to pat them both on the noses. “I’ve heard so much about you, Houdini.”

“See this metal lock here? He knows how to open it. Just pops it right open. This chain? Jerks it until it comes loose. They just don’t make quality chains for the likes of Houdini.”

“No lock works?” I ask.

“Nothing. Padlocks get busted open. Chains are broken. Locks are just unlocked. I swear this horse is smarter than any animal I’ve ever had. It would be amazing if it wasn’t such a pain in my ass.”

Houdini nickers for Gunnar’s attention until he pets him, too. He makes soft blowing noises as we pet him, content.

“Yeah, yeah. No hard feelings,” Gunnar tells him. “But I’m gonna find something that keeps you in. Just you wait.”

Houdini nickers again and presses against our hands tighter.

“Maybe he just wants attention,” I say, smiling. “He seems pretty affectionate.”

“He loves hugs, so it wouldn’t surprise me,” Gunnar shrugs. “Still, we can’t always have him just running around. I’d just let him make his own way into the stables if it wasn’t dangerous for him to do so.”

Houdini chuffs in disagreement, but happily accepts all the pets.

Throughout the day, Gunnar takes me through the entire ranch. I meet all the horses. Turns out Circle Bee has about twenty of them. I meet some of the dogs in the yard, but Coltis away on business, so I don’t get to meet them all. I go in with Gunnar to meet all the dozens of chickens. Mr. Frizzle stays outside the chicken coops while we go in and fill up baskets full of eggs. I don’t know how many we end up getting, but it feels like hundreds of them.

“You get this many every single day?” I ask as I help him carry them back to the house.

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