CRACKED: An Anthology of Eggsellent Chicken Stories by J. Posthumus (feel good novels txt) 📗

breach, a breach,” I screamed as I slammed the door behind me before any others could escape.

The hen, whom I have to assume was the chicken equivalent of The Flash, had already shot under the gate into the horse pen by the time I spun back around. Giving chase, my feet fought to find purchase in the mud as I looked to the eggs in each hand. Without another thought, I eased them into my pockets. Flinging open the gate, I charged into the pen.

“Melissa, one of the chickens got loose, I need your help!” I cried.

“Deal with it,” came the sharp retort striking fear into my very soul. “A goat’s out!”

What is happening? Two animals escaping at the same time? That’s no coincidence. The goat had nothing to gain by breaking free from his pen. He was still trapped in the barn. The goat’s a distraction!

The plan was clear: they were isolating the humans. But I only had a chicken to deal with. It couldn’t hope to match my superior intellect and size. I'm a full-grown man, I could handle this.

I abandoned Melissa to her fate with the goats—she was lost to me now—and turned to bring this chicken down. Turning back to the pen I came nose to nose with the long, sinister face of a horse. Shoving the obstinate beast out of my way informing it that I had no food, I sidestepped, intending to move around its flank. It mirrored my every move. In all my dealings with horses and I’d never seen this behavior before.

I shoulder-checked the horse back until I reached the spot I had last seen ‘The Flash.’ The little pain in the neck was nowhere to be seen. It seemed impossible, a Las Vegas level magic trick. I had a 360-degree view of the pen. I mean… except for where the horse stood.

Where the horse stood! Sure enough, bending down and looking through the horse’s legs I found the evil little chicken. I circled to the left, around the horse, but it circled with me. The nefarious chicken kept pace behind the horse.

“The horse and the chicken are in cahoots!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, my rage adding a ragged edge to my voice. It was only now the level of conspiracy became clear.

“I'm almost done,” Melissa called. Reinforcements were on their way.

I gave the horse a head fake and threw my body to the right, but apparently, he’d been trained well enough to know to watch the hips not the head and matched my move. I backed up to gain an angle on the horse, but he anticipated me like a pro-football safety. I even tried the triple deke head fake (thank you, Mighty Ducks) but to no avail. I stared down my opponent as he gave me a sly grin. Well, as sly as a buck-toothed horse can give.

I finally saw him for what he was, a war horse. A loyal and faithful companion to the chicken, a sworn protector, and a virtuous knight of the animal kingdom. I reached down, summoned my inner Walter Payton, and dashed right, circling around his hind quarters to find… no chicken.

“Stop playing with the horse. I've been over here for two minutes trying to catch this stupid bird,” came the command from behind me.

I had been so intent on getting around my mighty foe I didn’t notice Melissa walking up calmly and herding the chicken back into the enclosure directly in front of the coop. I hung my head, gave a salute to the horse, and made my way over to the gate.

I've known my sister for, like, my whole life, and we work well together as a team. We halved the space, flanking the chicken until it came within my reach and I snatched it up with a speed that surprised even me.

“Quick, throw it in the coop,” Melissa said, and like a good brother, I complied, tossing the chicken over the fence into the coop yard. Except it didn't go into the yard, it floated above the yard. I stared at it in disbelief. This chicken could walk on air. No, not air, chicken wire. Of course, the coop was covered with chicken wire.

“Why’d you do that?” Melissa pleaded.

“Because you said throw it in!” I returned in an equally pathetic voice.

Exasperation in her voice, she said, “The door,” she pointed to the door three and a half inches from my left hand.

“Huh,” was all my brilliant mind could come up with in response.

Melissa took charge of my debacle at this point and I knew it would get better. She moved to the other side of the coop yard and told me to throw dirt at the chicken to scare it towards her. Picking up handfuls of dirt, I tossed it at the chicken.

“This dirt is weird.” I casually remarked.

Melissa said, “Don't think about it, just throw it!” which immediately started me thinking. This is the horse pen, and this “dirt” has chunks of hay in it.

“Oh,” I moaned and shook my hands like a little kid.

“You did this, you keep throwing,” the commander remarked sternly. I complied.

Turns out, I’d given the chicken more credit in the brains department than were warranted. Instead of running from the clumps of “dirt” it walked right into them. The fates had looked kindly on me, and I saw my chance for redemption. I leapt up, grabbed the gold mass of feathers as though my life depended on it and came down successful. Melissa gave out a little huzzah, and I turned to walk to the coop door.

“No,” Melissa cried out.

If I may, I would like to take a moment here and make you aware of a serious disorder that affects 1 in every 7.8 billion people. “Chicken Wire Blindness” is the inability to perceive chicken wire. Individuals afflicted with this horrible condition have been known to suffer from ridicule and ineptitude in situations of extreme stress and anytime chicken wire is involved.