I raised the blinds this morning to see something odd. A chicken on the neighbor's perfect lawn next to their perfect new fence. You remember my perfect neighbors, right? This isn't about them. It's about the chicken on their lawn. It wasn't mine. It was a mature brown hen. Are my girls really going to get that big? Yikes! I'm no good at identifying chicken breeds (yet), but upon closer inspection she appeared to be a Golden-Laced Wyandotte. I didn't try to chase her down. Instead, the girls and I went down to ring the bell on the yellow house. If I climb to the top of the windmill tower in my back yard, I can see chickens in their back yard. The bedroom windows were open, there were two dogs barking in the living room, about ten people live in that house and no one was home. We wandered back to our own yard and saw the chicken no more. Until a half hour later, that is. Two preteen inhabitants of the yellow house came down the street and we let them know about the loose chicken. They seemed genuinely alarmed and hurried off. A short time later, the chicken reappeared and we followed it around, trying to herd it down the road. I had it cornered and it totally flipped out, nearly flying straight over my head. It didn't stop running until it had re-crossed the road and disappeared around the side of the perfect neighbor's house once again. We gave up on the crazy chicken and started down to tell the supposed owners we had discovered its whereabouts, but there it was again running across the road in front of us. The perfect neighbors' new fence isn't yet complete and the chicken had run out the back opening. Now it was nearly home and quite comically squeezed its huge self through a picket fence and disappeared around the side of its own house. Or so we thought. We rang once again and the girl came out to let the chicken into her back yard. And do you know what? It wasn't even their chicken! It belongs to the people behind them and she regularly hops the fence. Maybe now she'll think twice about crossing my road.