Tippy, Chapter 23: The final chapter

By Jim Thompson
HCP columnist

Continued from last week.

It was somewhat boring, walking along U.S. Route 50 at night. Every night was much the same.  

The chicken had gone ahead and reported back that when we got to Anderson Ferry Road, we would want to turn left and head up to the top of the plateau. How she could figure this out, I have no idea.

Well, it was boring until the night a person going east in a car crossed the median and hit a semi head on. It happened right in front of us. The person in the car came through the windshield. Pretty gruesome scene.  

We scurried on down the road and there was Anderson Ferry!

Actually, Anderson Ferry was to the right, crossing the Ohio River to Kentucky and Anderson Ferry Road was to the left, going north. We started up the hill. It was quite curvy and in some places, rather steep. Compared to Route 50, in the dark it was not very busy.

About daylight, we came to Foley Road. The chicken said we turn left here and in just a half a mile Ivy Hill Drive would be on our right. I was getting very excited and started running. The chicken was flying, but even then was having trouble keeping up with me.

We got to Ivy Hill Drive, and I was running down the middle of the street. The chicken was really laboring now. Oops! Here came a car right toward us. It screeched to a stop and the driver got out; it was Jim.  

At nearly the same time, the chicken fell out of the air. Jim went over and looked at it; it was dead.  

Then he came over to look at me.  

He said, “You look like my beagle, Tippy.”

I accommodated him by rolling over on my back so he could see my belly. I had a very unique pattern of white and black on my belly.  

“It is you! How did you get here?”

I flipped over and walked over to the dead chicken. I hoped he understood. Anyway, he picked up the chicken and put it in the trunk of his car.  He put me in the front seat. He turned around and went back to the house at 896 Ivy Hill Drive.

He put me in the basement and there was Pete!

He buried the chicken in the back yard.

I have thought about the chicken a lot since then. I never did figure out if she was loyal to me or was just looking for an adventure. Either way, she sure was a smart bird.

The End.

Jim Thompson, formerly of Marshall, is a graduate of Hillsboro High School and the University of Cincinnati. He resides in Duluth, Ga. and is a columnist for The Highland County Press.