My home in the Philippines

We lived in Dumaguete, a small coastal city on Negros Island in the Philippines, which is about 300 miles south of Luzon, the major island. It was 1951, and I was 11 years old, having been born right before the Japanese invaded the Philippines. To avoid the Japanese, our family escaped to New York City to wait out the war (See the 2nd section of book).

We returned to Dumaguete in 1946 so my dad and mom could continue their missionary work at Silliman University where my father, Douglas Vernon, was Presbyterian Church Minister. Our return to Dumaguete took some adjustment for me. It was so different from the hustle and bustle of Riverside Drive in Manhattan, New York City, where we lived in an apartment complex for missionaries on furlough.

My dad didn't have a middle name, just Douglas Vernon. I had a middle name. I was named after Philip Harwood Vernon who was my great great grandfather. Although I had _4 this big name, I was called Ping by our servants Liling and Simuna. In our part of the Philippines, children's nick names often were made by taking the 1st letter of the 1st name (P) and adding "ing" to get Ping. They never called me anything else; but not my friends, they wouldn't dare.

Mom's name was Dorotha, but her friends called her Dot. To me this seemed like a silly nickname, but she didn't seem to mind.

Mountain Vacation

I'm awake and I can hear kitchen sounds. Liling and Simuna are starting to pack for our trip into the mountains. I had been sick for over 6 months, mono or some other condition. Our family doctor told my parents fresh air and rest might do me some good. I packed my clothes, a couple of layers in prep for cool mountain air. I felt OK, just never good; and I was tired all the time. I was OK with our trip into the mountains, although the trip meant time away from my friends, and I would have to entertain myself.

The mountain group included Mom and I, Liling and Simuna and our 2 drivers. Dad was staying home to handle his church work. My older brother Hugh was in boarding school.

Liling and Simuna were patient with me, Mom would get a Little testy. She was concerned I was becoming a spoiled brat. True, I demanded attention, and when I wanted something I did all I could to get it.

I recall one time when I spotted a little figure hanging from a Christmas tree branch. After closer inspection, I was looking at a toy soldier; just what I needed to command my troops outside in the bushes. I was pulling the soldier off the branch when Mom saw me ... "What are you doing?"

"I want to play with him."

"No, Phil, he's a tree ornament, I've had him for years, you know that, keep him on the branch."

That did it. I started to cry, first I primed the pump, then I was into a full-out brawl. My brother, home for Christmas vacation, heard the commotion and walked out of his room. He had a scowl on his face. He had watched this fight of wills many times, you know he wanted Mom to win. For me no turning back. Crying so hard, my face became beet red and I sputtered, gasped for breath.

Mom stiffly took the soldier from the branch, handed it to me, turned around and left the living room, Hugh retreated into his room. Immediately I stopped crying. I felt no remorse.

My stick figure fighting force was much stronger now. I declared my new toy soldier experienced and a general; you could tell by his uniform. I even assigned him his own security guard. The other side would have to account for leadership skills in attacks. Since I moved both sides, wasn't hard to have the bad guys in full retreat. Stick figures, many shot in the back with rubber bands, falling out of branches, lying in the grass. I made sure to pack my stick men for our time in the mountains.

The Chickens

I was outside watching Liling and Simuna pack when I noticed the 2 chickens, a hen and a rooster, lying in the dirt beside the rice bag, canned goods and other food stuffs, pots, and drinks. I could hear feeble clucks, could see them struggle uncomfortably.

Their legs were tied; I felt sorry for the chickens because I knew chickens were not joining us for their health. Later, they would have their heads chopped off and be defeathered and then placed in a pot for supper, probably some kind of a yummy chicken adobo.

Liling was rough with the chickens. She didn't seem to care about them and threw them into the back of the jeep. They landed with a thud, bound legs thrashing.

The trip took about 3 hours. Our two jeeps took us up the mountain. Trees along the route thrust their branches upward to reach open air as if to avoid the thick underbrush that threatened to cover the road. The road was asphalt to start with and then dirt and then we reached the thatched roof house on stilts we would live in for 2 months. Mom and I had different reactions to this house in the jungle.

The house was up in the air on stilts to keep rain water from seeping in. A tall person would have to bend over to go under the house.

Mom, Lilling and Simuna and our two drivers helped unpack the jeeps. Lilling equipped the kitchen with its wood- burning stove with canned goods, rice bag, soft drinks. Tap water would be boiled, left to cool, and then used as drinking water. Our 2 chickens were kept on dirt floor under the house.

