The Chicken, the Egg, and the Two-Dollar Haircut

Ky crouched down behind a rocky outcrop while a hail of bullets peppered the nearby vicinity. The three men above him were intent on doing him in by overdosing him on some hot lead, but Ky was a rare breed. He was strong, courageous, and a dead-eye shot.

With amazing swiftness, Ky let loose a barrage of shots that immediately felled two of the bad men. The other one took off, jumping on his horse and riding away. He was never seen in these parts again.

“Oh, Ky! You saved me. And the ranch! How can I ever thank you?” Dorothy hugged him and kissed him deeply, moaning in pleasure.

Ky pushed her away gently and looked in her eyes.

“Wasn’t nothin’, Dot. Happy to oblige.”

Ky looked off into the west with a pensive look on his face. Dorothy sighed and took his arm…

“Ky! Hey Ky! We’re here” Chance said.

Ky snapped out of his reverie and blinked his eyes. He rubbed his face and slowly got out of the pickup, looking around at the immediate surroundings. What he saw both gratified him and depressed him.

“Plenty of cows still. And horses. Barn looks good.”

“Look at that house, Chance. My grandpa really let it go to hell,” Ky said.

The house had seen better days. Neglect showed everywhere, from the dilapidated front porch to the sagging roof. Ky shuddered at what he might find inside. Hell, even the snakes wouldn’t want to live there, he thought.

The inside was even more depressing than the outside. The wooden floorboards were water damaged and warped, and the walls had buckled from the rains of several springs. Shattered windows and a thick coat of grime imbued the interior with a harshness that made both men uncomfortable.

Chance and Ky stood outside, both with their hands in their pockets, surveying the land and the house, each thinking their own thoughts. The sun was past its zenith and the air, though warm, would quickly cool out here in West Texas. A breeze ruffled the prairie grass and sent whispers through the barbed wire. Ky nodded his head, as if he had made a decision.

“I’m home.”

Chance grinned. He figured Ky for a real cowboy. He wouldn’t be his best friend otherwise.

**************

It took Chance and Ky three months of steady work to fix up the old house and make it livable enough for Ky and Missy. Ky gave Chance two heifers for helping him, and hired him to be the ranch foreman. Free food and lodging, plus 25% of the profits – if there were any.

Chance and his wife Jolene moved into the foreman’s lodge and quickly set up house. Ky wasn’t married because…well, because none of the fine young ladies in the area cared to marry a man who had a smart-ass, crippled niece to take care of. They didn’t mind spending the occasional night with him, though.

Missy was “almost ten and a half,” as she would say in all seriousness, brushing back her unruly hair and walking stiffly on her new legs. She went to school and made good grades, but she also got into a lot of fights. As soon as someone teased her about her prosthetic legs, she’d jump up and start pounding on them until a teacher or the principal came along to drag her off of the unfortunate kid.

“You can’t fight everyone who makes fun of you, Missy,” Ky said, but he said it only because he felt like that was the adult thing to say. As far as he was concerned, if she wanted to kick some kid’s ass because they teased her, he was fine with it. The poor kid lost her legs in the car wreck that had claimed her parents’ lives. She could whale on anyone she wanted to, Ky figured.

“’Course I can, uncle Ky. Them little shits have it comin’ to ‘em.”

“Honey, just call me Ky.”

“You’re my uncle.”

“Yeah. Proud to be your uncle.”

“Then I’ll call you uncle Ky. Ain’t got no other family.”

Ky smiled wanly and agreed with her. The poor kid.

Chance didn’t see it that way.

“Missy’s havin’ the time of her life. Ridin’ around on the ATV. Raisin’ hell and gen’rally havin’ a good time. Hell, you let her stay up all hours and eat whatever she wants. I done seen her eat a whole box of Lucky Charms for supper.”

“Well, what can I do? Her folks are dead and she needs stability. I let her run wild I guess, but she’s a good kid.”

“I reckon you’re right, but a bath ever once in a while might be good. She smells like little kid sweat half the time.”

