Recently I went out for a run. Due to my knee fucked-up-ness history, I’ve been enjoying running on the dirt backroads in Juba, which means that I often deal with road hazards such as goats, children, and chickens. All of which have not posed any issues.
As I approached a narrow part of the road on my recent run, I noticed a chicken meandering in the foreground. Not a big deal. We both seemed pretty happy.
Unfortunately, our nice, uneventful meeting was soon interrupted by the addition of a third player to our scenario.
<Enter Water Truck>
The water truck freaked the freak out of the little chicken, who suddenly realized in a furied frenzy that she had no where to go on the narrow road.
And with no where left to go, the chicken headed straight for me.
The collision was inevitable.
I’m not proud of my reaction. But it was a collision of feathers and claws and running shoes and screeching and clucking and confusion. There were girly shrieks made.
And yeah… I may have ended up a bit like this:
Yeah. I did the crouch-and-cover-your-head-from-killer-talons move. That happened.
And all of this happened in front of the water truck.
In the Erin v. Chicken game of life, the score reads:
Erin – 0, Chicken – 1.