If a chicken crows at you three times before noon, a family member may die soon

[Scene: A small dacha outside Yaroslavl. The morning sun is climbing. Irina is on the porch with a cup of tea, eyes wide with concern. A chicken clucks loudly in the background.]

Irina (clutching her teacup):
Alexei… it’s happened again. That awful speckled chicken crowed at me. Three times. Before noon.

Alexei (walking up with a loaf of bread):
So… what’s the punishment this time? Eternal rain? Potatoes refusing to boil?

Irina (dead serious):
Don’t joke. You know what it means. Three crows before noon—it’s a sign. Someone in the family… something bad is coming.

Alexei (sighs, puts bread down):
Irina, we’ve been over this. Chickens don’t control fate. They’re barely smart enough to find the feeder if you move it a meter.

Irina:
And yet, last year, when that same chicken crowed like this, my cousin Yelena slipped on the stairs and broke her arm. Coincidence?

Alexei (pouring himself tea):
Yes. That’s literally the definition of coincidence. Also, she was carrying a full watermelon while texting. Gravity was the true villain.

Irina (leaning in):
But the signs are there if you look. My babushka used to say the animals feel things we can’t. Earthquakes. Death. Bad energy.

Alexei (grinning):
And yet when your cat sat on the radiator for three straight days, no one predicted a gas leak. Because he was just… warm.

Irina (mocking):
Ha ha. You and your science. Not everything can be explained by your books and charts. Some things are older. Felt in the bones.

Alexei (softening):
I get it, Irina. Traditions give comfort. But don’t let fear rule your morning because a bird was chatty. You’ll end up paranoid every time a pigeon sneezes.

Irina:
Easy for you to say. You didn’t grow up with your aunt throwing salt over her shoulder and reading fortunes in tea leaves.

Alexei (playful):
True. My aunt read spreadsheets and threw tantrums over unpaid taxes.

Irina (smiling despite herself):
Alright, Professor Skeptic. But tell me this—why does it feel true? Like the world is whispering something?

Alexei (pauses):
Because our brains love patterns. They connect dots, even if the dots are years apart and shaped like chickens. It makes us feel in control.

Irina (quietly):
So you’re saying I just want an explanation… even if it’s wrong?

Alexei:
Exactly. And that’s human. But instead of fearing a feathered omen, maybe you just… lock up the stairs better and call your cousin to check in.

Irina (laughs):
You’re impossible.

Alexei (raises his mug):
And you’re adorable when you argue with poultry.

[Suddenly, the chicken crows again nearby.]

Irina (freezes):
Four.

Alexei (deadpan):
Well. Now it just wants attention. Maybe it wants to be a rooster. Have you considered chicken therapy?

Irina (grinning):
You’ll regret mocking it if you fall into the well later.

Alexei (walking off):
Fine. If I disappear mysteriously, tell the chicken I’m sorry.