If you aren’t familiar with Wayward, you’ll need to do some reading first. Simply type ‘wayward’ into the search bar at the top, and read through the first 3 posts listed.
But if you ARE familiar with her….
So about a week and a half ago we had a good ol’ Texas-style Arctic front blow through here. That is, one minute it’s a little chilly and the next minute it’s mind-numbingly COLD, your blood coagulates with ice shards, and any exposed body part will likely fall off of your person. These climatic changes are preceded by a 200 mile-per-hour wind and rain that falls horizontally. (maybe I’m exaggerating just a tad)
The chickens were out and about that day, and I really thought nothing of it.
Wayward, after the death of her sister, has become a most ‘chicken-y’ chicken. She no longer tries to thumb for rides to Mexico, and, with the exception of running circles around pine trees, is pretty much a normal chicken. If there even is such a thing.
So, imagine my surprise when I get a call early the morning following the Arctic blast from my neighbor, Mrs. M.
Mrs. M: There’s an animal down here….I think it’s a ‘peke-a-poo’.
Me (groggily): A peke-a-poo?
Mrs. M: Well, I think it is…it’s black and white and I think it’s stuck in my gate.
Me: A peke-a-poo?
So, I’m thinking now that I’m going to go down the road to find either a dog stuck in her fence, or, more likely my crested Cayuga duck who is now black and white and can escape our fence. Something I really would rather not do at 7:45 in the morning.
I walked up the road in the freezing cold. I stood in front of her metal entrance gate, which isn’t all that big, searching for the peke-a-poo/duck. I felt pretty stupid standing there because I couldn’t see a thing besides a black metal gate.
Then I looked up.
A very familiar puff of white and black met my eyes.
Wayward had flown the coop yet again, and here she was roosting on top of my neighbor’s gate. I really thought she’d learned her lesson after her sister’s fatal road crossing incident, but obviously I was mistaken.
Most annoying was the fact that she jumped out of my hands and began to run (in circles, of course) around me and I couldn’t catch her. Here I am in the icy morning, chasing a chicken, and no more than 15 feet from a deadly road. I haven’t had my coffee and I’m pretty perturbed that I am having to chase down a mentally challenged bird. Otherwise, it MIGHT have been funny.
Finally, after about 5 minutes of playing ‘Chase the Chicken’ (NOT a fun game, by the way), I was able to snatch her up. You would have thought that she had no idea who I was. You know…the human that feeds her twice a day, every day, for the past year. The human that has rescued her from practically committing suicide no less than 4 times.
I wonder if there’s any support group for owners of challenged chickens?
*edited to read “ARCtic. Good grief.*