Where in the World is Polly Chickenheimer?

Ian and I keep running into interesting adventures with our newest flock of chickens. And when I say "adventures," I mean, "Dude, these things keep dying."

First, Jessup met his fate and went to that big chicken coop in sky. Then Maybelle did the same thing. Except we weren't fully responsible for Maybelle's demise. That honor goes to some crafty fox or raccoon.

We were two down from our original four. And then, on Thursday night, Polly went missing. Ian had let the chickens out of their cages to play in the yard while he used the weed-eater on the edge of the property.

He never saw a single dog, cat, hawk, or other predator descend upon our chickens. The chickens played merrily, running in circles and squawking.

When Ian finished weed-eating, he discovered Polly was missing. Ian and I searched and searched for Polly. Late afternoon turned into evening, and we had to break out flashlights.

Polly is our fastest and most cunning chicken. She likes to play games of hide and seek, roosting in tree branches and hiding in dark places. She's our friendliest chicken by far.

Also, Polly is bald on top. Either Jessup or Maybelle pecked her poor little head bare.

Being the sort who enjoys formal names on animals, I gave Polly the full name "Pauline" when I named her. Because Polly by itself is just too informal for a chicken, you know? Pauline gives her some dignity.

Polly's full name is Pauline Baldy Chickenheimer.

Ian and I enjoyed singing Polly Wolly Doodle to her. I delighted in calling her "Polly Wobbles" and "Polly Pockets." Polly Wobbles was feisty. We had grown attached to her, bald spot and all.

So when Polly went missing, Ian and I felt distraught.

Laura: "Polly's idol was Amelia Earhart. I bet Polly was building a secret plane. And she finished it this afternoon and flew off. I bet she wanted to be the first chicken to fly across the Atlantic. You know, in a plane."

Ian: "Aww. That makes me sad. I'll miss singing Polly Wolly Doodle to her." 

Laura: "I'll tell my blog readers she's flying around the world, so they won't feel sad. I can make a special column."

Ian: "It'll be like Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? Except with Polly Chickenheimer."

Laura: "We can Photoshop her into exotic locations."

Ian and I went to bed that night still feeling upset about Polly's disappearance.

The next morning, we awoke to Polly back home in her cage.

Ian: "Ms. Chickenheimer is back in her cage this morning. It's an X-File."

Polly is remaining mum on her whereabouts.

Perhaps she flew to the Hair Club for Men headquarters to try to fix that bald patch. Or perhaps she flew to Buckingham Palace to take tea with the Queen.

I'll let you know when she gives us the scoop.

Here are Ian and me serenading Polly with Polly Wolly Doodle. Ian plays banjo, I provide vocals, and Polly makes a special appearance. 

We had a bit of camera trouble so it sounds like it's playing through the old phonograph.

Watch closely. 

As soon as I finish singing of a chicken, "who sneezed so hard with the whooping cough; he sneezed his head and tail right off," Polly sneezes violently, spraying me with bits of corn and sludgy brown goo. 

Well played, Ms. Chickenheimer. Well played.