The Tale of the Sharkey

The story of a boy, his chicken, and his bewildered dad.

Some kids carry around a teddy bear. Others  rely on a toy rabbit or dog.

Us? There’s no easy way to say this. My son has a stuffed chicken. And his name is Sharkey.

I think it’s pretty much a given that when your kid’s favorite toy is a stuffed chicken, your life isn’t going down any normal path known to man. But instead of me telling you about it, I’ve asked Sharkey to share his side of the story . . . sharkey 1

Hey, how are ya? So the kid’s dad asked me to write his blog for him today. Lazy SOB. Oh, sure, give the job to the stuffed chicken. He doesn’t have anything better to do. Hey! I’m about to watch wrestling here!!

ANYway . . . So, where should I start. I guess you want to know where the kid fits in with my story here. So, uh, here it is.

A few years ago, I was sitting around, minding my own business and chatting up a cute chick at the fair, and here comes the kid and his dad. They sit down to play that awful bingo. And let me tell ya, the kid was nervous. Waaaaaaay too nervous. He was all on edge about winning. I’ve never seen anything like it. They lost a couple of times, and the kid was pretty disappointed. But then . . . well, let’s just say I thought the kid was going to jump up on the counter and start dancing. The closer he got to winning, the more he was jumping up and down, could hardly contain himself.

So then he finally wins, and gets to choose a prize. A PRIZE. Like that’s all I’m good for. And what does he do? He picks me. A chicken. I mean, what are the chances? No one has ever picked me before. So, before I even had time to tell my date goodbye, I find myself being dragged around by this kid I’ve never seen before. And his dad kept looking at me all skeptical like. And I’m like, “Hey! Haven’t you ever seen a chicken before, lunkhead?! You should be darn happy to have me around!”

Anyway, I wasn’t too happy at first. But I gotta admit, it hasn’t been too bad. They’ve never tried to cook me or anything. And the kid is ok. He used to carry me around a lot more than he does now. And I had to help keep him calm during thunderstorms. But I’ve got a nice bed to sleep in, which is more than I can say about a bunch of his other lame toys. And he gives me about half his food and ALL his vegetables. Hey! Don’t laugh. A chicken has to keep his feathers looking good and healthy, don’t he?

And sure, there was a period of time there when the kid ran around yelling Bok, Bok,Bok.” Boking all the time. I mean, what’s with this kid? If I could have shaved his head, and he woulda looked like a patient in a mental hospital. I mean, all that boking nonsense. Then I found out, he’d been doing the boking before he met me.

Ok, I gotta admit. That was a bit strange. But hey, I try not to judge my fellow chickens. And I’m sure not gonna try to figure out what makes humans tick. They always seem strange to me.

And speaking of strange, you should meet this kid’s dad. Man, some of the stories I could tell ya . . .

But not now. I’ve done my part. I’ve done what I was asked to do. Now run along. Find some other animal to annoy for a while. I’ve already missed the first part of wrestling. Go let your dog tell ya a story. Ha! A dog tell a story. That’s rich. Ha! Dogs . . . Now there’s a critter I’ll never understand. I don’t know why you people put up with them! Get a real animal . . . like a chicken!

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