The Blog with the Chicken

I am an animal lover. I have a cat - a lovely feline who answers (well sometimes anyway) to the delightful name of Ms. Lynxy Mynxy. I had a dog - once. I have seen fish. Birds fly. So you can obviously tell I am a bit of an animal expert.

One animal however that leaves me quite cold - is the humble chicken. Now I am a big supporter of the chicken species generally - I will eat chicken practically any way you would care to cook it. Where would bacon be in this world without the egg? However the prospect of actually owning a live chicken sent me into 5 hours of unadulterated hell.

Boy child was on an excursion to a big city market with this school. The first phone call I received from him involved him asking me to tell a particular stall holder that I gave him permission to buy a knife. Now I have no idea why he needed a knife (or no idea that I wanted to actually think about anyway) even if it WAS a World War 2 Collectors Item for only ten bucks!!!! I patiently told boy child that in fact I did NOT give him permission to buy a knife and that I loved him and to have a good day. Well OK I was at work at the time and my boss was standing right next to me - so of course I did my best Carol Brady impression.

The next phone call received approximately 30 minutes later was to bring my world as I know it crashing down around my head. Boy child had called to inform me he had purchased a chicken. I was momentarily delighted thinking that all the years of my slaving away to make him lovely meals had finally rubbed off and that he had bought ingredients to make his long suffering mother a delightful Friday night feast. This delight was shortlived however once I realised he meant a LIVE chicken. Feathers and all.

I told him in no uncertain terms (boss was absent at this point so the Carol Brady impression went out the window with my composure) that he must give said chicken back - said chicken was not coming home with him - I was NOT having said chicken at my house. The call dropped out.

For five HOURS I sat at work envisaging arriving home to find chicken either in the yard being chased around by a delighted Ms. Lynxy Mynxy or otherwise in boy child's room - probably on his desk - next to him - glaring at me for ever objecting to her presence.

Upon arrival home there was a distinct lack of chicken. No chicken to be found. Upon questioning boy child on what happened to chicken he replied "I was testing you - if you were OK with the fact that I had bought a chicken then I would have gone and actually bought a chicken".

When did they get to be smarter than us?

Well as I tend to say - chicken or no chicken - "she'll be right!"