The night the chickens got loose

Word Count: 648

         It all started about two months ago. We had just bought this house out in the country, you know, way out there. Well, Dad had been whispering with Mom all morning, so we-that is, my brothers and I-knew something was up. Then, right after lunch, he left in the old blue Chevy. He didn’t come back until nearly five, with a cardboard box in the bed of the pickup.

         We all gathered around, wondering what was in it. As Dad lifted it up, there was a sudden scurry of feet from inside the box, and then the peeping started up. Dad set the box on the ground and opened it up so that we could see the chicks. I wasn’t impressed. Yeah, they were cute, but my concern was who would be feeding them, cleaning their pen, and so forth. I was willing to bet that Dad would say, “I thought that this could be a family project.” Hah! Yeah right! The last ‘family project’ that we had was the parakeets, and we all know how that ended. Well, you don’t, but that’s probably a good thing. In the end, though, I was the one that got stuck cleaning their cage, while my brothers were off with their buddies. As the lone girl in the family, life was rough, and I didn’t even have any friends any more, not after they all moved away. Well, I was going to put up a fight if they thought they could dump all the work on me!

         Dad looked up at us, flashing a grin. “I thought this could be a family project, you know, get a little quality time together.”

         I groaned. Here we go again. Am I the only sane member of this family?

         Everything went surprisingly well, for the first two months. Then in a storm, a limb from the big oak tree in the backyard fell on top of the chicken coop, nearly getting rid of the little terrors right then. But of course, they didn’t die, and Dad insisted that the chicks (chickens, really, they weren’t chicks anymore) be brought inside.

         “They could die out there!” he argued with Mom, who had a strong stance against animals in the house. “It’s just for one night, anyway.”

         So they were brought inside in a large box and put in the kitchen. We then sat down and ate dinner. As we were almost finished, a particularly loud clap of thunder boomed right overhead, scaring the chickens witless (actually, they already were witless, but it was just a figure of speech). One got the bright idea to jump up, out of the box. It stood on the tile floor, staring around at it’s new surroundings.

         Mom stood up. “George! Get thet chicken back in the box!”

         Dad got up and went around the table. He approached the chicken slowly, watched by it’s beady little eyes the whole time. We held our breath. Was I the only one to see what was going to happen? Just as Dad was getting ready to pounce, the chicken made his move. He darted between Dad’s legs and headed for the hall. Dad sprawled on the floor, knocking over the box and releasing the rest of the chickens.

         As Dad lay there, stunned, Mom cried out, “Keep that chicken out of the bathroom!”

         Well, to cut a long story short, the chickens were rounded up eventually, though at some loss to the furnishings of the house. We got them back in the box, and kept them there. The next morning, Dad was able to fix the coop, and those chickens never again saw the inside of the house.

         I didn’t actually have to do all the work with the chickens, so that was a plus. However, we will never forget that night, the night that Mom cried, “Keep that chicken out of the bathroom!”