Saturday, January 30, 2016
Never Trust a Dead Chicken
Josiah and Johnny came running into the house, slamming the door behind them. "Leo killed a chicken!" they yelled.
Not again, I thought. I peeked out the window, and sure enough, the proud dog had deposited his prize right at the front door. He looked at us hopefully as it lay there in a heap of feathers. Um, sorry, Leo. I'm not as excited about this gift as you are.
Since Gil was out at a training session, and I am quite convinced that disposing of dead chickens is men's work, I sent a text to our gardener (who lives on our property), asking him to come help. The chicken most certainly belonged to one of our neighbors before it made the unfortunate appearance in our yard, and would most likely want to be eaten by said neighbor.
The children continued to examine the chicken from the window, and Leo picked it up and started playing with it. Not wanting chicken guts all over my front porch, I opened the door to tell him off.
In that moment, the dead chicken came to life! Leaving a trail of feathers and squawking loudly, it headed right past me, through the open door, and into the house.
Bedlam ensued. I screamed; the kids screamed; the chicken ran one way and the kids ran the other. I grabbed a broom and headed after the chicken, hollering at Grace to come help me. We cornered it in the pantry, where it managed to fit itself into every possible nook and cranny. We finally managed to shove it out the back door, while I hollered at Josiah to tie up the dogs.
In pure chicken-like intelligence, it still ran towards the dogs that had already killed it once. Grace opened the gate, and while I tried to prod it towards freedom, it promptly keeled over and died. Again. Now its head was under its body while I attempted to sweep the lifeless chicken towards the gate.
The chicken, who should be commended for its remarkable tenacity, once again sprang to life. Thankfully our gardener showed up, and in one deft move, grabbed it by the legs. He put a ladder up against our outside wall and peered over it, looking for the owner of the infamous chicken. The owner thanked us for rescuing it, but I'm guessing that dead-alive chicken is still going to end up in someone's pot tonight.
I, however, would be very reluctant to try to put that death-defying chicken into a pot. Boys and girls, we learned a very important lesson today: Never trust a dead chicken.