Wet. I've been wet and hungry, and despite all this wet, I haven't had a decent drink in days. My tongue is as dry as the sense of humor on that old, grouchy donkey back on the farm. I've never even seen that donkey smile, let alone crack a joke. Yep, that's what old Sebastian was: dry, boring, and the obvious animal to go to if you couldn't catch any sleep. I've been gone for so long though that perhaps Sebastian has laughed. Maybe I've missed the hint of a smile crossing his face or his first pun in the 12 years he has been alive. I ponder this for a moment. Nah. At least I probably haven't missed anything interesting, but my tongue is still longing for the sensation of quenching my thirst. My stomach pains for something to eat. I'll consume anything, really. Recently, I've found only but a few worms to snack on down this rocky road. They were not even the juicy, fat kind- just the thin ones with no substance what-so-ever. Those suckers were severely lacking some kind of gratifying taste. I'm used to it though. The dirty, tired farmer who used to take care of me once tried to give me cheap, nasty chicken feed. You can bet that I turned my beak up at that stuff. Now though, I'll eat anything just to get by. It has made me ask myself: How did I get here? I cannot remember the answer. One evening I drifted to sleep atop my favorite perch inside the coop, and the next morning I'm wandering the streets aimlessly.
Suddenly, one of those strange humans with frizzy hair like a clown and holes in his ridiculous clothing approaches me. My demeanor is calm, but my thoughts are frantic as he extends his arm out to me. I do not trust humans that are not my own. This man is foreign to me. Maybe his intentions are pure, perhaps he would just like to feed me. Upon second glance, I decide he probably just wants to feed himself and bolt off like lightening. I know I look ridiculous when I run, but I can't help it. As long as Roger the Rooster isn't watching, I could care less. I know he cannot see me run because his handsomeness is at home. Where I'm not. So I run faster.
This yellow line will guide me to my destination; I just know it will. I follow it methodically, quickly. I follow it the proper way. The way humans and their dumb cars do not. For some odd reason, they travel in different directions...on the same road! They don't even stay centered on the middle line! Many times, I have almost gotten run over by reckless humans and their demonic vehicles. Whoosh! Another one flies by me without an 'excuse me!' Humans sure can be rude. If chickens could drive, the world would be a much better place, but we cannot even cross the road without having our motives become a joke. This world is surely bizarre.
I hear a swarm of crows above me chatter indistinctly. I call up to them for directions, but they just stare at me with blank expressions and laugh after a few moments. Sure, sure. Real funny guys. Make chickens the joke yet again. Apparently the humans found this funny too, for a very young girl playing outside with her older brother begins to chuckle hysterically. As her brother takes notice of what is going in, he joins in the laughter. I yell, "What is so funny about chickens?" They erupt into laughter even harder. I scream back, "I'm glad I can be of entertainment to you! Now can you please tell me where I am?" At this point, the boy is rolling around in fits of laughter so hard he begins to clutch his side. The girl giggles uncontrollably as I walk away. They weren't very helpful at all. What did I do to deserve this?
A curve in the yellow line I'm traveling on unveils a bridge connecting two pieces of land hovering over...Could it be?...Yes! There it is! Water! I yearn to glide down to it, but something inside me forbids me from doing so and tells me to keep going. So I go with my gut and continue on past the scene. Draped across the trees of the forest are large vines, sure to contain some kind of food, but again, I keep walking. My head and my feet move in synchronicity by a small, red house with overgrown grass. I decide not to turn there. If the humans that live there cannot cut their grass, there is no way they will exert the effort to take care of me. My webbed feet will me to travel onward. The next house I come to on the left seems fairly nice, and the grass is cut- always a good sign. I smell the scent of other animals like me embedded in the short, neat grass, and with nothing but a bit of hope and a leap of faith, I turn into their yard. I graze the grounds for several minutes, gaining familiarity of my surroundings. Ready to make my entrance and attempt to attract some attention, I stroll alongside the perimeter of the house. A small boy pokes his head out of the window, baffled at my sudden appearance. He utters some unworldly noise that brings four more people staring at me. A girl hesitantly walks outside, careful not to slam the door. She holds out her hand and beckons me. I allow her to approach me, but I do not come to her. She makes a noise that sounds like, "Mom!", and thankfully, it came! Cheerios and lots of them! From her hand, on the ground, but most importantly: in my mouth. Another woman, older than the girl, probably her mother, carries out a dish full of crystal clear and icy cold water. I slurp it up with enthusiasm. My excitement seems to be contagious, for the faces of the family smile with radiance. After about half an hour, the family heads inside, except for the girl. She grabs a handful more of cheerios and cradles me in her arms. I have never really minded being picked up before, but with this girl, I actually love her embrace and the way she saved me. She babbles nonsense to me for hours out in the shade of the shed, but one word becomes second nature to me: Sweetie. That is what she calls me. In the midst of all the words she speaks to my confusion, "Sweetie" settles my soul and puts me at ease. I fall asleep in her lap, and the new morning sun rises what seems to be minutes later. To my astonishment, I awaken to find two dishes- one full of that icy water and the other to the brim with pellets of chicken food. The good kind. Just for me.