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The Ghost of Front Yard Chicken Past By Peggy Dover Dec 25, 2022 12:00 AM A A Just when I was about to despair of having a story subject this week, life handed me an early Christmas present befitting my lot in life. I was minding my own business, wrapping the last of the gifts, when standing to stretch my aching back, I looked out the window. There, moseying around my front yard, was a plump, though slightly careworn, chicken. She was the pecking image of our dear departed FYC (front yard chicken) from a couple years ago. Faithful readers may remember FYC, my next door neighbors’ adopted fowl, as she was the subject of a few columns until she took a dive in the road. One crossing too many. Christmas miracle, I wondered? Re-hencarnation? I phoned Barbara next door and asked if they’d like to adopt again. After all, FYC had been the source of some jolly entertainment on dreary days. I mean, all we needed was popped corn. We decided it likely belonged to the Ma and Pa Kettle types on the corner who frequently have cluckers wandering around. Stealthily, I sneaked out the door and tried to approach said hen with kind words to see whether she was tame. No. She scuttled around the corner. Next, I pulled out a fish net and a bag of cracked corn. Chickens are gullible where corn is concerned. While her back was turned, I lowered the net. She flopped a little but soon settled down. I had landed her. I carried the now docile hen over to Barb and Ken’s, hoping she would be too adorable for them to resist, but Barb said no, they didn’t want her. I could hardly blame them after the heartbreak of FYC the First. There was nothing left to do but carry her down to the corner and see if she belonged there. We’re talking a block’s worth of chicken-lugging on a fairly busy road. I smiled at the passing cars while she swayed at the bottom of the net, though I refused to make eye contact. I imagined people’s thoughts. “Was that a chicken in a fish net?” I was actually pretty dang proud of my resourcefulness and compassion. I could have let the runaway fend for itself and allow Cricket to have a field day when he discovered it in his territory. I approached the supposed chicken house, which looks formidable from the road, but up close it makes the most slovenly pig sty look like a bed and breakfast. With the net firmly in my grasp, I sidestepped mud and many an obstacle to knock on the door. Multiple dogs barked my arrival, and a cat jumped onto the windowsill to see what was up, but no human came to the door. I wondered if they could get it open if they wanted to. The RV parked in the driveway held promise when I saw another dog pull back the curtains and give me the once-over. Meanwhile, I stood there with a resigned chicken in a fish net. I knew I had seen chickens running around there before, so I let the net down and she stepped out, hopefully into familiar surroundings, and she started pecking away. Returning to my house with an empty fish net, while odd enough, proved much less humiliating than hoisting one full of live chicken. Long may FYC II reign. And now, on this day of blessed event, I leave you with an excerpt from well-known journalist Harry Reasoner’s famous 1960s address on three ways of accepting Christmas. “One is cynically, as a time to make money or endorse the making of it. “One is graciously, the appropriate attitude for non-Christians who wish their fellow citizens all the joys to which their beliefs entitle them. “And the third, of course, is reverently. If this is the anniversary of the appearance of the Lord of the universe in the form of a helpless babe, then it is a very important day. ... It’s the story of the great innocence of God the baby — God in the form of man.” Peggy Dover is a freelance writer/author. Reach her at [email protected].