Having been a part of my Northeast Minneapolis neighborhood for over a dozen years, I can tell you – and you can believe me: Logan Park has many enviable features.
There’s the guy with the boom box at the tennis court – the one with the knee-high gym socks and fanny pack? – offering admission-free studies in interpretive dance.
There are the many fine food trucks parked outside our many fine brew pubs.
And there is the recent flurry of online activity regarding a rogue chicken.
Ladies and gentlemen, there’s a feral chicken in our midst.
The interwebs is alive with speculation as to whom it could belong. Whole Facebook groups have weighed in: Does that guy on Adams, over by Denny, keep that breed of chicken? Or maybe it’s that guy on Washington? Maybe the chicken is branching out.
Maybe the chicken will move from house to house and then head south with the Snow Birds once winter comes.
Who can tell?
And who knew so many people in the city keep chickens?
Frankly, I know very little about chickens or their role on the urban landscape. Perhaps this sort of thing happens in all communities. Perhaps there are people in Chicago right now talking about the chicken in the alley, wondering where it came from, what it’s doing there, how it would taste after a little time in a light brine and followed with a cornbread stuffing.
No, no, no. That’s ridiculous.
I would never suggest a cornbread stuffing with a metropolitan chicken.
Now a orange/cranberry glaze might be tasty...