It started with four chickens.
Or may be even two.
May be there were no chickens involved.
At least, and with very high certainty nobody died,
because there was something important the old lady did not know.
What is very certain – a very old Shanghainese lady was involved.
The Chicken Lady – we call her.
– Murderers! Thieves! Your dogs have killed four of mine chickens!
Bitten to death!
– We are very sorry. Could we please see the bodies?
– No! But you can pay for them.
“Did the little rescue brothers inherit this chicken hunting behavior from their mom?” – I thought. Their mom was a well known fierce chicken hunter.
But something did not line up.
Two little rescue brothers, the Chicken Lady was referring to, had as good as no teeth.
That’s what happens to little distemper survivors.
“They would not be able to kill a chicken even if they wanted to”, – I thought.
But it did not matter what I thought.
Here she was, the Chicken Lady, claiming four chickens dead, bodies evaporated into the thin air…
We had to move the dogs out of the garden.
They’ve learned to climb a five feet tall fence in five seconds and off they were, apparently to some weird type of chicken hunt.
“Bok. Baoooook. Bok. Bok!!!”- I heard a chicken screaming behind my house.
“OMG!” – First thought.
“If they find a dead chicken in my garden we will have an international crisis here.”
“What? How is it possible?” – Second thought.
“The little brothers are on the balcony upstairs. Who is hunting chickens in my backyard?”
Or should I ask who’s been hunting neighbor chickens all along?
The answer was: Boorshly, a neighborhood dog,
A red colored 18 pounds homeless female.
I’ve caught the chicken and went looking for the owners.
“Oh, here it is!” – a happy neighbor grabbed the chicken in a way making clear that he will kill it in a matter of minutes.
“Thank you for bringing it back to me. I’ve spent half a day looking for my diner!”
Walking home I felt bad knowing that the chicken will be killed.
Knowing that it almost did escape and I was the one who brought it back.
It felt weird. “You do eat chickens remember?” I thought.
Inexplicably weird double standard.
Boorshly, the chicken hunter, was sitting in the sun all happy and warm.
“I can’t tell anyone it’s her hunting chickens”, – I thought. “Because neighbors will catch her and … eat her.”
“Such a weird chain of responsibility.”- I thought.
Why is everybody trying to eat everybody?
This seems to be the source of all problems…