Friday, October 01, 2004

Attack of the Imaginary Chickens

Last night, I was hard at work in the clown cave, counting balloons and listening to new songs to use in the clown show, when in between tunes I heard a faint clucking sound.


At first, I thought it was my imagination running away with me, or some glitch in the computer. Or my friends messing with my head.

I stood up and walked toward the clucking.

Chick-chick-chick-chick-chicken. Faintly.

It seemed to be coming from the air conditioner, which isn't in a window but just in a hole cut in the wall. One of the clowns has put something in the air conditioner to make chicken sounds.

Now it's getting louder. And there's more than one.

This is getting freaky. There's nothing I can see in the book crates or under the table that's beneath the air conditioner.

It's coming from outside. I run to the bathroom to look out the window. There must be five or six people in the alley right behind my clucking like chickens.

No one I know. Why are these people clucking like chickens outside my house? Are they messing with me? Is it the revenge from the people upstairs, having heard me singing "Chicken Road" over and over and over again last week as we prepared for the World Chicken Festival (scroll down the page a little from there), which I didn't perform because we didn't have time as we almost got kicked out. But that's another blog.

So I couldn't tell if this was belligerent clucking or just general, good-natured clucking among friends that had nothing to do with me.

I called Swee'Pea and told her there were a bunch of people clucking like chickens outside my house. She laughed and hung up on me.

I decided that it was just general, good-natured clucking among friends that had nothing to do with me, and I couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand that it had nothing to do with me.

Look, I know I don't own the chicken joke or a trademark on the rubber chicken. I just buy them by the dozen and have worked one -- at least -- into just about every Clown Show.

But it just didn't seem right that they should be having so much chicken fun without me.

So I scrambled around the house gathering up my chickens. I planned to go out there in my pajamas with a chicken in each hand and complain "You're waking up my chickens."

But just as I started out the door, I heard the door to the upstairs apartment open and the cluckers stopped clucking and marched upstairs.

It was all over.

I considered knocking on the door, inviting myself and my chickens to the party, but I didn't.

I guess I was chicken.