Paris, France I had been cleaning the back deck and was tired of the chickens getting under my feet begging for purple pudding. Just so you know, that’s blueberry yogurt to you and I. So, Bowie, Farley, and I went for a walk in our neighborhood. Normally, we go out back to a wooded area. They are good dogs and during the day everyone is at work so we do no leashes and they love it. The girls were close on my heels and I was positive I closed the gate but it is old and sometimes doesn’t shut properly. The three of us walked for about thirty minutes. As we were turning onto my street, I saw five chickens doing the waltz two doors down from our house. Two scratches and a bend, two scratches and a bend. Butt in the air and peck, peck, peck. For some reason, it just didn’t register that it was my girls! I took a few more steps and it hit me! I started running and didn’t even bother with my dogs. I grabbed Hazel and Virginia and heard a dog bark. Ugh. My neighbor across the street, John, just let his Great Dane and Pit Bull out. “John, don’t let your dogs come this way!” I screamed with a chicken tightly clutched in each arm running faster than I have in probably twenty years. “Comment divine Paris est cette période de l'année,” Hazel sighed. “Oui, Oui tout simplement incroyable,” Virginia said. “What are you crazy birds saying? Hush, John might hear you!” I was panting as I skidded to a stop and quickly dropped them into the backyard and ran back for the other three. I grabbed Ruby and Claire. Lucy followed with her wings out and skinny legs pumping. Ruby looked over at Claire and then down at Lucy. “French cuisine is the best!” Lucy said nothing as she was panting she was running so fast. “Les curiosités, les sons, l'ensemble de la visite était incroyable,” Claire exclaimed. “Hush! What are ya’ll talking about?” I demanded as I opened the gate and Lucy followed. Thank goodness Bowie and Farley were behind me. I waved to John and shut the gate. “Ms. Hilda, have you ever been to Paris?” Lucy asked. “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything. How did you get out? Why did you get out? What were you talking about in French?” I demanded. “We were just talking about how divine Paris is this time of year,” Virginia answered. “The sights, the sounds, the whole visit was incredible. How do you not know the French language? It is the language of love!” Claire sighed. I realized they were talking about their adventure. “You didn’t go to Paris,” I said bending at the waist trying to breath. “Yes we did.” “No, you did not.” “Yes, we did.” “You went next door!” “We went to Paris, Ms. Hilda,” Ruby said. “No, you didn’t,” I said. Why am I arguing with six chickens? Seriously. I know you are out there! That one chicken owner that is going through the exact same thing right this very minute. “Go get a map and we will show you!” Lucy exclaimed. I started toward the back door for a map and realized what I was doing. I stopped in my steps. “No! If I get a map you will just read it! Ugh. I mean eat it!” I yelled. All five fell over laughing with their little feathered butts blowing in the air. “Yes we love to read maps!” “Ms. Hilda, if you don’t go get the map we can’t prove to you we went to Paris,” Virginia stated rather smugly. “Forget about it. I hope you enjoyed Paris,” I sighed and headed for my rocker. Five “oui ouis” and a chorus of laughter followed me. They marched past me toward the great wide open of the backyard. I smiled as I watched them do their little waltz as they scrounged for bugs. Surely, I am going crazy, but I don’t care. I love them.