The Chicken


As I was walking down Stanton Street early one Sunday morning, I saw a chicken a few yards ahead of me.  I was walking faster than the chicken, so I gradually caught up.  By the time we approached Eighteenth Avenue, I was close behind.  The chicken turned south on Eighteenth.  At the fourth house along, it turned in at the walk, hopped up the front steps, and rapped sharply on the metal door with it’s beak.  After a moment, the door opened and the chicken went in.

Portland, Oregon

Story from I Thought My Father Was God: And Other True Tales from NPR’s National Story Project 

2 thoughts on “The Chicken

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.