It all started innocently enough.
Then it got ugly. Really ugly. And no, it wasn’t Gerard’s idea (so he says.) Supposedly that fiendish little 10-year-old boy came up with it all on his own.
I found the ransom note on the kitchen counter, written in Crayon. “Give Jackson a bigger allowance or the chicken gets it.”
I made it clear that this mom doesn’t give in to chicken terrorists.
“Where’s the chicken?" I demanded. "What did you do to it? If there's so much as a scratch on that little rubber body, there'll be no video games for a week. But let the chicken go and no one will get hurt.”
The chicken-napper caved immediately.
“He’s somewhere in the house,” came the next clue, also hastily scrawled in Crayon.
It wasn’t long before – out of sheer necessity – I discovered the chicken’s unfortunate location.
With a quick rip of tape, another tragedy was averted. And everything is back to normal in the land of the free and the home of the brave.
As for the chicken, he's just clucky, I guess.
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