Did I tell you about Foony?

Allow me, then.

One day, I come home from a run, and my neighbor says to me, “one of your chickens escaped.”

So, I goes under the tree to get her, but instead, long story short, it’s not my chicken.  It’s a chicken– just not one of mine.  Now, the real odd thing about that is that no one else raises chickens on my block.  What’s more, I live between two really busy streets.  Thus, one of a couple of unlikely things happened:

a) She crossed Burnside or Stark.
OK, only because I have to:
Q: Why did the chicken cross the road?
A: To get to my house.

b) Someone dropped her off in my driveway.

In any case, I thought… oh no, she’s a he… someone got a rooster in some straight run chicks, and now he’s my problem.

But NO!  The very first night, she dropped an egg in the little makeshift cage I set up for her.  So, not only is she not a he, she’s also not a chick.  She’s a bantam.

OK, whatever, I used to only take cats that just showed up (and always had a cat).  I guess I can deal with a chicken that just shows up.

Now, if I can just get the other girls to stop jumping on her back and trying to eviscerate her, I’ll be able to stop keeping her in a little isolation cage with her own food and water requirements.  That’d be nice.

Without further ado:  Foony.