Chicken On Sale Makes a Run For It

This was one of those weeks that I would rather skip.  You know the kind I mean.  The alarm goes off on a Monday morning and after the fourth time of hitting “snooze,” you know you can put off the inevitable no longer.  No amount of snooze-button-hitting or avoidance-wishing will keep the march of time from throwing cold Gatorade on your head.  You eventually accept that you must get up and face The Beast.

This was such a week for me.  I groaned when Y93 came on at four a.m. on Monday morning.  Halloween Day, Parent/Teacher conferences, and my daughter’s district volleyball tournament had all converged into the Perfect Storm of maniacal busyness.  It was going to be a whale of a week.

I’ve already shared Halloween Day; I won’t rehash that here.  On Tuesday, two major incidents occurred in my life.  It was the first day of fall parent/teacher conferences, and our class pet, Chicken On Sale (name chosen out of the newspaper), made a prison break.  That’s right, he’s on the lam.  Ask Yahoo says that, “On the lam is American slang meaning on the run. It is derived from gangster slang from the turn of the twentieth century. “  I guess he figured he had done enough hard time in stir.  Having eight first graders watch your every move would be enough to cloud anyone’s judgment (come to think of it, that’s MY life…). When he saw his opportunity, he went for it.

It happened like this.  I had added Critter Corporal to our list of daily classroom jobs.  We have Pledge Police, Garbage General, Snack Security, and so on and so forth.  What’s with the law enforcement/military theme, you ask?  I dunno’.  I guess I just like a man in uniform.  ANYWAY, my Critter Corporal that day was a bit squeamish about sticking his hand in C.O. S.’s habitat, formerly known as a Sam’s Club pretzel tub (I just love buying in bulk).  There sat our green friend, blending in beautifully with the stick he was perched on.  Fine, I’ll do it.  Just come with me and watch.  We headed up the stairs to the outside exit that leads to the playground.  Mr. Clean was not about to come within three yards of that frog.  I took the lid off the tub and reached in to grab a handful of decomposing grass.  It didn’t smell too awful bad in there.  I reached for another handful and realized that I no longer saw our Croaking Crooner.  Uh-oh.  I held the bottom of the jar up to eye level to see if he had decided to take a swim in his lid-off-a-tin pool.  I am just not seeing the darn thing.  I frantically searched the brown grass for anything moving.  Nothing. (He was probably holding his breath while thinking, “BE the grass, BE the grass…”

My phobic Corporal is tuning in to my vibe about now.  “What’s the matter, Mrs. Dahl?”  Lying will only make it worse, Mrs. Dahl.  Just ‘fess up.  “I can’t find Chicken On Sale.  I think maybe he hopped out.”  He accepted this bit of alarming news with all the professionalism of a trained animal “corporal.“ He threw open the door to the stairwell and shouted to his classmates, “Chicken On Sale is gone!!  Mrs. Dahl lost him!”  Seven horrified first graders were at my side in a flash.  “He’s GONE??!!??”  Grief and dismay shadowed their little faces.  They loved their class pet.  The little fella’ had had no idea what was in store for him when he errantly wandered into our building and didn’t have the good sense to hop out of the clutch of a quick fourth-grader. 

We searched, we double-checked the jar, and then triple-checked.  He was simply gone.  Honestly, I never saw a thing.  He had probably been planning that escape for weeks.  Watching for opportunity, learning our ways and schedule, pumping iron to strengthen his little frog legs when no one was watching.  When he saw his big moment and knew it was The Time, he just went for it.  Then he “crawled to freedom through five hundred yards of foulness I can't even imagine, or maybe I just don't want to.”  (Shawshank Redemption is on Direct TV about every third Sunday).

I quick shot off an Amber Alert email to the principal, which he forwarded to all faculty members, telling folks to be on the lookout for a frog in prison stripes and shackles.  But no one ever came forward.  I suspect he had help on the outside.  Chicken On Sale is gone forever.  I just keep hoping one of the kids doesn’t discover him glued to one of our sticky traps.  Better to remember him as he was… full of life and everyone’s donated flies.  Enjoy your life of freedom, you rascally amphibian.  What say you, Fuzzy Britches?? (Sorry for all the movie quotes.  My sons will get a kick out of them, anyway). 

As it turned out, my first graders handled the loss of class pet with dignity and very little mourning.  Frogs are plentiful.  We’ll find another. 

Parent/teacher conferences went swimmingly and no one blamed me (yet) for academically ruining their child.

My gut-buster moment of the week came on the last day.  My students were behaving as if they had consumed half a pound of Halloween candy (oh wait, they probably had).  I got their attention and asked (rhetorically), if they knew what they were supposed to be doing at that moment.  A boy’s hand shoots into the air.  "Yes, Sam.  Tell me what you are supposed to be doing right now."  He grins at me.  "We are 'posed to be waiting for erections (directions)."

It took everything within me to keep from bursting out in laughter.   Somehow I managed it.  Samster, I see you have memorized the Male Creed.  

Sorry for the crassness.  Such funny moments must be shared.

Oh, and if you see a frog trying to buy hair dye and a saw, give me a call….