Unsure of where to begin looking for a mobile chicken, I quickly rule out the centre of town, noting that the chicken would be unable to reach the buzzer at intersections. It is at this point I realise my mission is not going to be as straightforward as I first anticipated. I decide to head back home and regroup, making a pit stop for cheesecake. I also decide, at that point, to pick up a couple of bottles of wine, working on the assumption that if I am as p per cent$$#d as a chook I might begin to think like one.
Safely back home, I collect my fears at the door but notice the bone has disappeared, only to be replaced by a size 12 school shoe or, more precisely, the slobbered remains of one. Damn Waffle and damn The Mouth ... my pet name for the freakish entity that wore said shoe. I may have to sell off one of his internal organs (The Mouth's, not Waffle's) in order to afford a replacement pair, and I am wondering now if two bottles of wine will suffice.
With cheesecake devoured, Waffle lectured on the price of shoes and the wine taking effect, it dawns on me that the most obvious place to find my answer in on the web. I type the riddle into the search bar and push enter. You've got to be kidding - 20,000,000 results. Curse you, Google. Defeated before I have even begun, I close my eyes and think about chickens. What reason would a chicken have to cross the road? Was it a deliberate act? Did it cross back?
My mind is racing, with each new question raising yet another question.
Maybe it's whacked out on growth hormone. Will it look left, right, then left again? Perhaps it has escaped from a maximum-security detention centre (egg farm), or is planning to exact its revenge on behalf of all those who have met their deaths at the hands of the warlord, Colonel Sanders of KFC.
I wonder what would make me cross the road? Love? Money? A free wine tasting? Cheesecake? Definitely a great deal on a pair of size 12 black school shoes.
It's becoming clear, due to the obvious language barrier, that without the help of a professional chicken whisperer, I am unlikely to get the answers I so desperately seek and that I can only speculate as to what a chicken's motives might be. I contemplate consulting the magic 8 ball, a clairvoyant and the tea leaves but think better of it when I discover (a) I don't own a magic 8 ball, (b) can't afford a clairvoyant and (c) don't drink tea. Out of sheer desperation, I put the question to Waffle, who stares at me blankly.
So where does that leave me? You may think that I have made no progress at all. I beg to differ. I got to sample a new flavour of cheesecake, have a new favourite merlot and, to top it all off, the Bermuda Triangle regifted to me a lipstick it swallowed about three months ago. Best of all, despite the best efforts of the life forms to destroy it, my sanity remains pretty much intact.
On the down side, I still have to shell out for new shoes and possibly a muzzle, although I am unsure at this stage who would benefit most from wearing it ... Waffle or one of the life forms.
As for the chicken, whether it crossed the road to get a flu jab or avoid the earthquake risk of the Sarjeant Art Gallery, the most notable point is that it crossed the road at all. In this day and age, where just about everything we do is limited by laws, levies, conditions and taxes, the chicken in question is more fortunate than most ... for it is free range. Let's just be grateful for that!
If you have any theories that I may have overlooked as to why the chicken crossed the road, or maybe you have another burning question that you would like me to investiKATE, I'd love to hear from you. Email me at polekate@hotmail.com
