There is a chicken (hen or rooster TBD) living in our backyard.
Yeah, crazy. I know. Its name is Ernest Henningway (because he/she is a rogue traveler).... not sure where it came from. Neighbors Maggie and Ashley saw it crossing the road, and instead of telling themselves the old joke that is just plain pointless and laughing (as I would have done), they took pity on it and put it in our backyard (they asked us, and besides, the feathers spewing from their backyard that would inevitably follow the introduction of the dumb dogs and Ernest would be all over our pathetic excuse for a yard).
So yeah, hyper-terrified-of-birds me has one in the backyard. This is progress. I've even been out back twice, witnessed the squawking and haven't a) shot it or b) run inside terrified.
Deep breaths. Small steps. There is a monster in the backyard. Knock knock.
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