A chicken named Willow, Part 2

As we pulled into the parking lot, where we had been a hundred times before, something felt...different. Like walking into a room in your Grandma's house when something has been moved, taken away, or added..

There in the middle of downtown PawPaw, braced against the winter's breeze, was a small exotic looking(if that's possible for a..) chicken.
At the moment we noticed it standing there in one of the parking spaces, others began to notice it as well. Justin pulled past and parked some distance away, intent on getting the batteries and only vaguely aware of my rapid commentary on the absurdity of a chicken so out of context.
By the time he got out of the car, a small crowd had gathered, staring and pointing at the shivering fowl. I walked over to join them, as an old blue pickup truck mottled with rust ambled up and parked. A big old man in blue coveralls and a flannel shirt emerged and said, " That's MY chicken!"...
"Oh, is this chicken yours?", I asked, relieved that someone had arrived to help this confused bird, who by now was dodging the efforts of a woman in a RiteAid apron to catch it..
{Note to readership: You won't catch a chicken by running directly toward it wearing a flapping royal blue apron with your nametag rattling in the wind.}
I prepared to try and catch the chicken for the old man(who didn't look like he was in any shape for a chase), and was just about to jump into the fray, when I heard him muttering," I'm gonna get me some cornbread and some potato salad and FRY me that chicken tonight!"
Just then, Justin bustled from the store holding our batteries and called that it was time to go...

To Be Continued.........


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