A small figure had just taken a bite of a delicious butter sandwich. It was amazing, probably the best sandwich she had ever had.  But something felt off. The figure swallowed the sandwich. Suddenly, her head felt like it was on fire. She screamed a terrible scream, running around in circles on the dining room table she was standing on. But as soon as she took a deep breath to let out another scream, the pain was gone. The figure was confused.

          “Whoa, what just happened?” She asked out loud.

          That's when she noticed the sandwich next to her with a small, almost egg shaped bite in it.

          How did that get there? She wondered. Had that been there before? That's when she realized she didn't know what 'before' was at all. She didn't seem to have any memories of anything at all. It was like she had always been standing on this dining room table and that was it.

          She looked up and was startled to see a man watching her carefully, a notepad and pen in his hands.

          “Hello there.” The man said warmly. “How are you feeling? You don't remember me, but don't worry, that's just a side effect of my formula. I'm sure we'll get to know each other again soon.”

          The man looked strange to her. He had wild blue hair on his head and dark sunglasses on his face even though they were inside. His dark suit jacket and tie clashed terribly with his gray sweat pants and colorful sneakers.

          The figure crossed her arms. She didn't trust him at all.

          Then she gasped.

           Her arms weren't really arms at all. They were wings covered in  milky white feathers!

          The figure was in shock. “WHAT...What am I???” She said looking all over her body at her feathers. That was when she noticed the yellow pointy thing just under her eyes. “What is that??” She asked, poking at it. “Its—a beak! Am I some kind of bird??”

          The man smiled at her. “Not just any kind of bird.” He said. “You are a chicken. But not just any chicken either, oh no you're not. You're a talking chicken. Cool right?”

          The chicken had a hard time putting her mind around this. “Was I always a chicken or did you turn me into one?”

          “Oh no, you've been a chicken since the day you hatched.” He told her. “I just made you talk and combined your body with a butter sandwich. Nothing that complicated.  Though there are people I wish I could turn into chickens. No offense.” He added quickly.

          The chicken looked down at the sandwich on the table next to her. Now she realized that the strange egg shaped mark was actually her own beak. She just wished she could remember biting it.

          “Ok, I get the talking part.” The chicken said, feeling a bit more comfortable talking to this strange man. “But why the butter sandwich?”

          The man shrugged. “I was bored. To tell you the truth I have created other talking animals like you before. But after awhile the process felt dull. Routine. Like making a sandwich. That's when I realized...what if I took that sandwich and used it to make things more interesting. When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When life gives you butter sandwiches, combine them with chickens. That's how you were invented. Congratulations on being born again by the way.”

          He made a note on his notepad and stuffed it into his pants pocket. The chicken guessed it probably had something to do with her. Then the man reached out a hand to her.

          “My name is Ian. Ian Ventnor.” He said. “Its a pleasure to meet the new you.”

          The chicken didn't shake his hand. Instead she crossed her wings again. “You say you know me but I don't know you. Who are you? How did you do this to me? Is there anything else I can do besides talk?”

          Ian smiled. “I was waiting for you to ask those.” Ian said. “Hold on just a second. Oh, Dear!!”

          The chicken was about to ask what the matter was, when a small deer walked into the room. She was not fully grown yet, still just a fawn. The chicken noticed that it walked with a bit of a limp.

          “Yes Mr. Ian?” The deer asked politely.

          “Hello Dear.” Ian said to her. He gestured at the chicken on the table. “This is Dairy. She's the chicken I was doing that experiment with a few minutes ago. She talks now and asks good questions. Be a dear and please go get me my whiteboard and a marker so I can answer them.”

          “Dairy??” The chicken asked. “Is that really my name?”

          The Deer turned to the chicken on the table. “Yes.” She said to her “Hello Dairy, I can't wait to get to know you better now that you can talk.” She said, bowing her head a little. Then she looked up at Ian with a confused look on her face. “Why do you always want me to be a 'deer'? I'm already a deer!”

