The Mysterious Case of the Chicken That Hired a Publicist

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Here’s one written by my friend, Liberty:

The Mysterious Case of the Chicken That Hired a Publicist

And then all hell broke loose

Once upon a time, Witchy enjoyed a quiet life in the Transylvania Forest. Well, that is, until her “secret trauma” forced her to become vegan and without eye of newt, bat wings etc. her spells were “going wonky.

After that, everything kind of blew up (oops, pun not intended). A lot. And then there was that one time she nearly burned down the Forest. Oy…

Anyway, since it all went to, um, “The Very Hot Place,” and Witchy ended up starting a new life in England, she’s had a lot to learn about “Life Outside the Forest.” She loves drawing pictures about her new experiences. It’s part “art therapy” and part “documenting her adventures.”

She’s always rushing to me with a long list of questions. Especially because she’s (let’s face it) neurotic (shhhh! Don’t tell her I said that!) and sometimes she freaks out about things she doesn’t understand.

And then there are times when I agree with her puzzlement about something. Like the day that prompted her to draw the above picture:

“Liberty! Did you hear what happened to Miss Chicken?”

“I’m not sure, Witchy. What do you mean, in particular?”

“Well, you know how everyone is always asking about why she crossed the road — ”

“Mm-hmm.”

“ — although I’ve never figured out why everyone cares so much — ”

“Me either, Witchy.”

“ — or why she thought they cared, I mean the way she was always announcing her reason for doing it before she did it — ”

“Little street-crossing diva.”

“ — like that time she yelled, ‘I’m going to cross the road now because I’m stapled to a horse’s leg!’ — if you remember that day — ”

“Indeed, I do. She does get herself into some messes…”

“ — and now she’s got a Facebook page and she’s on that Instant-gram, and she’s on YouTube — ”

“Really?” I’m pretty sure my eyebrows hit the ceiling.

“Yes! Some of the other chickens showed me on their tiny chick-phones! And lately, she’s been asking people if they want her autograph, and wearing too much lipstick and dressing in flashy clothes — ”

“You don’t say.”

Witchy stopped abruptly and shot me a look. “Yes. I just did say.”

“Sounds a bit like Miss Chicken’s head has got a little too big for the chicken coop doorway,” I suggested.

Puzzled, Witchy frowned in thought. “No, I don’t think so. It was still normal size yesterday. Can that happen in one day?” A look of horror crossed her face. “Can a head grow that fast all of a sudden?”

She spun around, frantically looking into the mirror on the wall.

I opened my mouth to explain and thought better of it.

On seeing that her head was the same size as usual, she continued. “Anyway, someone contacted her about some sort of ad campaign for KFC — ”

“KFC?” My jaw hit the floor. “Seriously?”

“Uh-huh. Whatever that is. And suddenly, she got a bodyguard and a publicist and there are newspapers and TV stations wanting to interview her and — well, I don’t quite understand the whole thing.”

“It’s simple, Witchy. If the chicken had just crossed the road like everyone else without making such a fuss, there wouldn’t have been this media circus.”

“There’s a circus?” Witchy’s eyes lit up and she twirled across the floor in a purple and turquoise blur. “I’ve never been to the circus! Can we go, Liberty? Can we? Please?”

“No, Witchy, it’s not that kind of a circus.”

She stopped twirling. Her face fell as I continued.

“I just mean there wouldn’t have been all this hooplah.”

“Hooplah? What is this, hooplah?” she asked.

Oh, dear. More questions. I don’t mind answering, not really…it’s just…

“That’s for another day, Witchy.”

With circuses and hooplah having distracted her from the chicken story, she twirled her way across the floor and out the door, singing a happy tune, as usual, while seeking her next adventure.

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