Final Warnings.

On Thursday I was inspired to make a batch of chicken pies. I turned on the extractor fan so the smell would waft around the garden as a warning to what will happen if we have a repeat of today’s performance.
I got back from yoga feeling all calm and zen ( and sweaty and hungry) and applied myself to the task of making veggie soup.
When I looked out the kitchen window I saw the chicken willy-nilly running around the garden.Someone must have left the key within reach.
There was no way I could go out there and coax it back into it’s coop, so I just kept an eye on it from the window.
It was about 1.30 and I thought Jim would be back at 2.45. It wasn’t at that point showing any interest in going out of the garden, so I thought I’d just cross that bridge if and when I got to it. Turns out it was a ‘when’.
An hour later there was a tapping on the kitchen door. I thought it was the chicken trying to attack me in my own home, but it was the old lady from up the street.
” The chicken’s out” said she.
” I know” said I, from the kitchen window.
The the chicken attacked her, she’s a tiny thing, it’s almost as big as her.
” It’s your bag.” I said, helpfully. It hates bags, we’ve discovered it goes for the bag.
” What are you going to do?” she said, swatting chicken with scary bag.
” Me? Nothing! Jim’ll be home soon, he’ll pick it up and put it back in the coop. You should make your escape and as you go out pull that wooden flat across towards the car so it can’t get out in the street.”
I said I would throw some bread to the far side of the coop ( from the window of course) and while it’s distracted she could make a dash for it and pull the flat across. We had a plan. I threw the bread and it went for it, only she took her own sweet time getting to the flat, moaning her zimmer frame was sliding on the paving stones. By the time she got there past the basket balls, soccer balls and insect boxes strewn around, the chicken was right behind her, following her onto the street. Bugger I’m going to have to go out there.
She had to come back in to lure the chicken off the street and it launched another attack at her, but bless her she could hold her own, she might be tiny but she’s feisty!!
And so began a big song and dance, neighbour lady having to dash back in behind the car, me trying to ‘guide’ the chicken to the other side, channelling Enid Blyton I picked up a lacrosse stick we had handy and * gently* guided it back to the other side of the coop, cursing Jim and his sweet Dr Doolittle nature.
Neighbour lady escaped with just a teeny tiny rip in her trousers, I got back in the house and locked the door, hoping Jim came home before my students arrived, they’d all be carrying bags……
The pies were delish!

3 thoughts on “Final Warnings.

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