Real Chickens

"Real chickens?"

"Yep. Real live, beady eyed, cock struttin' little roosters!" He slapped the newspaper page and chortled deep in his belly. "Kids these days; they're a real hoot, ain't 'em?"

Ever practical, his wife only tsked and said, "Just think of the mess those teachers will have to clean up. The floors will be atrocious, and the smell? Phew! Don't teenagers ever think of others these days? The nerve."

The rest of her angry mumblings were too low for the husband to hear, not that he minded. He had a lot of respect for the teenagers that pulled this prank off. Why, he himself used to be one of the best pranksters. He chuckled to himself as he remembered the tricks he had pulled out of his sleeve.

"Hey," he interjected into his wife's quiet rant, "remember when me and the boys left bags of burning cow manure on P.J. Howard's doorstep? I'll never forget the look on his face when he stepped outside, right into the whole mess of it."

Tears ran down the husband's cheeks as he wheezed and shook with laughter.

His wife scoffed and snatched his breakfast plate out from under his nose. She plunked it into the sudsy dishwater and attacked it with the tatty, old rag.

"You'd think people would get over such foolishness. If I remember right, you and the boys spent a night in jail for that escapade. You're just lucky your daddy agreed to bail you out. I'da let you rot in there."

"Oh, now, it's just a bit of fun. Nobody got hurt, did they?"

"It's just plain irresponsibility, that's what. Boys that age should be working, not settin' chickens loose in the school building."

"They're just trying to shake things up a little," he mumbled.

"What's that?" his wife asked.

"Nothiing," he answered, turning the page of the newspaper.

Bethany Bachman writes in Philadelphia and has had chickens set loose in a high school nearby.

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