From November 7, 2014
My dad’s neighbor, E, has two chickens, big black feathered ones with an unfortunate habit of sneaking out of the backyard. I say unfortunate because one of the other neighbors has it out for those chickens and E, as this neighbor just loves to call animal patrol the second the duo of bobbing, squawking birds takes to the street. The fine for escapee chickens, E discovered, is a whopping $47 dollars, which just seems a bit excessive when you consider that the damage a chicken is capable of inflicting is really rather pathetic. So, in an effort to help E avoid chicken fines we’re on chicken patrol, keeping an eye out for these escape artists.
As fate would have it, A and I were heading out this morning and just so happened to spot the two chickens clucking about E’s front yard. We stopped the car and got out, A a bit more enthusiastic about saving the chickens than me, as farm animals and I tend to have disagreeable relationships. Nonetheless, I followed A into the yard and we began herding them toward the back gate. First they ran toward the house, then the street and around all the trees in her yard, with me calling and clucking at them in an effort to get their attention. I soon learned however, that chickens don’t really give a feather about people. They’re content to peck about the yard, ruffling their rear feathers at our attempts to move them toward the backyard.
After a few minutes of failed herding, A decided that picking them up was necessary, which as it turned out, was a far more effective manner of herding. The chickens flapped about, avoiding A’s sleeve covered hands and bit by bit we got them closer to the gate. I stood to the side of the gate and A chased them from behind until, at last, they walked through the gate, clucking with disapproval and we slammed the latch closed behind them.
Whew! Check in the box: chicken chasing done, at least for the day.