Not quite a year of keeping chickens sure has re-framed allot of my most triggery metaphors. "Easy Scratch" might be the most potent of them. The world of child prostitution, et al, I was raised in is chock-full of "Hunters of the Easy Scratch." To me, the word definition has always been, "Easy Money." The reactionary definition has always been, "Run! Something violently stupid this way comes."

The true meaning of "easy scratch" has become glaringly obvious since hubs ". . .got chicks for his birthday. . ." last December. Long before his chickens became my chickens, the chickens leveled every single one of my garden beds. The soft dirt of a garden bed sends them into scratching frenzies. It is downright stunning how fast a little bird can rake it clean with their little talons. The once open and fluid garden design of frameless raised beds is now cluttered with chicken wire to keep them out. May they never discover that they have the ability to hop over the two foot high chicken wire. . .

The chicks and the old hens are still rival flocks. The chicks are free ranging now, but still staying close enough that I can protect them from the old hens. When I watch from the window, I frequently see the old hens lose interest in their own pecking order while they stalk the rival flock. It is an amusing show. . .

Hm-m-m-m-m. . . Should I try to let this real-time show re-frame my flashback imagery of the whorehouse Janes and Johns who plagued my childhood?