          “Right.” Ian agreed. “And now I want you to be a 'dear.'”

          This made The Deer look even more confused.

          “I do this to her all the time.” Ian whispered to the chicken. “She still doesn't get it.”

          “If she doesn't get it then why do you keep on doing it?” The chicken whispered back.

          Ian shrugged. “Because it's fun.” Then he turned back to The Deer. “It doesn't matter Deer,” He told her. “I just need my whiteboard and marker. Can you please get it for me?”

          Deer smiled. “I'll be right back!” She announced. She limped back in the direction she came from.

          The chicken had even more questions now, but before she could ask the one she wanted to ask Ian began randomly answering the ones she didn't want to ask yet.

          “Jokes aside she really is such a dear.” Ian told her. “You obviously don't remember her, but she helps me all around the house and around the farm.”

          “Wait.” the chicken interrupted. “I'm on a farm??”

          “Yes,” Ian said. “You're a chicken. What's so surprising about that?” Then he continued talking about the Deer. “She's really nice. I'm sure the two of you will get along again just fine. You can just call her “Deer”. Doesn't matter if its with two “ee's” or an “e.a.”, its hard to tell the difference when you're saying it out loud anyway.”

          The chicken wasn't so sure about this. “Will get along?” She repeated. “What do you mean?”

          Ian looked confused now. “Well isnt it obvious? If you're staying here you two will get to know each other and then you'll become friends. At least I think thats how that works. I dont really have that many friends so its hard for me to say, but I'm pretty sure...”

          “But what if I dont want to stay?” The chicken interrupted.

          Ian frowned at that idea. He looked a little scary when he frowned with those sunglasses on. He looked the chicken straight in the eyes, or at least that's what the chicken thought he was doing. It was hard to see them through those sunglasses.

          “Where do you think you would go?” Ian asked her quietly.

          The chicken wasn't sure. Strangely enough, despite losing her memories less than 10 minutes ago, she already knew the names of a bunch of different places. But none of them really stood out to her.

          She shrugged. “I guess I would go wherever I wanted to go.” She told him.

          Ian broke eye contact and paced around the table. “Uh-uh-uh.” Ian said, wagging a finger in front of him. “Its not that easy. The world is new to you now, like a movie that you've never seen before, and I know you really want to be in it yourself. You want to meet the other characters, do great things with them, go through the good and bad times together, and of course you want to experience what happens at the end.”

          “Sounds good to me.” The chicken said.

          “It does.” Ian said, nodding, still pacing around the table. “But I went through  this movie once too and I know exactly what happens at the end. Would you like to hear the spoilers?”

          The chicken was curious, but she didn't want to seem too eager. “Deer hasn't come back yet, so sure, why not?” She asked casually.

          Ian stopped pacing in front of her, pulled a chair back from under the table, turned it around, and sat down on it with the backrest facing the table. He looked straight at her again.

          “The sad truth is that you're not just another character in the movie. You're different.” Ian said.

          The chicken raised an eyebrow. “Whats wrong with that?”

          “Everything!!” Ian roared, banging his fists down on the table with such force that the chicken fell back onto her bottom. The butter sandwich moved slightly on the table.

          Ian took a second to regain control of himself. He pushed back his blue hair and smoothed out a few wrinkles in his sweat pants. “Sorry Dairy, I didn't mean to surprise you. But its the truth. Sure everyone says that its good to be different and that we should be proud of our differences, but really, no one likes things that are different. If someone is different they don't get celebrated. They get made fun of! They get laughed at. They're the things that everyone avoids because they don't want to 'end up like them.'” Ian said those last words while doing air quotes with his fingers. “Forget about getting to the end of the movie. You would be lucky if you even made it to the first scene!”

          “I won't be made fun of.” The chicken insisted. “I'll make lots of friends, and everyone will like me even if I'm different. I'll fit in. You'll see!”

