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My Neighbor

“MOM!” my daughter screamed, “There’s a ROOSTER in our yard!”  Having a manic fear of fowls and birds I peeked out of my kitchen window to see what my grown daughter was panicking about.  I saw no rooster or any such creature, only our goofy pet Doberman romping around the backyard.  I told my daughter this, to which she responded “On the fence mother!  The ROOSTER is on the fence!”

I peeked outside the patio door and sure enough a big fat hen was perched on top of the fence separating us from our neighbor.  “It’s a HEN not a ROOSTER.” I informed my daughter who was peering warily at the offending fowl.


“Whatever, it’s NOT supposed to be sitting on our wall!”  I couldn’t argue with her logic so I asked her to find out if it belonged to our neighbor. 

Now it might seem that we live on a farm, far from it.  We live in suburban Honolulu.  It’s not unusual for folks in our state to raise poultry in their backyards, it’s so common that the City Council has had to pass ordinances limiting the amount of chickens one can have in their suburban yards.  So it wasn’t a shock that one of my neighbors owned hens, now to find out which one owned the escaped bird.

We are flanked by two neighbors and back into a “planned golf course”, aka huge empty overgrown field.  So the hen could have come from anywhere.  We asked our neighbor on the right if said creature was hers, she happened to be out that afternoon watering their lawn.  She ran into her house when we pointed out the hen, clearly it wasn’t hers. 

I sent my son-in-law over to the other neighbor’s house, I strongly suspected it was his hen.  My son-in-law returned with neighbor in tow to have a look at the hen, after much debate he decided it was in fact his wife’s hen. 

Sometime during all this the hen hopped off its perch where it had been safe from our dog, the flapping and fussing of course alerted the dog who came barreling towards the clucking hen.  The owner intercepted the dog, narrowly averting a massacre.  A chase ensued, everyone, hen, neighbor, and dog were chasing each other around my yard.  I wisely retreated into my house to watch the comedy behind the safety of my screen door. 

My neighbor finally caught the hen, tucked it under his arm and walked home promising to return with an explanation. 

He returned a few days later and explained that he’s sort of a “prepper”.  He told us of the next impending disaster, a stock market collapse, riots and chaos in the streets.  He was prepared, the hens, he has 3, would provide eggs, which he would eat with the rice he has stockpiled in his garage. 

So for the last few years I’ve known I live next door to a prepper, no big deal, he brings us organic eggs every now and then. 

I’ve gotten used to his predictions of doom.  I thought I heard everything, until today, when I overheard a conversation between my 12 year old grandson and prepper neighbor’s 13 year old son.  The boy was offering to give my grandson homemade lock picks, his father’s new hobby is crafting lock picks and teaching his son how to use them. 

Intrigued I asked why.  The answer was “My dad’s kind is of weird, instead of teaching me how to play ball he teaches me how to pick locks.  I guess it could come in handy if we ever get hungry and need to get sandwich stuff from Subway.”

I raised my eyebrow and he added, “Just kidding we would never do bad stuff, but you never know when the skill will come in handy.”

I guess it’s one more quirk I can attribute to my neighbor, but I can’t complain, after all we did have a horse in our backyard not too long ago.  It’s no wonder the manager of our Homeowners’ Association dislikes the people in my loop, we’re all just one step away from crazy. 

Last modified on Tuesday, 05 July 2016 04:53

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