Chicken Chasing: An Epic Account

There is a house around the corner and up the hill... about three blocks from my apartment, when all is said and done... that has a trio of city-chickens. Most mornings I whurr past on my Rain Cloud with just enough time to see them scratching and pecking the ground, clucking in unison - and I have but a moment to think of them as a poultry chain-gang mining for the most valuable of mites, worms, and larvae.
This particular morning, the sun is shining for the THIRD DAY IN A ROW and the temperatures are in the high 50s. I didn't even put on my rain pants, nor did I zip my jacket. I was reveling in the warmth and solar power I was receiving, turning the corner at a low angle because of my speed, hopping out of the saddle to climb the steep incline that tries to smack you in the face at that particular intersection, reaching the apex, and flying down the other side.... when all of the sudden, from behind a parked car... brown feathers in a flurry of excitement and terror accompanied by the sound - the sound that only a frightened chicken can make! I clamped on my brakes as my blood went cold for a millisecond.
The brown chicken, the chicken I am sure I've heard clucking "Don't Fence Me In" while pecking in the yard behind it's chain-link safety, had finally escaped. It was apparently startled out of it's hiding place behind a parked car on the side of the street when it heard me coming and leaped out in self-defense. In the moment it took me to make sense of what had happened, standing straddling my bike - and I am sure I had a surprised look on my face, that chicken took off down the road and up the other side of the dip in which its home is nestled. At the top of that dip is the intersection with one of the two main roads in Westside Olympia. I knew that there would be a sad end if it ran into that intersection during morning rush hour. However, that frightened foul had no thought of such things; I could tell by its beady eyes. It's little bird legs and their giant drumsticks were pounding up the hill as fast as it could go. I jumped on my pedals and tried to head it off. Of course, when I got in front of it, the darn thing turned around and started back the way it had come at the same break-beak speed.
At this point, I was at a moral crossroads - to continue on my way knowing the bird would get in whatever trouble it would be able to find, or to be late for work and know it had been returned safely to its fenced yard (probably to escape again as quickly as possible). I felt my only real option was to play the part of the hero. Biking back down to the bottom of the dip, I dismounted and leaned it against the "faulty" fence in question and removed my bag, as well. I proceeded to chase the chicken with arms out up and down the street, still sporting my helmet and bright yellow jacket. I'm sure the neighbors were all peeking out the window wondering what was going on.
I could see that this chicken would not come quietly. It wanted freedom, and it was always told not to go with strangers. After about five minutes of this comedy of errors, the chicken got down on it's chest, wings out (I didn't know chickens could crawl before now) and scrambled beneath the limbs of a big rhododendron! (the spelling song comes in handy once again)
I finally went and knocked on the door to the house from whence it came. Inside, there were three young people who looked like people I would enjoy - two men bearded: one in flannel, the other in patagonia, and one young woman in a cozy sweater with dark hair in a loose braid. Their front door had a little sign that said "The Penguin House" with a clip art image of a penguin. I decided they're bird-people. I explained how their chickens often cause me joy, but that I feared for the life of the brown one who had escaped. The fellow in Patagonia said, "She's been causing trouble since yesterday; I think we'll need to clip her wings". He came out with cup of coffee in hand and helped me corner the bird who he gently carried back to the house. He explained that the trio of birds had been attacked by raccoons the other night and I suddenly noticed that the other two had not been present for this adventures. Apparently, brown was the only bird who escaped the attack. He thanked me for my help and I smiled and told him it was a great addition to my morning before biking down the road to work.
As an after note: when I got here, there are a whole bunch of "Washington Birds" calendars that include chickens, ducks, and other foul. They came to us by mistake and we have BOXES and BOXES of them. I've nabbed one and written a little note to leave in their mailbox on my route home:

To: The Penguin House
From: The Cycling Chicken Herder
Re: Lost Birds
Message: I'm sorry to hear about your loss. I will miss the two birds on my way to work every morning. I know that they can't be replaced, but I know that the birds in here will not disappear due to raccoons or desire for the open range. I enjoyed getting to finally meet you. I live right around the corner and down the hill above Sage's. If you ever feel the desire for new social interactions, I'd love to grab a cup of coffee with any/all of you. Enjoy your day!
~ Lauren