chicken-crossingIt was a tough choice. That fox was only 100 feet away. She would devour me right here on the side of the road leaving feathers and leftovers-or should I say emaciated me- for other smaller varmints and birds that aren’t a chicken to finish me off if I didn’t get away from her quickly. I could practically feel her hot breath on my tail feathers as she sauntered slowly towards my position on the edge of the pavement thinking that I was a sure kill. It wouldn’t be so hard if I didn’t have to get across this busy road but this road and its crazy amount of traffic could also be my saving grace. I gotta go for it. No time to worry. It’s time to act.

I time it perfectly so that I run out right after a truck. I had a good start at making it across the road before the bus barreled after. Horns honked, tires squealed, tension rose.

My salvation…the sun warmed my feathered back but was immediately cooled from the vehicle breezes as I accomplished my life saving task then stopped and turned around. I could see the fox’s paws on the dangerous side of the road intermittently between the rubber tires rolling over the pavement carrying their burdens of plastic and steel to their destinations.

The paws had stopped. The fox’s life was not in danger of being excrutiatingly ended at the fangs of larger possibly more vicious creature than itself like mine was, so she stopped on the other side of the painted pavement and looked at me hungrily between vehicles. Not hungry enough, apparently to risk it. Her head was down and craned out, looking back and forth hoping for a break to scurry over to gather her target.

My life was coming back into focus as the car breeze continued to ruffle my poultry feathers leaving me to look at unkempt mess. But still, better my feathers ruffled than ruined by the stains of my own crimson blood. Worrying would have been a total waste of time and also most likely life ending so this chicken is glad it did not waste my possible last moments doing that.

This chicken is no chicken.

Feeling defiant, I squawked as a chicken would having escaped death. Living in the moment so I could live the moment I could once again see the coop of chickens and roosters another day.

Chickens don’t worry. It could be a matter of life and death.

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