However, this morning was different. The routine was going well and good, but there was this odd sound from the backyard. See, we have four chickens back there and are constantly making their noises and clucking about as chickens do. But this sound that I heard was not normal, almost human and estranged. In fact, the sound was definitely similar to when a man poorly tries to mimic a chicken talk, the "bacock!" At first I ignored it. I left it alone thinking maybe it was one of the hens passing an overly large egg. Maybe one lost its mind and believed it could communicate with us humans; maybe it was hungry and was trying to say so through the English language. I don't know, I was only assuming these things at such an early time of day.
Watching the egg being fried in the oily black skillet, again I heard the "bacock!" and again and again. It was a drawn out moaning sound, longer this time than the first, and quite annoying that my nerves were pinched. So, I investigated. Turning down the flame on the stove and putting the bacon in the microwave, I went over to the sliding doors and looked out from side to side examining the one acre yard.
All was normal and appeared as the same as any other day. There on the patio the chicken turds spread out among the spilled chicken feed; on one side sat the four broken beat up rusted Volkswagens; old wood piles rotted and water stained; the chicken coop too was there on the opposite side, but somehow just a little different than before. This small detail made me open the sliding glass door and step out into the brisk morning air. I was barefoot and had to watch my step over the fecal mind field on the pavement. The chickens love to hang around the door in hopes to catch an opportunity to sneak inside where the restricted area would present new explorations for these feathery fowl. Only god knows what they desire most in life besides the feed--maybe escape, or a taste of the inside air.
Making my way towards the shaded and enclosed coop, I could make out a faint but recognizable moan. It was the sound from before. Something or someone was inside the coop. All four chickens were over by the sliding door, silent, and watching me with their beady eyes. The chain link door of the coop was slightly ajar and was the only way to have a better look in. I opened the door further and slowly peered in. Just as half my body was inside, all of a sudden in a burst of feathers an overweight man in a dirty white chicken costume flailed out pushing me over onto the dirt. The guy screamed the impression of a chicken loud and obnoxious as before and was wildly running around the yard kicking up dust. From where I lay, astonished at the sight, I watched dumbfounded at this person.
What was this, I thought. It had to be a sick joke or at the least some distraught mentally ill person going through some kind of breakdown that happened to choose my backyard of all places. Maybe it was my chickens that brought him here. This man-chicken, or chicken-man, ran around zigzagging his way about as I stood up, got my thoughts straight and decided on what to do with this insane situation. My chickens just stood at the edge of the concrete patio watching in disgust and horror at the mockery that was on display on such a beautiful morning.
I yelled at him, "Hey! Get the hell out of my backyard before I call the cops!"
That didn't phase the guy, but he began to calm himself now, obviously out of breath and trying to catch it--At this point that's when he broke character, I heard a distinct unhealthy cough that only a obese bastard would make. This pushed me over my patience edge so I picked up a steel bar from a pile and started to walk over to the asshole.
"Hey! Did you hear what I said? Get the hell out of here or I'm calling the cops!" Walking barefoot in the dirt I held up the pipe, pointing it at the guy, warning him. Then, suddenly, he darted for me at full speed. Only six feet away from striking him I was taken aback as he rushed me in his full wide figure. He put me back on my ass and sprinted his way to the side of the house where the gate door was. I heard it being open and slam shut. Quickly I got up and ran inside to catch him out front. Through the front window I could see him running across the yard flapping his wings.
There on the porch I stood with the steel pipe in hand and watched him shuffle his heavy ass down the street. "God. . .dammit." It was way too early for this kind of nonsense, I was hungry, and had to let the prick go. The microwave ding rang off and that's when I could smell the bacon. It was time to get back to my routine and finish cooking up my breakfast. There was coffee to be brewed, and the sandwich to construct. I had to forget about what just happened. It would make me go mad if I held on to it. Forgive and forget, you know.
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