I have just spent the last half hour looking for a picture of Calliope to go on my Have You Seen This Chicken poster. I have pictures of Penelope, Philanthropy and Cantaloupe, but not Calliope. Is it an omen? She did not come back to the coop when it was time for bed, and I fear the worst.
She has joined the circus.
On one hand, chickens don't lay as many eggs when they're more than a year old and real chicken handlers cull the herd annually. On the other hand, I am not a real chicken handler and am fond of Calliope. Maybe she wandered a little too far and found a nice branch to roost on for the night. A nice high branch. But how far could she have wandered? And tell me again, why did the chicken cross the road?
Oh Calliope, please come home soon. Before I start making fowl play puns.
On a brighter note, my deadline is behind me. I have submitted my investigative piece of journalism in which I go deep undercover and attend a hula hooping class in Provincetown. Oh, the things I do, the places I go. I intended to write a delightful and charming description of it for you, but at this moment I think my head might explode and I really think I should just go to bed. Also, if I go to bed soon, then morning will come faster and Calliope will come home.
If anyone has seen a brown chicken who looks lost, will you please let me know? She doesn't know her name but responds to "who's the prettiest chicken who lays the prettiest eggs, hmmm?"