Paul Turner: When a city slicker is forced to be an urban farmer

One thing about living in Spokane, you never know what sort of animals you’re going to see.

Moose, skunk, coyote – you name it.

Still, I was surprised to return home from a bike ride one morning last week and see a chicken next to our garage.

Oh, I knew where it had come from. My neighbor has chickens. We have been introduced. I just wasn’t clear how this white hen had gotten into our yard. I guess she flew the coop, so to speak.

I parked my bike and walked over to where the seemingly agitated bird was clucking and pacing. I thought if I could gently scoop up the chicken and lift it over the tall grape stake fence separating the two properties, we could all get on with the day.

But she wouldn’t let me get close to her.

Ever have one of those moments when you are reminded, to an acute degree, that you did not grow up on a farm?

I thought about the chicken “talons” discussion in the 2004 movie “Napoleon Dynamite.”

So I decided to enlist reinforcements. I knocked on my neighbor’s door.

There was no answer.

I returned to the scene of the livestock drama. I tried to reason with the chicken. I quietly explained why she needed to go home.

I don’t think I was getting through to her descended-from-dinosaurs birdbrain. And she wouldn’t be herded.

I wondered what my other next-door neighbor’s cat, if she were still around, would have made of this situation. Frankly, she might not have been helpful.

Just abandoning the yardbird to her own devices didn’t seem like a reasonable plan. She might wander into traffic or have an unpleasant encounter with a passing dog.

Anything could happen. I once looked out our kitchen window and saw an extra-large hawk on that same grape stake fence.

The second time I knocked on my neighbor’s door, harder this time, two women I don’t know answered. One asked me if I was sure it wasn’t my chicken. I said I was.

They immediately came over to my yard with me. They said the chicken in question had done this sort of thing before. Just not in my yard.

One of the women seemed to know what she was doing as she calmly pursued the fugitive hen.

Seeing that the situation was now well in hand and not wanting to hover or seem impatient, I left them to it.

When I went in and told my wife what was going on, she suggested I might have tried singing the theme (sound effects and all) from the old “Super Chicken” cartoon show – one of my few secret talents.

Not long after hearing a loud poultry protest, I went back outside and found that the two women and the visiting bird were gone.

A bit later, I received an email from my neighbor. She said she was sorry she had missed all the excitement.

I learned from her note that the hen’s name is Agnes and that she lays pale green eggs.

My neighbor also said that I would find a carton of extremely local eggs waiting for me outside my back door – including one from Agnes.

Later that day, my wife and I speculated about what Agnes told the other chickens about what it’s like on the outside. You know, what she experienced after she busted out and got a taste of sweet freedom.

The truth is, I think the chickens next door have it pretty good. But I suppose the urge to see what’s on the other side of the fence can be irresistible sometimes.

Just wish there had been more for Agnes to see other than our garbage and recycling barrels.

Not everybody is a hugger

You might have seen a story last week dealing with the topic of whether people in Seattle are friendly.

It reminded me of many conversations I’ve had over the years about whether newcomers to Spokane are made to feel welcome. You know, is it hard to make new friends here?

You can make that determination on your own. But whenever this subject comes up, I find myself wishing opinion sharers would distinguish between those who are actively not friendly and those who simply like to keep to themselves and be left alone.

There’s a difference, you know.

It strikes me that Spokane is home to a fair number of people who just prefer to do their own thing, by themselves or with a small circle of others.

Does that make us unfriendly? I don’t think so.

There’s a difference between being content in your time-honored social rut and pointedly excluding new people from gatherings or activities.

It’s not a matter of having to know a secret handshake to gain admittance to the club. It’s more about habit and, occasionally, “others” fatigue.

I think that’s where some observers get confused. Someone not wanting to socialize might not be chilly or standoffish.

Sometimes people just prefer their own company.

Columnist Paul Turner can be reached at srpaulturner@gmail.com.