Our small house in the mountains had been very important to us in the past in our escape from the Philippines right before the Japanese invasion.

We settled into mountain living routine. Not feeling well I stayed close to home; I didn't have much to do.

I began thinking about the chickens. I noticed Liling had untied their legs and would give them food and water and some kind of seeds. Before long they were foraging for food around our house. Because of the plentiful food and water, they had no reason to leave, and they stayed below the house.

Every morning the rooster would greet us with the cock-a-doodle-doo. I could tell the chickens felt comfortable around our little house. I started to feed the hen from my hand. At first she was hesitant to approach me, but before long I had the chicken pecking seeds out of my palm. Peck, peck would tickle my palm, make me giggle.

Chicken Little

Soon, the hen was not afraid of me; I worked out a call and every time I made this call she would come running, and I would feed her. Chicken and I developed a special bond. I decided to call her Chicken Little, a name I got from one of my books.

Chicken Little became my pet, my pet chicken. When I would call, Chicken Little would come running, even if it wasn't feeding time. When I came out in the yard Chicken Little would follow me around.

I lost interest in my stick men and war games. Chicken Little entertained me.

I grew to "know" my chicken. I began to train Chicken Little to sit on my shoulder. At first I would pick her up and set her on one of my shoulder blades. I could feel her feet digging into my shoulders as she balanced herself as I walked. I did this repeatedly, and soon Chicken Little would fly up to my shoulder and land safely. I could hear the "whoosh, whoosh," of her wings as she came toward me. Chicken Little couldn't fly far, but she could fly high enough to reach my shoulder or reach a low tree branch where sometimes she would roost at night.

I could tell Chicken Little enjoyed sitting on my shoulder as I walked around, working to keep her balance. She would be perched there even when I took a short hike down our road.

One rainy day, when I couldn't go out to play. I picked up "Little Lootie" one of my favorite illustrated books to read to her. I think Chicken Little enjoyed the vibration and sound my neck and throat made as I uttered the words. She sat very still. I wondered, you don't suppose ... no, I didn't think so, still I imagined reading all kinds of books to Chicken Little.

Mom had noticed my reading out loud and how much time I spent with Chicken Little, and how tame she was. Chicken Little had no fear of humans, particularly people she knew.

My mom warned me, "Philip, we can't have your chicken approaching neighbors or flying onto the shoulders of our friends and neighbors. We'll get complaints for sure."

Chicken Little and Her 1st Chick

One day at about supper time, while I was outside leading Chicken Little around, Liling approached me. I was quick to anticipate what she was going to ask, and I said, "Oh no!! We can't have Chicken Little for supper, she's tame and my pet. Besides, I've been watching her, I think she's ready to lay an egg."

Liling ... "How do you know that?" "She's been squatting a lot, looks uncomfortable, her feathers are ruffled, and I think she's made a nest out of dry grass and twigs beneath our house.

"You could be right, your chicken is old enough to lay an egg, could be she had a visit from the rooster."

"Do you mean I could have a baby chick, I mean could Chicken Little have a Baby Chick?"

"Yes, there is a good chance of that. Maybe after she has a few chickens, we could have one of the chicks for supper when they get old enough."

"No no!! I can't imagine eating Chicken Little or any of her chicks. Please, please, promise me. Can't you go to the market and pick up another chicken?"

Liling knew when I made up my mind that was it. I was spoiled from all my mom's attention, and I must say I did take advantage of Liling and Simuna. Some times I would get them to do things Mom had asked me to do. Fortunately, they never squealed on me.

I knew right then I had to keep a hawk eye on Liling. With my experience as a stick figure general, I knew how to recognize the enemy, and to protect the troops. Liling was the cook, and she was going to be a problem with regards to Chicken Little. She looked at a chicken as something that should go into a pot, and unlike me she had no feelings for Chicken Little.

That's How It All Began

Next morning I got up early, ran outside and under the house. Chicken Little was on her nest. I just knew she had laid an egg over night, and was sitting on it. I didn't want to frighten her, but I had to see the egg. So I got some seeds and held out my hand to lure her off the nest. When she hopped off the nest I took a quick look and sure enough, one egg in her nest, I was so excited! I let her return to her nest, and she resumed sitting on her egg.

I ran into the house and woke up Mom, Liling and Simuna.

"Chicken Little is a mother hen!"

I could tell Liling pretended to be excited.