“I reckon so.”

“And that damn chicken gives me the willies. Why does she keep that thing in her room?”

**************

“That damn chicken” was indeed a monstrosity. Missy’s mom (Ky’s sister) made it for an art exhibit in fifth grade, garnering a blue ribbon for her efforts. Ky suspected that the ribbon was due more to its impressive size than any artistic ability his sister had displayed. It stood over five feet tall. The top came off to reveal a spacious interior. Ky used to hide garden snakes in there to scare his sister. It always worked, and she never told on him.

Missy’s dad found a decorated egg in his dad’s attic and took it home to give to his wife. She looked at it and told him she would never have anything like that layin’ around her house. She put it inside the capacious belly of her paper-machéd chicken, figuring that a chicken and an egg ought to be together. From that point on, it was forgotten.

The egg was found, of course, because Missy was…well…Missy. She opened up the giant chicken and pulled the egg out. She then proceeded to clean it up and place it in various places around her room. It just didn’t look right anywhere, so she put it back in the chicken, reckoning that a chicken and an egg belonged together.

And there it stayed for several decades.

**************

“That’ll be two dollars, Ky,” old man Haney pulled the covering off of Ky and shook out the hair. Ky stood up and reached for his wallet.

“Two dollars? You can’t make any money that way, Mr. Haney. How ‘bout I give you ten.”

The Old man started sweeping up hair from the floor. Three other men, at least as old as Mr. Haney, were sitting in the barber shop. All three were drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. That’s what they did every day until noon. Then they switched to beer and playing checkers, still in the barber shop.

“Two dollars, young ‘un. Long as you don’t sell your land to those city slickers. That’s what I charged your granddad.”

Ky grinned at him.

“What if I do sell it?”

The old man had a pair of scissors in his hand and he started shaking them at Ky. Ky backed away slightly. The old man might decide to stab him for such heretical statements.

“Then you will no longer be welcome in here. Ever.”

Ky laughed, laid down a ten-dollar bill, and left.

“I reckon that’s a good tip he left you,” one of the old men said.

“I reckon I gave him a good tip as well,” replied the barber.

**************

The three men were impressively dressed, Ky thought. I’ll give them that. Ky invited them in and offered him coffee. The men accepted; one pulled out papers from his briefcase.

“I suppose we should look at what we can offer you. And your niece. Financial independence for the rest of your life, and hers. We can offer you…”

“Suits. Drink your coffee and get the hell outta here,” Missy spoke from behind the men. They jumped slightly and turned around in their seats. None of the three liked the look in this woman’s eyes. When they turned back to Ky, they saw an expressionless face.

“Uh…two million dollars. And you get to keep 40 acres of your land so you can keep on farming.”

“Ranching.”

“Yes, sorry. Ranching.”

“Can’t ranch 40 acres,” Missy said.

“I see. However, you can retire…”

“What will our hands do?”

“Hands?” One of the men asked, although all were perplexed. Twiddle your damn thumbs, one of them ungraciously thought. Stupid-ass country girl.

“Workers. You know. Hands.”

“Yes, well, there are always adjustments to be made…”

“You fellas done with your coffee? Time to get the fuck outta here, boys,” Missy started shooing them towards the door.

“Language, Missy,” Ky gently scolded her.

“Uncle Ky. I am thirty one and a half years old. I curse just the right amount for a woman of my stature.”

The men left quickly: Missy went outside with a shotgun and sat on the front porch with it across her knees. Maybe the old geezer on the other side of the road will sell, thought one of the men. Suddenly, this attractive land that Ky owned didn’t look so attractive.

**************

Old man Haney finally passed away, but his son took over the barbering for the community, greatly assisted by his wife, who did the “fancy stuff” for the ladies right next door in her trailer/salon.

Ky and Chance sauntered in and put their hats on the rack. Ky sat down immediately in the barber chair, for everyone else there was drinking beer and playing checkers. All the old men who used to go there had died out, but a new crop of old men took their place.

