Chooken

A liitle friend, Dylan who has a vivid imagination was visiting my neighbour and explained he forgets things. It has to do with his brain, he told me.

"Ah, your brain. I see," I said.

"You know there are chookens in the front yard."

A general yard grumble set up about the wandering chookens. Dylan moved into inventor mode. He described a race the chooken would be lured into enough for a gate-thing to fall and it would contact the tail end of the chooken whereupon whoosh, the chooken would be pushed into the body of the race, the gate-thing would securely fall and ... hesitation ... then you can get some old posts and things and build a chooken pen. 

I knew it was a race because he described it with his arms waving like synchronised railway gates up and down and had economised on a back by imaging it set against an aluminium garden shed. Up and down he waved his arms impressing on me where to construct it and not using a lot of materials, just enough to fit the chooken in through the ... almost through became clear ... gate. Whoosh went the gate-thing that acts like a paddle for a chooken's back end.