Theo and the Chicken Crisis
Hi Mum,
Hi Dad,
I know it’s only been a few days since my last letter, but I figured you’d want to hear about The Incident. It’s now officially known around here as The Chicken Crisis of Hollow Hill—coined by Theo himself, who is both the cause and the self-declared survivor.
It started, as most things do with Theo, with enthusiasm and very little planning.
He had spent the morning watching the hens from the garden bench—clipboard in hand, deeply focused, tongue sticking out like he was decoding some ancient language. I assumed he was drawing them (a safe assumption, since everything in Golden Hollow seems to be getting lovingly drawn or journaled lately). But no. Turns out he was designing an obstacle course.
Yes. For chickens.
He used flower pots, sticks, rope, and—somehow—David’s belt (which is still missing). The plan, in Theo’s words, was “to enhance their agility and unlock their hidden ninja potential.”
I didn’t stop him right away. Partly because I was watering tomatoes and partly because I wanted to see how far he’d get before a chicken objected.
One did.
Her name is Waffles. She is not, in fact, an agile ninja. She is, however, extremely vocal about injustice. She bypassed the entire course, flapped her way into the herb patch, and stood there screeching at Theo like he’d just offended her ancestors.
Naturally, Ivy burst into tears thinking Waffles was hurt. David came running with gardening gloves like some kind of chicken paramedic. Theo panicked and tried to “apologize in chicken.” Waffles was unimpressed.
Long story short: obstacle course dismantled. Herbs salvaged. David’s belt recovered from a tree (?).
The best part? That evening, the neighbor across the lane—Mrs. Elwin, retired potter, warm eyes, soft laugh—brought us a basket of eggs and said, “I heard there was a training incident. Waffles told me everything.”
I laughed so hard I nearly dropped the basket.
And just like that, it felt like we belonged a little more.
It’s small, I know. A chicken protest and some egg diplomacy. But after years of Greywick’s grey schedules and don’t-talk-to-anyone rhythms, this felt alive. Messy. Funny. Connected.
I think Theo’s finally starting to be here, not just live here. Ivy too—she’s been whispering to the apple tree and insists it’s a portal. I haven’t told her otherwise. Honestly? I hope she’s right.
More soon. Give our love to everyone.
Always,
Clara
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