I asked Liling, "How long will it take before I get a chick?"

"Not sure, I think it's about 3 weeks."

"3 weeks! That long!"

"Yes, chick has to grow strong before it can peck its way out of the shell."

Every day for the next 3 weeks I would check out Chicken Little on her nest. She would only leave the nest to get food and water, and before long I placed seeds and water right by her nest.

Liling scoffed, "You don't have to do that. A hen knows how to take care of herself and her egg. She will protect her egg." I could sense Liling's growing impatience.

I began my countdown, and every day I would check on her and make sure she had enough food and water. Day 1 became 2, which became 10. I lost interest in anything else. Chicken Little and I were having a baby chick; that's all that mattered now. I wondered whether Chicken Little's chick would be born during the day or night. I asked Liling who had about had it with my interest in all things Chicken Little.

"I don't know! When the baby chick is ready to break out of its egg, it will break out!"

The Chick Is Hatched!

Day 21 came, not yet. Shoot! I was so ready. Then on day 22, I rushed out of bed down the stairs and beneath the house, and lo and behold Chicken Little was up and about, close to her nest, and right next to her, a little white and yellow fur ball, the cutest chick I have ever seen. Chick went "peep, peep, peep."

I was so excited, I rushed into the house and woke up Mom, Liling and Simuna. "I have a chick, a baby chick, so cute!" Mom ... "Philip!! It's not 5:00 yet." Liling moaned.

Over the next week or so, as usual Chicken Little would follow me around, who in turn was followed by her chick. I would call to feed Chicken Little, and soon I was feeding the little chick. They were a pair.

Would there be more to come? I asked Liling.

"There's a chance she could lay an egg next month. Once they start, they lay an egg about every month or so."

I thought ... "Oh man another wait!" For the next month, I would stay close to the house almost playing the role of an expectant father. We had 2 worlds in our little mountain house. The inside world where Mom, Liling, Simuna, and I lived, and the outside world, with Chicken Little and whatever else was out there. We did our best to keep the outside world out. Our house had no window screens so we slept under mosquito nets. No pets or animals in house. This would soon change, by necessity.

One day I asked Liling an important question, "Is the little chick safe with woods all around the house. I hear lots of animal sounds from the woods."

Lilling ... "Well there are jungle rats, lizards, snakes, wild cats. Any one of them would love to get their paws on a baby chick. These wild animals also like to eat chicken eggs."

By the gleam in her eye I could tell she enjoyed telling me this horror story. By this time Chicken Little had returned to her nest, had laid another egg; her little chick always staying close. In 3 weeks, another....

Then and there I decided I had to move Chicken Little, her nest, egg, and her little chick into the house. I found a good spot against our dining room wall, close to the door to my room.

Next hurdle, I had to ask permission. Mom ... I knew better than to ask Liling or Simuna. Liling couldn't care less. I waited until mom seemed to be in a good mood, and then I approached her.

"Mom, I have to move Chicken Little and her nest into the house."

She was distracted, thinking of something else, but she did put together "Chicken" and "into the house." This got her attention.

"What do you mean? We can't have a chicken in the house."

"Liling warned me, something might try to eat the chick and egg. It's dangerous out there near the woods."

"You know it could be real messy. What about her droppings?

"I can housebreak Chicken Little."

"You're kidding me. You're going to housebreak a chicken?"

"Sure, Chicken Little is inclined to go outside anyway, and her Chick always follows her. Feathers ... I can clean them up, that shouldn't be a big problem."

"You get to tell Liling and Simuna."

When I mentioned the move to Liling she just stared at me. Would guess she thought I had gone over the edge. I liked the idea of Chicken Little in the house. She did not. I was surprised mom didn't object more to my bringing chickens into the house. We had returned to the Philippines after the war. I was in mountains to convalesce, to gain strength. Perhaps mom thought my caring for chickens would help take my mind off my condition. Even Liling's blank stare on hearing I wanted to bring Chicken Little into the house indicated she could handle letting some outside life in.

That's how it all started. Chicken Little and her little chick lived by my room in our little house. At night she'd climb the stairs followed by her little chick, she would settle down with her chick. Next day she would exit house the same way. She spent most of the time outdoors, I fed and gave her water outside.

Importantly she never messed inside. She must have known she had to go outside, always followed by her chick. As far as Liling was concerned, Chicken Little's life depended on it.

Mom did notice I started looking and feeling much better. Thanks to Chicken Little, I had a great project that kept me involved day after day.