The Chicken

‘She said it might put things in perspective.’ Nellie said with a blush and an awkward smile.

‘But, what will I do with a chicken?’ I asked as I moved a pile of dirty dishes out of the sink.

‘Well, you were complaining about work, money, etcetera, so I thought I would get you an early birthday present. The lady at the store said that this is their most popular species and that it might be of help.’ She said with a gentle shrug of her shoulders while avoiding my eyes.

‘Well, yeah…’ I placed one of the many pots I had accumulated under the hot running water spewing out of the chrome faucet. ‘I get that. It really was so nice of you to think of me.’ I glanced up from the sink, trying to catch her gaze; she continued eyeing the floor, avoiding me, occasionally glancing at the little white barn animal. ‘But, why a chicken?’ I really was at a loss for words. I didn’t want to come across as rude, but what am I to do with a chicken?

‘Baka?’ Clucked the chicken as it pecked at my shoelace, attempting to eat the inanimate black worm. Clearly not the most intelligent of beings, I noted.

‘I don’t know. You always said you loved the whole rustic theme.’ Nellie flopped down on a chair located in the centre of the room by the small, cheap, oak veneer coffee table I got from IKEA sometime last winter. ‘So, what could be more rustic than a chicken? It practically invented the term.’ The chicken migrated to my other shoelace. It must have realised that the other one was not edible and tried its luck elsewhere. Still not very smart.

‘I guess, but wouldn’t something like a wooden crate or some other house-related object be a more appropriate choice. For example, a nice shabby chic coffee table to replace that abomination of a thing? I do live in a one-bed flat, after all. Where would I even keep the chicken?’ I asked while gesturing around at my tiny little flat, where my bed and fridge reside in too close a proximity for comfort, and the little coffee table Nellie sat by gave off the impression of being Arthur’s round table. If Arthur’s table was found in Lilliput and Nellie was Lemuel Gulliver himself.

‘Didn’t really think about that, Adam. I just wanted to do something nice for my brother. Is that so bad?’ She pursed her lips and squinted at me. Daring me to push the chicken issue any further. ‘Also, would you mind cracking open a window? It smells like a teenager’s bedroom in here. If it gets any mustier, you could open a boy’s locker-room.’

‘Well, thanks, I guess.’ I paused, ‘Wait, how do you even know what a boy’s locker-room smells like?’ I asked, scratching my head with a soaped-up glove. ’Never mind, don’t want to know.’ Her lips quirked in a cheeky grin as she stood up from the chair. ‘I will need to find a place for the chicken to sleep,’ I said, glancing at my bed. The chicken had taken over. Clearly, I was dealing with no ordinary Gallus gallus domesticus; this was Genghis Chickhan, a master of the Phasianidae family. ‘Never mind, I need to find a place for myself to sleep. The bed has been conquered.’

‘I know you will come to love Medea. She is enchanting, after all. Anyway, I better run.’ She gave me a quick hug and waved goodbye at Medea before exiting the flat, leaving me all alone with a chicken I never wanted but will now be forced to love. Oh, well, such is life, I guess?