Coming home to roost

Tiny has a bead on something out in the Western Forty.

Omigod.  A big, beautiful black CHICKEN is strutting through the yard, pecking at things and back-pushing with its feet.  Probably escaped from some local ethnic larder.

Baby's on the case.  He's never seen anything like it. Biggest birds we usually have around here are pigeons and the occasional red hawk.

It was too late in the day to get a good shot of the black chicken.  If it's still alive and pecking tomorrow morning, we'll try to get documentary evidence.  How long can a domesticated fowl live at large in a small city? We'll be rooting for it.

Comments

[Lori Dougherty]

A chicken, how perfect! You need to put out some shiny things for it to peck at!

[Sissy Willis]

You're so right, Lori. Next morning, though, no chicken in sight. Probably headed for the pot. But at least she/he had one glorious night of freedom. We've had the purple, orange and cedar revolutions. Is it time for the feather revolution?