It’s not so much “why did the chicken cross the road” as “how the hell did the chicken cross the road without getting creamed by a car”?
Once, upon going out to shut the Girls up for the night, we realized we were one chicken short of a full flock. Patsy was awol.
Searched high and low, calling for her – as if a chicken has ever been known to come when called! Nothing.
Next morning, friend Mary from across Fair Oaks Avenue calls:
“Are you missing a chicken?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“There’s a chicken in my neighbor’s yard.”
Patsy had managed to cross our street, and then Fair Oaks (major thoroughfare) to Buena Vista to partake of the grass (it’s greener on the other side of the street, you know) and spend the night. How she survived, we’ll never know.
