That’s Nugget.
She’s more than just a chicken—she’s his chicken.
Every morning before school, he runs out barefoot, no matter how cold it is, just to find her. He chats with her like she’s his best friend, sharing secrets about spelling tests and wondering aloud about what clouds are made of. She follows him everywhere like a loyal pup and waits by the porch until he comes home.
At first, we thought it was just sweet. Then we saw it was something deeper.
After his mom left last year, he shut down. The spark in his eyes faded. He stopped eating—especially pancakes, which used to be his favorite thing in the world. Then one day, this fluffy yellow chicken wandered into our yard—awkward, curious, and unexpected.
And somehow… everything shifted.
He smiled again. Started finishing his meals. Sleeping through the night. Laughing. All thanks to this silly, scrappy bird.
But yesterday, Nugget vanished.
We searched everywhere—the coop, the woods, the roadside. No feathers, no signs, nothing. That night, he fell asleep crying, her picture clenched tight in his tiny hand.
Then, this morning—there she was.
Standing in the driveway like she’d never been gone. A little dirty, a scratch on her beak, but alive and well.
He scooped her up and held her close, eyes squeezed shut like he was afraid she might disappear again. He wouldn’t let go. Not for breakfast, not for school, not for anything.
And while I watched him, I noticed something new—tied around her leg.
A small red ribbon, a bit worn.
And a tag I hadn’t seen before.
It read: “Returned. She chose to come back.”
I said nothing. Just watched him cradle her like she was the most precious thing in the world. My heart ached, watching the way he clung to her—as if she were the one thread holding his joy together.
We managed to coax him into eating some toast, with Nugget perched on his shoulder, pecking at the crumbs. He even smiled a little. But when the school bus came, he didn’t move.
“He’s not ready,” I told Liam. “He needs to be around other kids, but… not today.”
Liam nodded, brushing a hand through his hair. “I get it. He’s scared she’ll vanish again.”
So we let him stay home. It wasn’t a perfect answer, but it gave him some peace. He spent the entire day with Nugget under his arm, a warm, constant presence. At one point, he even tried to read her his favorite picture book—the one about the brave little mouse.
As evening rolled in, a rusty pickup pulled into the driveway. An older woman stepped out, her eyes kind and smile gentle.
“Hi there,” she said softly. “I think you have my chicken.”
My heart skipped. “Your chicken?”
She nodded. “Nugget. She’s a bit of a wanderer…”