**Part 1 – 2:05 p.m.**
I actually had time. Not much, but enough to brave BJ’s traffic if I didn’t screw around. So I hustle: grab keys, shove my bag over my shoulder, say goodbye to my pup, lock the front door, and head to my carrrt.
Then: **wtf was that.**
There’s a chicken. In my driveway. Just casually cluckin’ like she pays the mortgage.
Now, for the record, I love all creatures. I’m the weirdo who apologizes to spiders before I relocate them. But I had to GO. This was not a “befriend a random bird” kind of afternoon.
She’s just there, calm as can be, clucking away, staring at me. And I’m like, “Hello, why are you here?”
So, me being me, I switch to my second language: **fluent Chicken.** Learned it back in kindergarten days (another story for another emotional breakdown).
“Cluuuck, cluuuuck, cluuuuck‑cluck,” I say.
She is… intrigued. We make eye contact. We are in business.
So off I go toward my neighbor’s place, and this chicken just follows behind me like we’ve got a 2:05 p.m. appointment on the calendar.
—
**Part 2 – 2:39 p.m.**
We’re shuffling along the side of the house and she is very into the damn brush. And I feel bad, but I’m like, c’mon, ma’am — you’ve been loose for HOW long and you’re still pickin’ at God‑knows‑what?
She digs out this nasty, long, goopy, wet worm from under the leaves. Yes, there’s a noise. I gag.
I am being tortured now.
I keep talking to her, trying to sound calm, but I have to **herd** her because she is full‑on lollygagging. And it’s now 2:39 and I will be late for sure.
But I cannot leave this poor, plump, kinda doofy‑ass chicken outside her safe enclosure.
So I finally get her to the damn gate, and I’m like, seriously: **get in.**
I still cannot see how she got out. Or how that gate ever opened in the first place.
—
**Part 3 – The Plot Chickens**
So now, wtf do I do? Poor chickens locked out? But also… how the hell did she get out?
And honestly, this same chicken pulled a stunt last year. When the original owners lived there. These are Newbies — they’re still having fun learning.
So after I walk the entire freakin’ fence line — while she eats more gross things, obviously — I come back to the gate.
That’s when I see it: a **gap.**
And lil’ Miss Smart‑Ass waddles right over to said gap, sticks her freakin’ head in it… and then just stands there. Head in the gap. Body out. No follow‑through.
That is exactly when the **other chickens** rush the gate like, “HEYYYY! WE WANT OUT TOO!”
—
**Part 4 – Chicken Shit Show**
Yep. They all tried getting out. **All eight chickens.**
And yep, I flipped out.
What does my original escape artist do? Runs off. Of course. What a full‑blown chicken shit show.
Now, I know chickens are… not that savvy. So I grab some grass and toss it.
They sprint over, start pecking like it’s a Vegas buffet, and instantly forget allll about the damn gate.
—
**Part 5 – Bushwhacking for a Traitor**
But where was lil Miss Traitor?
I hear noises, and lo and behold… she’s eating again. More gross things. Under the brush by their house. But she will **not** come out.
F me.
So I have to turn into a good ol’ bushwhacker and flush her out.
Now I’m mad late. My kid’s gonna be like, “wtf is my mom?” I can’t just stop and text amidst this CHICKEN CHAOS.
I’m about to go in and flush a chicken out of the bushes under my neighbor’s front‑of‑house, praying no cops roll up and ask, “WTF are you doing???”
And I hate bugs.
So into this little jungle I go. And there she is, scratching away…
—
**Part 6 – Gap Trap Prep**
She’s gobbling down nasty beetles, worms, lil’ creepy things… and here I am, trying not to get anything on me or touching me, and trying to get her to back away from her lil’ buffet bar.
I grab some fresh long grass — it actually smells really good. This lil’ chubster is always hungry, so c’mon, this has to work.
I show her the grass while she’s scratching at a worm, trying not to get it ripped apart, and then… it’s on.
I hold the grass in my hand and slowly walk toward the gate. I tuck some right inside that gap, and then all the way through to the other side.
As she starts to eat the grass at the beginning of the gap, she looks dead at me. TY? FU? No idea. But I’m like: keep on walking, chubby. Just. Keep. Walking.
As she gets to the middle of the gap…
—
**Part 7 – The Sneaky Bitch Stare**
I throw the others some grass, but give her a whole pile at the end of the gap.
And then she’s in.
Holy shit. That lil’ chubby chicken finally did it.
And then — this is a fact — she gives me this look that definitely said, “You sneaky bitch. I had so much food out there. No sharing.”
But finally, this lil’ (well, a lil’ bigger) chicken was safely home.
The time? 3:08.
F’n hell.
Before I ran off, I dragged a big fat log against that mofo gap at the gate. And yup, I heard some very insulting cluckings.
I hauled ass to my car, called my kid — who had called/text a bit — and said, “On my way! Bad traffic, lotta fat trucks on the highway!”
THE POOPLOOP.COM 