Short Story
THE LAST OF THE WILD CHICKENS
BY JACKIE BREWSTER
Vinny burst through the door of the community centre. “You’ll never guess what’s on top of the bike shed!”
“I’m no Bill Oddie, but I think I know the difference,” he said. “Come and have a look if you don’t believe me.”
At the mention of the bike shed Eunice’s heart skipped a beat; had Vinny discovered her guilty secret?
Very reluctantly Eunice pulled on her anorak and followed Vinny to the bike shed. A fat brown bantam sat clucking on the flat roof admiring the view.
She’d been stacking chairs, assuming that all the members of her ‘Trimmer You!’ slimming club had departed. It had been a tough session. She’d had to be particularly strict with the group about avoiding the temptation of chocolate over the Bank Holiday weekend. There had been tears. Now Vinny was back, his ‘Trimmer of the Week’ rosette flapping in the breeze. “An actual chicken!” he continued breathlessly. “Sat there bold as brass.” Eunice stared at him, her mind racing. A chicken was not what she was expecting. “Don’t be daft,” she reasoned. “There’s no way a chicken could get up there - they can’t fly.” “Try telling that to this one,” Vinny laughed. “It’s probably just a pigeon,” Eunice said firmly, hoping this would be enough to make Vinny finally go home. 36
“I wonder where it’s come from,” Eunice said, her eyes searching the rest of the roof. “Someone round here must keep chickens.” “Perhaps it’s been living wild,” Vinny said. “A chicken wouldn’t last five minutes in the wild.” “Well they had to live in the wild originally,” Vinny answered. “This might be the last of the wild chickens.” “We’ll have to get it down,” Eunice said irritably, reminded, more than ever, how annoying Vinny could be. “We can’t lock up and leave it there. Can you reach up and grab it?” “I’m not sure.” Vinny looked worried. “I’ve never held a bird before.”