Page 23 of Any Second Now
I scream. Then she settles at my feet and her feathers tickle my ankle. I laugh and do what any reasonable person would do in this situation. I pull out my phone and take a picture of Chicken staring up at me with my bare feet on either side of her. I cackle as I press send to Lucy and January, no caption or explanation included.
Ten minutes later, I’m heading to my SUV, Chicken secured safely inside the Pink Palace. I had some folded up cardboard boxes that I taped together to create a little corral to keep her contained. She gave me the dirtiest chicken face when I left her like that, so I promised her I’d be back soon.
What else was I supposed to do? Leave her to die in the elements?
I did some quick googling and it’s a miracle this creature is even alive. There are so many predators for a chicken in a suburban backyard, let alone the woods of Colorado. Raccoons, possums, owls, bears, cats (and not the domesticated kind), snakes…the list gave me the absolute creeps. How did it survive the night? Where did it come from? Is there a chicken owner somewhere frantically searching for their lost foul?
I’ll deal with finding her potentialowner later.
For now, I can’t leave her out there. It’s a terrifying battleground for a chicken.
I had an intense internal battle myself when I opened a fresh spreadsheet and created tabs for supplies, feeding schedule, general information about chicken care… no.
I do not need a spreadsheet for everything.
I closed it but did not delete it.
I repeatI do not need a spreadsheet for everythingto myself as I get into my SUV to drive to a local farm store I found online. Not something that was on my bingo card for today, but I have to go to town anyway to mail the hoop orders.
I shut my door and pull up directions just as a woman emerges from the RV in the campsite next to mine. She waves and I roll down the window.
“Morning!” She’s a middle-aged woman with blonde hair streaked with gray, holding a mug that says FC Cincinnati. She’s the one I saw walking her dog with her husband yesterday. The one who saw me with the poop tube. At least she understands what that’s like.
“Hello,” I say. “You don’t happen to be looking for a chicken, are you?”
“A… chicken?” The woman’s eyes widen and she pauses, then glances back at her partially open RV door. Is she wondering if I’m a crazy person?
“Yeah, never mind.” I shake my head. “I’m Raleigh. Staying next to you.” I nod to the Pink Palace and do my best to look sane.
“I’m Elizabeth. My husband—Darren—and I just got here yesterday with our dog. We’re from Cincinnati.”
“Nice to meet you.” I nod. “Well. I’m off to buy chicken food! See you later!” I wave and pull away, cackling when I look in my rearview mirror and see her watching me leave with a seriously confused look on her face.
I navigate the unfamiliar roads and head to the post office first, dropping off my completed orders. This side hustle is… not very profitable. I love it, though. Maybe one day I can figure it out. Or not, and just keep it as an intense hobby.
Next to the post office is a cute little shop called Rocky Gifts. I stop in and am greeted with an adorable store filled with gifts and crafts and cards. There’s a local artists section, and I pick up a postcard print of Fort Collins and a clay mug.
“These are so cute,” I say to the cashier as she checks me out. The cost is way more than my total profit from the hoops I mailed out.
“Yeah, the owner loves to stock local items.”
“Have any cross-stitch?”
“Huh? Oh.” She purses her lips. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Bye!” I spin and leave the store, another confused person in my wake.
I am not a local artist. And I am not trying to stock my cross-stitch in a Colorado gift shop.
The farm store is on the outskirts of Fort Collins, and I sit in the parking lot for a second to check out responses from Lucy and January to my chicken picture.
January
Um. Why is there a chicken in your RV? On your feet?
Lucy
Are you eggs-ploring some pet options, sis?
