Who You Calling Chicken??

While walking outside to the bus stop last week, my 3rd grader pointed across the street and asked, “Mommy, is that a chicken?" I squinted my eyes and saw that, yes indeed, there was a russet colored chicken pecking contentedly in the grass. This wasn't a wild bird, as we've seen in the past, but the type of chicken you'd see in a farmyard. We don't live on a farm, nor do we live in close proximity to one, but after putting my child on the bus, I picked up the phone and called a friend in a nearby neighborhood. This friend keeps dogs, goats, turtles, rabbits and guinea pigs in her menagerie (along with five boys, but they barely qualify as animals). "Hi," I said, as I spoke to her answering machine, "are you guys missing a chicken? If so, it's wandering around across the street."

It's kind of nice to see animals from time to time in a community so close to Boston. My husband grew up in farm country, so for him it's not unusual to see a herd of deer or a neighbor's bull grazing in the back yard. I, however, grew up in a suburban New Jersey neighborhood where the most exotic animal we'd see was the neighbor's cat. No wild turkeys strutting through the grass, or horses clip-clopping down our street. There’s a rabbit in the back yard? Quick, alert the media!

For many years, living and working in Boston, wildlife was limited to the rats in my company’s parking garage (“ledge bunnies” we called ‘em) and giant, mutant cockroaches. Moving to the south shore was like being dropped into an episode of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. While living in Norwell, nestled on 16 acres, we would often encounter deer, skunks, raccoons, snapping turtles, and the bane of every gardener's existence: the woodchuck. That fat, evil creature thought my husband's garden was his own personal salad bar. No matter how high the fence or how well protected the plot, that oversized rat managed to ravage our vegetables. I once shot it point blank in the gut with my husband's pellet gun. The woodchuck gave me a look that said, "Is that all you got?" and ambled off into the woods, only to return that night to eat all of our salad greens. Further proof that woodchucks are the devil's house pets.

While I won't be playing Dirty Harry with woodchucks here in Hanover, I have seen families of rabbits and wild turkeys in our yard. And of course, we're not limited to big game. My husband spends countless dollars on bird food to lure goldfinches, cardinals and hummingbirds to our back yard. And then there are horses. One of my favorite things about Hanover is the stable located smack in the center of town. Is there anything more pastoral than watching foals frolicking in the fields as you drive down the street? Our community has a nice mix of both domesticated and wild animals.

Of course, wildlife comes at a price. A friend of mine was so enamored with the deer in the woods behind her house that she placed a salt lick in her yard to encourage them. Unfortunately, she soon realized that with deer come deer ticks, and that was the end of the salt lick. It's one thing to enjoy wildlife, it's quite another to treat your entire family to Lyme disease. Another friend who keeps chickens and peacocks (yes, peacocks) has lost countless animals to coyotes. And while you could argue that even coyotes need to eat, I draw the line when they might potentially eat my children.

Getting back to the chicken...I never did find out to whom it belonged. That same afternoon, my next-door neighbor, Cindy, walked over to my yard. With wonder in her voice she said, "There's a chicken in my driveway." Apparently, the chicken was able to avoid being McNuggetized when it ventured over to our side of the street.
Which answers the eternal question:
Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to my neighbor's driveway.