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The 100th post

It's my birthday. One of those magical birthdays that requires me to renew my license and registration. Naturally, I have known about this ahead of time for months. Equally naturally, I have put it off until today. So I'm driving home after renewing my license at the BMV today, dressed in formal attire, and driving Katie's car (both of which are unnecessary details). In my neighborhood there live a plethora of squirrels. I have always been in favor of letting the little curious creatures live as I think they are cute and relatively harmless. Harmless, that is, until they gnaw through your gutters and roof. Now we are sworn enemies of one another.

As I pull onto my street I see a squirrel sitting in the middle of the road and right then and there I decide that I would like to run it over. Now, I'm not talking about speeding up or swerving drastically--certainly nothing dangerous--but if the little fella happened to be within a wheel length of the car I could just give it a little nudge one direction or the other and help him along with his short lifespan.

True to form, he fled the scene of the crime with about .83 seconds to spare so there was no mess to cleanup or hard feelings between us. But now I have in my mind to be on the lookout for other hazardous ne'er-do-wells who might be lurking about in the city streets. I'm not but about three car lengths further along but I see a glimpse of reddish brown dash into the street from behind a parked car. It must have taken, oh, at least a full two seconds before my brain processed what was actually running across the road.

Now, before I explain what it was I must preface by saying that I am a lowly city boy. I didn't spend much time in the country seeing the common ordinary life of farm animals. Indeed, even though I have driven a cow most of my adult life, I have hardly seen but a few a touched but one or two. I wake up everyday in my neighborhood to the customary city noises of car alarms going off, dogs barking, traffic rumbling, and perhaps the sewer crew busting up a section of street for some line replacement.

So believe me when I say that seeing a chicken dart across the road in my own neighborhood came as quite the surprise.

I don't which came first, the chicken, or playing chicken. The Cornish Game Hen, or the Road Game Hen. The chicken or the egg.

But I do know that there is a chicken loose in the city of Linwood. And I, for one, am going to hide my wife, hide my kids, and find this fowl before it strikes again.

On a brighter note (much brighter), I got some new kicks to ready myself for the Flying Pig 15

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