Neighborhoods in east Wichita come together to rescue chicken on the lam

Well, it’s official: I’ve crossed over into crazy chicken lady territory, if I wasn’t already there. To make it worse, I’ve taken a number of Wichitans along with me.

It all started Feb. 12 when a Riverside friend who sometimes helps with my pet chickens alerted me to a Facebook post. Lisa Aguilera, a hospice worker whose 96-year-old client, Betty Jane Qualls, lives in the Country Overlook neighborhood near College Hill, wrote a post about a chicken on the loose.

The little black chicken with iridescent green feathers had been roaming a stretch of Belmont near Betty’s house for weeks. Betty, who asked Lisa about the chicken daily, was quite concerned with frigid temperatures and snow on the way.

Now I was worried, too. Surprisingly, my husband, Joe, didn’t put up much of a fight when I insisted we drive across town to go search for this chicken at 10:30 p.m. in about 3-degree weather. He knows who he’s married to.

We brazenly — I believe stupidly is another word for it — marched into darkened yards, eagerly peering for signs of life, even as I worried what might happen to our own, whether we were going to freeze to death or perhaps get shot.

We had zero luck. Even in complete daylight, it’s hard to spot a chicken who doesn’t want to be found.

The Facebook community continued to be concerned. As one commenter put it, “Chickens are social animals and shouldn’t be alone!”

Day 2: As you might remember, Feb. 13 was so cold, it was hard to stay outside for more than five minutes without your fingers turning white. Within moments of arriving for Round Two of the chicken hunt, Joe spied her. He scattered some dried mealworms — a delectable treat — on the driveway of a very kind man named Kareem Collins who had been giving the chicken food and water even though he most certainly did not want a chicken.

The worms helped us get close, but the chicken proved too quick — and clever — for us. Joe and I made numerous tactical errors as she continued to elude us, darting into a tree, behind a trash can and eventually around the corner of the house and out of sight.

It was frustrating and sad because we knew worse weather was coming.

I gave Kareem my cell and told him to call or text day or night if he spied her.

Day 3: Remember Valentine’s Day? Wind chills were far below zero, and a blinding snow was blowing. Joe offered a couple words of protest, but he knew as he said them that we were going back for the chicken. I silently prayed most of the way. If we got stuck or if Joe’s truck got damaged, well, it would be a lot to live down over a chicken.

Kareem, whom I called to check on the chicken’s whereabouts, met me at his front door. He poked his head out and pronounced, “This is a different kind of cold.”

This also is when we met Lisa in person. She was arriving to care for Betty, and that’s when she told us how upset Betty was over the little chicken. And that’s when I knew what I would name the chicken: Betty.

Various people had tried over several weeks to catch Betty. Neighbors were following her saga on the College Hill Next Door app, showing concern and offering advice about what to do. There were reports of her cavorting on the MacDonald Golf Course and meeting new neighbors up and down the street. There was offer after offer to care for her, if only if she could be caught.

It was hopeless that bitterly cold day, though. We gave up and, I’m ashamed to say, went home and cooked a Valentine’s dinner of Peruvian chicken. I will risk my life for a chicken, I’ve seen they have their own personalities and even feelings, and yet I eat chicken. It makes zero sense and is why, as I always say, there will be a special place in Hell for me one day. Deservedly.

Day 4: At 6:10 p.m. Monday, a day so cold I wouldn’t even let out my own chickens, I was working at home when I got a Facebook message from Lisa.

“Come get her now,” Lisa wrote. “She’s stick.”

Stick? Was that sick or stuck? She included a photo of Betty on a wrought iron fence.

I flew out of the house only to find my ice-cold car wouldn’t move.

Finally, I got the car got into gear and made my way across town on the slippery streets, again saying some silent prayers, for Betty and for me.

I arrived to find a car idling in the middle of the street. It was Lisa. She’d trapped Betty under a laundry basket near another neighbor’s car.

I charged up the drive, barking orders to Lisa almost the entire way.

“We have to be careful,” I cautioned. There’s a reason Rocky Balboa chased a chicken for agility practice.

But when I lifted the basket just a little, Betty didn’t move. Was she frozen? Had she just given up?

I lifted her into an oversized bath towel I’d given to Lisa, who held Betty as I wrapped her.

“OK, I’ll take her,” I said.

“No,” Lisa pulled away. “I want to hold her.”

Lisa later told me she “just loved that she let me hold her and didn’t seem scared at all. She wanted to be caught that day.”

I drove home carefully while swaddling Betty in my lap, singing and talking sweetly the whole way.

We kept her in a crate in the living room that first night and all the next day, too. I wanted her to have a chance to recover after fending for herself in the wilds of Belmont.

The next day, Betty put the slip on Joe when he opened her crate to feed her. That’s why, for the entire afternoon that I’ve been writing this, there’s been a chicken perched on the dining room chair across from me. And, yes, she’s doing what chickens do, which means I’m going to have quite a bit of housework to do when I’m done here. Assuming, that is, I can get Betty back in her crate at some point. At least one house plant has been sacrificed in the effort so far.

Joe briefly popped home, took one look at the scene, shook his head and only half laughed at the situation. I suspect it will be funnier later. Like after I’ve cleaned.

Lisa and I have updated everyone who helped or just showed concern on social media.

One person, who dubbed Betty SnowBird, gave a “big thanks to all in the STC club ***Save The Chicken*** that got going.”

I mentioned how everyone came together to a former editor of mine.

“It’s a great neighborhood story,” she said. “It’s what neighborhoods are all about.”

This story was originally published February 23, 2021 at 4:42 AM.