Dallas Tales – The Chicken Wrangler


Merciful heaven, my Mama done turned into a chicken wrangler! So embarrassing! It all began last week when a couple of chickens, Cluck and Peep, from next door decided to come over and eat bugs in my back yard. I named the white chicken Cluck cause she just kept on clucking. The red one I named Peep cause she stayed hidden behind the bushes but continued to peep out. These chickens were gifts for the little kids next door at Easter from their parents. Like all cute little biddies, they grow up to be chickens. Yesterday I went out like always to run my traps and check the perimeter of my yard. Afterwards I always take a little sunbath, stretch and enjoy the fresh air. This day I ran straight for the back corner of my yard when I spied something different in the bushes. Now Mama just thought it was a dove or squirrel because we have lots of both. All of a sudden the race was on when across the yard Cluck ran for her life. Mama screamed at the top of her lungs, “Dallas, stop”! I stopped and laid down in the grass and let that goofy chicken get away. I still can’t believe I let Cluck get away. But I really don’t like to disappoint Mama so I listened and stopped. Mama came and picked me up and praised me greatly for stopping. I was a little confused by all that but at least I got a couple of treats out of the deal. The next day Cluck and Peep were back again digging for bugs in the pine straw. I’m a fast learner so I refused to go out into the yard to take care of business. No way I was gonna get yelled at again because of a stupid chicken! That’s when it happened; my Mama became a chicken wrangler on the spot. Mama went running out into the yard making all kinds of noise to scare the chickens back into their yard. Today it was pouring rain all morning. It’s really hard to go potty in the rain but I manage. What, Cluck and Peep are back again! Now it’s raining cats and dogs, the chicks have pooped on the patio; it smells like a chicken yard. Seriously, I’m going inside Mama. I didn’t sign up to live in a chicken yard. I was watching from the window as Mama put on her rubber boots, her raincoat and grabbed a yard rake from the garage. She yelled and chased those chickens down two sides of the fence hemming them in behind the big fig tree in the corner. She was making all kinds of noise before she managed to scoot them out of my yard and back into their yard. I didn’t know Mama could move that fast and I certainly didn’t know she was a chicken wrangler. Be careful Mama, I don’t know how to call 911 yet.

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