The Trouble with Chickens (5 page)

Chapter 14
All in the Timing

C
hicken Mom crashed through the doggie door looking for a fight. For once, I was actually grateful for the funnel. It saved my ears from some nasty pecks.

“Relax, Mom,” I said. “They're all here. We've been expecting you.” I nodded toward the couch. I couldn't tell the chicks apart unless they opened their mouths, which they did now, peeping like crazy. I told them to keep their mouths shut.

“I'm not leaving here without them,” she said.

“I don't want you or your chicks,” I said. “I want your big, dumb friend, outside.”

“J.J.?” asked Chicken Mom. “What for?”

I got as close to her face as I could.

“What do you care?”

She didn't flinch.

She was one tough bird.

She just wanted her chicks back and wanted out. I had to get her to trust me.

Before I could say another word, I heard Hero Dog coming up the back steps.

“If I were you, Chicken Mom,” I warned, “I'd get out of the way.”

Chapter 15
Covered in Dirt

V
ince was going to be on Moosh's tail the moment she got inside.

And she was too big to fit under the couch.

This wasn't a search anymore.

It was a rescue.

Rescue is where I belong.

Sometimes there's a plan, sometimes there's only adrenaline.

Sometimes adrenaline is all you need.

It was just a short sprint over the damp yard to get to the back door.

The grass was slippery and cool under my feet.

I was off so fast, I couldn't have changed my mind if I'd wanted to.

Dirt held on to my collar as I barreled across the yard, up the steps, and straight through the doggie door.

A bad feeling went through me like a shiver.

The walls were a dingy blur as we slid down the long corridor.

I cleared the couch, but the room was too short.

I dug my nails into the small, flowery carpet.

The rug carried me like a sled.

Dirt was as good as scrambled egg if she slammed into that wall.

I flipped my head back and threw her off.

At that moment, I realized what the bad shiver was all about.

Vince should have been barking the moment Moosh set foot through the door.

But I hadn't heard a bark out of Vince for hours.

It was the last thing I remembered before everything went black.

Chapter 16
Dog Day Afternoon

H
ero Dog knocked himself out. I hadn't planned on it, but it was a nice touch.

As for the chickens, everything went almost exactly as rehearsed. The smallest one seemed to have second thoughts, but a nudge of plastic cone moved her along.

Hero Dog was exactly where I wanted him, and the chicks didn't have a clue.

Chicken Mom was my only problem.

She was pretty uptight about the whole thing.

I had to buy some time.

“Hey, you.” I pointed to one of the chicks. “Run outside and get your Mom a nice chicken-feed snack.”

Chicken Mom eyed me suspiciously while the smallest one ran out the doggie door.

“See? Nothing to worry about, Mom. You can leave anytime you like,” I lied.

The rain had started up again, with thunder and lightning to boot.

The smallest chick was back with the feed in a flash.

“Have a snack and stay dry,” I said.

I put on the TV to sweeten the deal.

Chicken Mom and her brood were warm, dry, and staying put.

Five chickens in here is five too many. I was looking forward to the peace and quiet that nightfall would bring.

I'm going to get rid of all of them and I don't even have to leave the house.
Unlike our Hero Dog, I didn't need years of training—I was born brilliant.

Chapter 17
Dog in the Can

I
woke up behind bars.

Either something had gone terribly wrong, or I was back in Detroit.

I jumped to my feet and tried to get my bearings.

It was dark outside.

A clock ticked.

A faucet leaked.

Plop.

Tick.

Plop.

Tock.

Plop.

Tick.

I was locked inside a dog crate in the kitchen.

Vince was outside the crate.

Inside dog
.

Outside dog
.

Interesting twist.

He had a chick on either side, like a set of dusty bookends.

The rest of the flock was behind him.

“It's about time,” said one of the bookends.

“Poppy and Sweetie, I presume,” I snarled.

My mind was spinning, but my eyes were steady.

I set them on Moosh.

She met my eyes.

I knew there wasn't a single chicken in that room I could trust.

“It was a trick. He used us to lure you . . .” she stammered.

“I'm done with you, Millicent,” I interrupted.

She winced when I called her by her real name.

I took my eyes off Moosh and planted them on Vince.

“It doesn't seem like anybody here needs rescuing,” I said.

Poppy and Sweetie giggled nervously.

“They got themselves in here; they can get themselves out,” answered Vince.

“That's more than I can say for you,” added Poppy.

I bared my teeth.

Poppy backed away from the bars.

But he was right.

The door of the cage was locked with a sliding bolt.

I had no idea how I was going to get out.

Moosh gathered up her chicks and left the room without a word.

Vince sauntered over to his water bowl by the refrigerator.

Now that his giant funnel was out of the way, I could see the note hanging on the fridge:

I was on my way to the vet for ear tubes!

I had to get out of that cage.

I've pulled people out of all kinds of places—cars, caves, crevices, and sewer pipes.

But not once have I come across a lock.

I needed a plan. But my head still hurt.

Plop.

Tick.

Plop.

Tock.

Plop.

Tick.

I needed a nap.

Chapter 18
Encyclopedia Chickannia

“Y
ou okay?” came a tiny voice.

I saw a pretty pair of wings.

Unless my fairy godmother was a chicken, it was nobody I wanted to talk to.

“You okay?” she repeated.

It was Sugar.

I didn't answer her.

I turned my back and closed my eyes.

When I opened them, the sun was setting.

Sugar was still there.

“Shouldn't you be long gone by now?” I asked.

“Vince said it's safer if we wait until dark,” she said.

“Safer for whom?” I asked.

She didn't answer.

I had no idea why I was even talking to her.

But when you're in a cage, you can't be picky about your company.

“How did I get in here?” I asked.

“You jumped over the couch, landed against the wall, and knocked yourself out cold,” she answered.

“But how did I get in the cage?” I asked.

“Vince made us line up the recycle bottles and we rolled you in,” she said.

Vince wasn't as dumb as he looked.

We didn't speak for a minute.

Then I continued my line of questioning.

“Who grabbed you off the birdbath?” I asked.

“I got myself off the birdbath.”

“How?” I asked. “Chickens can't fly.”

“Sure we can. Not very well, but enough to get off a birdbath.”

“I don't believe you.”

“You should read more,” she said.

I turned my back on her again.

“Maybe if you read a book, you would know that we actually can fly short distances. Sometimes we fly to rendezvous with other chickens, usually to flee danger.”

My ears perked up.

“You don't say. . . .”

She came right up to the cage.

“Sometimes it behooves breeders to have our wings clipped.”

“You don't say. . . .”

For all I cared, she had just recited the small print off the bottom of a mattress tag.

All I had heard from her rant was “Blah, blah, blah,
rendezvous
, blah, blah, blah,
behoove
.”