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Mar. 8th, 2010
Almost daily I find myself driving through the scenic hamlet of French Camp, Ca on my way to or from one of our vendors. French Camp is decidedly rural, as I pass a goat pen (now with baby goats!!!), a cattle yard, and a pasture normally filled with sheep driving along the main drag. Then there are the chickens.
I swear, these chickens are plotting something. Several times now, they have blocked French Camp Road in a fairly well-coordinated blockade. Mind that these chickens are not crossing the road (for whatever reason), they simply saunter out and stand there. Defying us. Gaging our reactions and willingness to create improvised pâte de poulet. Judging from the back up of trucks engaged in staring contests with chickens, they have us right where they want us.
Look, I have some history with animal encounters. So I know when chickens are up to no good. I think they're working up to a truck hijacking. If you don't hear from me in the next few days, you'll know the awful truth.
Beware the chickens.
I swear, these chickens are plotting something. Several times now, they have blocked French Camp Road in a fairly well-coordinated blockade. Mind that these chickens are not crossing the road (for whatever reason), they simply saunter out and stand there. Defying us. Gaging our reactions and willingness to create improvised pâte de poulet. Judging from the back up of trucks engaged in staring contests with chickens, they have us right where they want us.
Look, I have some history with animal encounters. So I know when chickens are up to no good. I think they're working up to a truck hijacking. If you don't hear from me in the next few days, you'll know the awful truth.
Beware the chickens.
