Cluck Cluck

I think it’s pretty much par for the course that as soon as you make plans, something is going to change them. Some changes are a little more unusual than others. Wednesday went as planned in many respects. Having been up late, I got up later than planned. I did however go out and run 50 minutes without stopping to walk, and took some pictures on my way home. Then after a bath it was out to do some Qype stickers. Gave that up when it started to get too dark for taking piccies. So far to plan, if running a little late, and only the tax return to go…

Here’s one of the pictures, of graffiti near Victoria Park, review on Qype:



If you like that, here’s some more.

I was walking past Stonebridge Park when I found myself doing a major double take. Yep, no mistake… it was a chicken. Strolling around, apparently totally unaware that with dogs being exercised, a high fox population in the area and busy roads alongside it wasn’t the best place to be. I tried to tempt it with some of the bread I just happened to have with me (having passed the supermarket on my way), but not interested. So I headed home, rang the RSPCA (who have an amazing series of number pressing choices to go through before you speak to someone) and returned armed with bread and my cat’s basket.

By then the chicken had decided to stroll out onto the road. I quickly shooed it back into the park. Seemed it didn’t intend waiting for a fox to take it, but thought a car might do better. For quite a while then I followed it up and down the fence (me on the outside as I didn’t want to go in and scare it into the road). But the bird wasn’t coming close. For one thing it seemed to be finding a few worms that were much tastier than bread.

Next on the scene was a woman with a tiny Yorkie. She’d apparently also rang the RSPCA and been told they wouldn’t come as chickens can fly up into low tree branches and out of the way of foxes. I’d got the impression they were coming, but now I was more determined to get it. Yes, chickens can fly a bit, but in that park there’s only low bushes or trees with branches high up, and I wasn’t convinced it would be able to get out of the way of a fox. This particular chicken wasn’t showing the least sign of flying either. Anyway, the dog turned out to be surprisingly useful. He was a little cautious of the bird (well, it must have been twice his height), but seemed to get the idea of going one side of a bush while his owner went the other, and I waited as the third point of the triangle to grab it through the fence. I nearly got it once. But the bird was getting upset and the dog was loosing his caution and getting a little too into the game. The chicken showed it’s displeasure by stalking away into the centre of the park, blowing itself up and calling loudly.

Then another guy turned up, with the advice that chickens like grapes. None of us had grapes. And a mother and child (the child tried tempting cluck cluck with breadcrumbs in case it was less wary of a small person). Then a couple of lads and a girl. One of the lads reckoned he had experience of chickens, so they headed into the park while the rest of us kept the fence line secure. A guy from the council parks department also turned up and didn’t say much. I think he’d actually come to lock the gates. He disappeared at some point. Anyway the lads were now diving into bushes, many of which were covered in thorns. They may have had chicken experience, but bushes were another thing, and Chicky turned out to be amazingly adept at finding any gap.

Then my phone went: it was the guy from the RSPCA, an hour away but heading in our direction, with somewhere else to go on route. He said he’d ring back for an update as he got closer. I think being the person getting called by the RSPCA gave me a certain cachet… Anyway within minutes the bird was cornered, caught and deposited in my cat basket, where it huddled in the furthest corner, apparently out of breath and feeling more secure in containment by the look of it.

So, for a brief time I had a chicken in my flat. I did show it to the cat as she’s an inside cat and I like to give her new experiences. Not as mad as it sounds as Lizzie is very elderly and doesn’t do chasing things. In fact she wasn’t interested until it clucked at her and then she just stared. Then it went, still in the basket, in my bathroom. From outside I could here it clucking to itself, a lovely sound. I also brought it water and food (bread, which suddenly became very popular) and discovered that it did not want to be touched, even now thank you very much, when I put some newspaper in. Though there was absolutely no way I could have kept it, I was still a little sad when the guy from the RSPCA turned up and I had to hand it over (by the way, I asked, and he couldn’t tell if it was male or female either, though I suspect male). He was on the way to a wildlife rescue with a fox, so he said the chicken would go there for now, maybe permanently, maybe to be rehomed on.

There was a box by the road that had obviously been the means by which the chicken had arrived at the park, but who’d brought it and why will probably remain a mystery. Apparently it had been in the park all day.

Of course it’s perhaps also slightly batty to save a chicken when we eat so many of them. I guess there’s a sort of logic though. Someone had abandoned it, we paid back the unkindness to chicken kind by helping it. Without that it might have come to a bad end. To be honest a fox might have been quick (assuming a city fox would know how to dispatch a chicken…), but it could have been hit by a car where it was, and possibly caused injury to humans that way too. It certainly gave us all something a little different to talk about.