THE GREAT CHICKEN HEIST OF 2015

It was a rather warm winter day. A light dusting of snow blanketed everything outside, the sun glistening off the freshly-fallen flakes.

I had decided the night before that I would roast a chicken for dinner the following day and had one thawing in the fridge. Taking it out, I realised it wasn’t quite thawed enough and placed it in the sink to let the last of the ice crystals melt off.

Attempting to multitask, I slipped on my boots and headed out the back door to sweep the snow off the steps. I figured Juno would follow me outside, leaving the chicken safe in the sink. And she did, at first. But when I wasn’t looking she headed back into the house through the dog door.

The face of a thief

As I reached the second-last step with the broom, I heard something at the top of the stairs and turned. I looked up to see Juno come flying through the dog door, the entire chicken clasped in her jaws, her eyes wild. She had found her treasure, and she was making a run for it.

I don’t know if I even had time to react.

She suddenly realised that I was blocking the stairway, standing between her and her freedom. She dropped the bird and it came bouncing down the stairs, one step at a time until it finally came to rest at my feet.

Defeated, and knowing she was in trouble, Juno darted back into the house.

I stood for a moment, looking at the sad, dirty, dog-tooth-punctured chicken and contemplated what to do next.

I picked it up, took it back into the house, and cut it up.

That night for supper Juno had her favourite, raw chicken.

Mark and I had hot dogs.

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