“Ky, you getting’ the social security yet?” Young Mr. Haney asked. He whipped the cloth expertly over Ky and began cutting.

“Started getting’ the checks in May. Free money,” Ky said.

“I reckon you get the senior discount now. That’ll be two dollars.”

Ky looked at him and smiled.

“That’s what you been charging me.”

“My daddy made me promise to charge you only two dollars a haircut, ‘long as you didn’t sell your land to any city slicker.”

Ky paid his money and added a ten-dollar tip.

“Your daddy was a good man.”

**************

“How’s Missy and her husband doin’? Still makin’ a go of the ranch?” Chance asked.

“You see it every damn day with me, Chance. You know they’re doin’ fine. They make more money than we ever did with it, though. Animal husbandry, she calls it.”

Chance chuckled.

“That ain’t what she told me. She said it was the science of making animals have sex, for fun and profit.”

Ky smiled. Missy would never change, and he was damned happy about it.

Chance dropped Ky off at the main house and sped off. The man still drives too fast, Ky thought. Yet another thing to be happy about.

The house was empty; Missy and her husband was out doing what they were always doing. Running the ranch. They’d be back at dusk, all tired and sweaty and happy. Ky smiled at the photograph of Missy sitting on her first horse all those years ago, and then he sat down to write.

Missy and her man work hard as hell. She’s over 50 years old now, but she’s still full of piss and vinegar. I reckon she’ll die cussing out the preacher for not sending her to God the way she wanted it.

That there Russian egg didn’t change her at all. Faberge? Something like that. Sounds like a perfume brand. Third Imperial Easter egg. I had to look that up. The Amarillo Museum must be full of idiots to pay $30 million for that ugly old thing. But it was her egg, so she could do with it what she wanted. Can you believe, she still has that big old chicken her mom made all those years ago? She dusts it every week and patches it up when a crack shows.

I’m a broke down old hoss now, and Missy makes me take it easy. I still ride out of a morning, checking the herds and just enjoying the land. Me and Chance sit around the barber shop after lunch, have a beer, play checkers.

Missy tells me I should write my memoirs, which is what I’m doing here, but I can’t think of much to say. I worked hard and enjoyed my life, especially with Missy in it. Never got married. Never wanted a woman who didn’t want Missy. None came my way. I guess that’s about it.

I used to daydream a lot, about being an old timey cowboy. I’d face off against rustlers and outlaws. They’d be shooting at me and I always found cover behind some big old rock. Their bullets never got me. Those were some fine daydreams, though I got my ass beat more than once by my dad for not paying attention.

If I have anything to add to my memoirs, I’d have to say that Missy has been that big old rock I’d hide behind when the bad men started throwing lead my way. Funny how my daydreams always had three bad guys and those city slickers always come around in packs of three.

Well, I guess that’s all I got to say.

**************

Missy told everyone about the Faberge egg after Ky died. How Ky knew about its worth when Missy was still a teenager but wouldn’t sell it because it was hers. The news created quite a stir because not everyone stumbled on $30 million. Funny thing was, no one treated Missy or her family any differently. She was still Missy, the beautiful terror of their community.

Young Haney and his wife had just gone to bed, discussing Missy and her fortune. Haney’s wife was glad it was Missy who was rich and not anyone else. Missy would never be stuck up about it, she said.

“You wouldn’t even want us to be rich?” Young Haney asked.

“No, honey. I think all that money’d ruin us. We might want a bigger house in a fancy city, get fancy clothes and eat fancy food. Then we’d get fat and die young.”

Young Haney laughed at this, mainly because it might be true.

“What you reckon Missy’s gonna do with all that money?”

His wife turned to him and kissed him good night.

“Nothin’. That’s why she’s the best person for it. Go to sleep, old man.”

“Good night, old woman.”

A few seconds passed before Young Haney spoke his final thought for the night.

“Maybe I shoulda charged Ky three dollars for a haircut.”