It was the time for special treats and eats, the highest point of the year for all Pinoys in Pinas – Pasko at Bagong Taon. About ten years ago to the season, I had decided to buy a native chicken to cook as special tinola for the family. Since native chickens cannot be bought dressed and frozen from the supermarket, I bought a live one from the wet market of Fairview in Quezon City. (Yes, it seems like eons ago that we lived in smoggy Filinvest I.)
As we were busy preparing various other viands for the festivities, the chicken managed to free itself and flew off! Until that time, I didn’t know that native chickens, unlike other imported breeds, could fly high almost like other birds. Oh, well. I just charged the loss of some of my marketing money to experience.
Days later, after espying the prodigal chicken on the branches of the chico tree by the garage from time to time, the kids excitedly reported discovering eggs in one of the empty flower pots in the back garden. Our chicken had nested and laid eggs in an earthenware bed! She is a mother, chirped the kids! We all decided to stop scheming at trying to snare her for the stew pot and keep her as a pet instead. Of course, as a pet, she had to be named.
The kids remembered a favorite chicken story by comics writer/illustrator Gerry Alanguilan. The story had a one-eyed, sideways-strutting rooster named Mr. Solano as protagonist. Aha, perfect! Thus did our pet mother hen acquire a name – Mrs. Solano – and the unsuspecting literary rooster acquire a wife and brood.
Mrs. Solano’s eggs hatched and soon, mother and children had the run of the back garden. Although our kids had wanted to also give names to the chicks of Mrs. Solano, I resisted. For at the back of my mind I was still hoping to recoup my initial investment in the first chicken by eventually having its offspring in my tinola! You can’t go around naming your would-be food, can you? You wouldn’t want to eat an acquaintance, would you?
My daughter Pika had no such qualms, it turned out. She knew the original intent for Mrs. Solano and being (I suspect) an OC like me, I think she never quite got over the fact that this chicken was still scot-free. I also think she was influenced by the cook and the driver who both kept tabs on how plump the chicks were getting to be.
One day, after we had done our grocery shopping at Ever Gotesco Supermarket, Pika, Boboy and I decided to have merienda at the nearby Shakey’s. It was a Sunday and the restaurant was almost full of diners.
Out of the blue, uttered in her clear little girl’s voice, Pika asked, “Eh, Tatay, kailan ba natin papatayin si Mrs. Solano?”
To which, Boboy nonchalantly retorted, “Huwag na si Mrs. Solano. Matanda na yun. Yung mga anak na lang niya ang patayin natin.”
SILENCE. I could feel the air thicken with the smothered gasps of the people in nearby tables. Everybody just stopped talking! I knew they were trying hard not to look directly at us. Even the waiters were reluctant to approach us. Until we left that restaurant, I knew the people there were dying to know (pun unintended) what nefarious act this seemingly normal, harmless-looking family was going to commit.
Postscript:
One by one, Mrs. Solano and her children started to disappear – but not into our cooking pot. We suspected the construction workers down the street.
Our driver Mang Bobby, not wanting to lose out to the chicken thief, caught the last two chickens and our cook Marlen finally made tinolang native na manok! Alas, despite our not having named them, we still couldn’t eat them.
