Ahhhhh The Chicken!! or Revenge of The Chicken

This morning I woke up and the first thing my Mom said to me was, "I didn't hear The Chicken last night. [laughs]". So far this is the third morning in a row that the first comment of the day has revolved around The Chicken.

You see, back in April when I got my wisdom teeth extracted, my Grandpa brought me this way beyond adorable pink furry chicken. When you squeeze it's left wing it waddles and plays the chicken dance, getting faster and faster until you quite nearly go insane or die laughing - mind you this thing is quite loud. At first, I would press it's wing for everyone who came over. Eventually, he joined the rest of the animals on the foot of my bed and spent most of his life being smothered by various articles of clothing, and/or pillows. Most of my animals apparently don't mind this inhumane mistreatment, but not The Chicken. No no, not him.

Tuesday night I went to bed pretty late, as I recall. Something like 1:30am. Sometime later, it didn't feel like a whole lot later and was still very dark, I awoke with a Most unpleasing start. Unpleasing as in I instantly sat straight up, gasping for breath, one hundred percent aware of my surroundings, but not one hundred percent sure of why I was in such a state. The corner of my bed was moving and there was the biggest racket of all time going on. So loud. Merciful heavens. Took me a good 8 or 9 seconds to figure out what it was, and maybe 3 more seconds to connect that there was no way to make it stop, and that my parents were most likely also awake. By that time my breathing was normal and I was only feeling mildly annoyed, rather than holyfreakingcrapwhatisgoingonhere. And in the morning my parents made known that not only had they heard The Chicken at 5:20am, but had thought it humorous.

Wednesday night was also a late night, and I was pretty tired. When I'm tired I generally like to make sure that nothing is going to be capable of waking me up, and since it is surprisingly difficult to make The Chicken play (remember, you have to squeeze a certain part of his wing with considerable pressure) I assumed the previous night's episode an unfortunate, rare event. Oh but I was wrong. Same time, same place. And this time, it only took me about 2 seconds to assess the situation and find the most suitable action to be that of grabbing The Chicken and putting him under the covers. As soon as he was finished, I put him on the floor and said, "The Chicken is Grounded".

From what I'm told, my dad, especially, found my smothering The Chicken to be quite entertaining. I suppose it was, but nothing at 5:30 in the morning is entertaining in my opinion.

The moral of the story might be that furry chickens do not belong in my bed. But if you come away with nothing else, please remember that Allison is not kind and gentle even to the pinkest and furriest creatures three hours before she is scheduled to get up.