I completely disagree with Mrs. Tweedy. There is a chicken on campus who loves to make me pound my pillow and wake up an hour before my alarm clock. It sort of reminds me of this:
Except that this rooster will not go away. I don’t even know where it lives. We thought it was so cool last semester to have a chicken running around campus. We even dubbed it Chanticleer. But now, Chanticleer has grown up. He has “gone through some changes”. He is a loud, proud rooster. There is nothing I can do about it. He just crows and struts and crows and cackles from his little hideout while the rest of us curse his very existence. He’s like the Joker of roosters. I really, really don’t like it. I wake up much earlier than my alarm clock wanting to scream at the little devil.
So I have decided to hunt him. When I first hear his smug little cockadoodle doo tomorrow morning, I am going to put on my boots, grab a flashlight and a large bag and kidnap a chicken. I’m going to hunt him down like the Girl Scout that I am, using stealth and wilderness skills. I will do bird calls to distract him from my real identity. I will follow his tracks, until I find his lair, where I will practice my expert knots in tying him up. Let me make this perfectly clear: I do not want to kill the chicken. I want to kidnap him. I want to kidnap him and set him free far away from Walsh, where he can crow in peace. Anybody want to help?
Not chickening out,
P.S. See? Subversive chickens.
“A Jewish woman had two chickens. One got sick, so the woman made chicken soup out of the other one to help the sick one get well.” -Henny Youngman