The unsinkable Wayward Jones

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.

Backstory:

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.*