          But Ian shook his head sadly. “Dairy, you're more different than even the different I was talking about. You wont have a chance of even trying to fit in. You're a talking chicken for goodness sakes! You'll be the most made fun of being in the history of made fun of beings!”

          The chicken thought about what he said for a moment, then she stood up slowly and looked him in the sunglasses. “

          “Maybe you're right.” She said. “But what if you're wrong? I'm not going to just hide in here because I MIGHT get made fun of. After I get my answers I'm going out to see the world for myself, and if it turns out you're right, then you can call the Guinness book of world records and tell them about it.”

          “I'm back! Am I interrupting something?”

          Ian and the chicken turned to see Deer standing at the door, marker magnetically attached to the small whiteboard on the floor in front of her. The whiteboard looked a little wet, like she had dropped it in a puddle.

          “Sorry,” Deer said, looking at the ground. “I got it a little wet while I was holding it in my mouth.”

          “Don't worry Deer, you did a great job.” Ian said. He bent down from his chair to pick up the whiteboard and marker. He put the marker on the table, wiped the slobber from the whiteboard onto his suit, and put it on the table as well. Deer limped up to Ian and looked over his shoulder at them.

          “Before we start...” the chicken began. “Why do you keep calling me 'Dairy?”

          Ian lifted an eyebrow. “That's a strange question.” Ian told her. I thought that was easy to at least guess why. But it doesn't matter, I love talking about what I know.” Ian said. He pushed himself further into the backrest of the chair  and shifted his weight until he felt comfortable. Deer followed his shoulder the whole way until it finally stopped moving. The chicken got comfortable on the dining room table just above the whiteboard. Ian took the marker and drew a picture on it.

          “This is a butter sandwich.” Ian explained.

          “No its not.” The chicken said. “Its a square.”

          “Use your imagination.” Ian said.

          “That was me using my imagination.” the chicken said. “Your drawing is terrible.”

          “Its a great butter sandwich!” Deer said happily.

          “Thanks Deer!” Ian told her. “Its nice to have someone here who appreciates  my art.”

          The chicken decided not to comment on that.

          Next to it, Ian drew what looked like a pizza pie in the middle with a sideways ice cream cone on top and 6 small pop sickle sticks on the bottom.

          “This is a chicken.” Ian announced.

          “No it's not.” The chicken announced back.

          “Who's the artist here, you or me?” Ian asked her.

          “Who's the chicken here, you or me?” The chicken asked him.

          Ian looked over his shoulder. “What do you think Deer?” Ian asked her.

          Deer looked unsure how to answer that. “I...I think you're the artist Mr. Ian, and Dairy is the chicken.”

          Ian thought about that for a moment. “That's not exactly what I meant but thanks Deer.” He looked at the chicken sitting patiently on the other side of the whiteboard. “You see Dairy, its basic math. The butter sandwich is dairy,” he said.  pointing at the 'sandwich' with his marker. “Not you, Dairy.” He added. “Like 'has milk in it' dairy.” Then he pointed at the 'chicken.' “The chicken is obviously a chicken. Dairy plus chicken equals 'Dairy chicken.' Got it?”

          Dairy shrugged. “I guess it fits.”

          Deer got excited. “Did you tell Dairy about your secret formula?”

          “What secret formula?” Dairy asked.

          Ian was about to answer when they all heard a loud crash coming from outside the house.

          Dairy jumped. Ian sighed. Deer had an amused smile on her face.

          “What was that??” Dairy asked.

          “That's my cow.” Ian sighed again.

          Dairy was confused. “Did she just come back from jumping over the moon or something?”

          “Oh no,” Ian assured her. “I think that one's in another galaxy now. We won't be seeing her again for awhile.”

          Dairy had even more good questions now, but before she could ask any of them Ian was already on his way out with Deer limping right behind him.

          “Come on Dairy.” Ian called without looking back. “Time for you to meet a distant cousin of yours.”