Transaction completed, squawking birds in the backseat and the GPS leading us home on completely different roads than before, I made myself useful by reminding the Englishman that we had chickens in the backseat and he needed to take it easy on the curves. There were a lot of curves. The chickens rode well in the car until there was a curve. They flapped their wings and screeched in protest with each curve. Feathers were flying about the car and unpleasant smells wafted toward the front. Windows down, sunroof open and avoiding the roads less travelled, we finally made it home.
I introduced the chickens to Cluckingham Palace, gave them fresh food and water and clapped my hands in delight as they scratched the ground with their feet. The Englishman and I left to run some errands. When we returned, it was almost dark. We grabbed flashlights and hiked through our overgrown grass to Cluckingham Palace. It was empty. The chicken yard was empty. We searched frantically for the chickens. Three were balanced on the top bar of the trellis and three were in a cedar tree. Chickens can fly, I realized. We also realized that chickens are very docile when they are asleep. We carefully plucked each chicken from their perches and placed them inside the chicken house. They never woke up. No wonder foxes can eat them. The Englishman and I retreated to our house and made a list of everything we needed to do the next day to secure the chicken area. It would be another early morning because chickens can fly.