Page 9 of Out on a Limb
And now chicken feathers.
“There’s got to be something we can do.” I followed Julia down the walkway as we headed to where most of the chickens had congregated and got back to work. “We can’t just keep waiting for them to pop their heads out of their asses.”
I didn’t like the idea of the garden going to hell. This was the best job I’d ever had. I loved the work. Loved the location. Loved the people.
But my reasons weren’t completely selfish.
This place also mattered to people I cared about.
“The first thing we need to do is figure out what in the hell we are going to do with all these damn chickens.” Julia shook her head as she stared out at the landscapers still chasing birds across the lawn. “This is such bullshit.”
“I told Collette I’d call some farms. See if any of them are willing to take the chickens.” This was yet another thing we didn’t have the manpower to deal with.
Not only that but the flock was destructive as hell, digging their way through the place, kicking mulch, shredding plants, and dropping piles of crap wherever they went.
“This is going to take us forever to clean up.” Julia’s frown deepened. “I should call Grant and tell him I’m going to have to work late.” She fished her cell from her pocket. “We were supposed to have dinner before I go out with the girls.”
“You can go.” I grabbed a chicken loitering around my feet. “I can handle this.” One of us might as well enjoy some semblance of a social life.
Julia shook her head. “I’m sure you have things to do.” She pressed the cell to her ear. “If I stay then we can both get out of here at a decent time.”
I didn’t feel like admitting that I actually didn’t have anything to do. It was to the point it was a little embarrassing. Especially now that even eighty-year-old men had more going on than I did.
Julia walked away with her phone pressed to one ear, leaving me and the surprisingly calm chicken tucked under my arm.
“We’re full up.” Mark, the head gardener, carried a chicken of his own. “We’re out of boxes and cans.”
“Collette went to get something to put them in. Hopefully she’ll be back soon.” I toed at a chicken picking at the laces of my boot, trying to shoo it away. “We can repair the fence while we wait.”
“That’s all fine and good, but how are we going to make sure this doesn’t happen again?” Mark’s question was a good one.
One that was above my pay grade.
I glanced back at the empty administrative offices. “I think that’s a question for Mr. Johnson.”
“If you wait for him to make a decision then we might as well not bother repairing the damn fence.” Mark was clearly frustrated with the situation and I couldn’t blame him. He’d been employed by the garden since graduating high school thirty years ago. His whole life was wrapped up in the place.
“If we don’t ask him, then who do we ask?” It was the question we’d all been skirting for almost a year.
If Mr. Johnson wasn’t in charge now, then who was?
“Definitely not that asshole Alan.” Mark snorted. “He’s as useless as Wilfred is at this point.”
It was true. Alan was taking full advantage of his boss’s absence by creating one of his own, leaving us to largely fend for ourselves.
Mark’s narrowed gaze shifted to just above my shoulder, his expression changing in an instant. “We could ask that one.”
I turned just as Collette pulled up, a large box wedged into the cart she used to get around the property. “I think I got what you wanted.” She jumped out and immediately started wrestling the box that was as big as she was, trying to work it free.
The woman definitely didn’t acknowledge her limits.
I stepped in beside her. “Hold this.” I passed over the chicken in my arms.
To her credit, Collette managed to take it, holding the hen away from her body with both hands while I grabbed the plastic bands wrapped around the package, using them to work the box loose. “How did you get this in here?”
She jumped as the chicken in her hands wiggled a little. “A couple guys in the parking lot helped me.”
Of course they did.
