Moonbeam, his wife of forty years and the reason they have fresh eggs and damaged chickens, runs into the coop and unknowingly steps on one of the loose heads. She gazes around the shelves of unscathed chickens, taking in the flying feathers, bloody corpses, and her husband standing in the middle of it all in a bathing suit and flip-flops. "Jesus H Christ, what the hell happened here?"

Busy looking around the coop, in search of the injured chicken's missing leg, Oscar mumbles the word "fox" and then several epithets that fortunately she doesn't hear with the rest of the birds now squawking loud enough to drown out several jet engines.

"Did you see it?" she asks, still unaware of the tiny head under her left Birkenstock.

"It's in the trap." Oscar finds a leg but can't decide if it belongs to the chicken he's trying to save. "Caught by the tail." He wonders if chickens even have different right and left feet.

His wife points at the one-legged chicken and screams, "She's bleeding! Oscar, she's bleeding!" Her breath coming faster and faster, but the avian carnage has frozen her body in place.

Oscar nods, ignoring her outburst for the moment as he finds the second head and drops it into his pocket before she can see it. "Relax sweetheart, breathe a little slower and remember your mantra." He reaches into his shirt pocket and retrieves a pack of double width cigarette rolling papers. Pulling several of the rice paper sheets from the package, he wraps them carefully around the bird's bloody thigh, temporarily staunching the flow of blood. He looks over at Moonbeam and smiles. "As soon as I find her leg, I'm headed over to Doctor Smoot's office."

Moonbeam catches her breath and cocks her head to one side. "Your urologist?"
"He's the closest doctor."
"But he's a urologist. What does he know about chickens?"

Oscar is about to say something about peckers but decides it would probably make her hyperventilate again. "Doctors are doctors, sweetheart. And this is obviously an emergency." He finds another loose foot and puts it, along with the first one and the disconnected head into his pants pocket. "If he can't fix your chicken, I'll drive over to Jasonville and go to the veterinary clinic."

"Where I take the horses?" She steps back, but the beak from the silent head has now imbedded itself in the heel of her sandal, out of her line of sight.

"You can stand there with that thing sticking out of your heel or you can get out of my way before I run out of rolling papers and this damn bird bleeds to death." Holding the chicken out in front of him, Oscar turns the bird around so that Moonbeam can see the drops of blood that have soaked through the rice paper, tinting it a vibrant shade of red.

Suddenly spying the head in her heel, his wife starts jumping and dancing, wildly swinging her left leg in the hope that the head will become detached. Oscar shakes his head slowly several times, puts the injured bird in one of the crates they use to carry eggs from the coop to the house, and marches off toward his pickup.

Doctor Smoot, who has been treating the senior citizen for what he calls "old man bladder", has an office full of patients, all males. Oscar greets the receptionist and tells her that he has an emergency and must see the doctor right away.

"You can't pee?" she asks, holding a pencil inches away from her mouth.

"No, ma'am, my stuff is working just fine." He lifts the crate up to the open window so the receptionist can see the injured chicken. "One of Moonbeam's chickens got bit by a fox and she's bleeding quite furiously. I've tried to bandage it with some papers, but I don't think they're working so well."

The receptionist leans through the window and looks at the chicken with her eyes opening wider with each word Oscar speaks. She's about to begin a brief explanation about the difference between animals and humans, bloody legs and leaky penises, but Oscar is determined to save the bird and continues before she can utter a single word.

"Fox killed a couple of them and bit off their legs. I've got two of them here in my pocket." He pauses, pulls a leg and a head from his pocket and places them on the small counter. "If you can just get Doctor Smoot to take a quick look, I'm sure he can stitch her leg back on good as new."

Oscar pauses just long enough for the receptionist to put an end to this madness. "I've been working here for six years now and I'm fairly certain that Doctor Smoot does not treat animals." She closes her eyes for a moment and then, gathering strength in her voice, she tells Oscar, "I'd ask him to take a look, but he's just started a surgical procedure." The girl sits back down hard in her seat, never for a moment letting her gaze drift from Oscar's face. It isn't that often that a patient will bring in another patient. Refer them, yes. However, to actually bring a patient into the doctor's office and declare an emergency was way beyond her level of expertise. "As much as I'd like to help you, I'm afraid you'll just have to find another doctor to fix your chicken." She slides the frosted glass window closed, ending the discussion.

***

Oscar leaves the urologist's office and drives back down the county road to the interstate, getting on the northbound entrance for the twenty-minute drive across the county to the equine center. The chicken's eyes are closed, but any small bump in the road causes the bird to shake for several seconds. The blood has begun to pool on the seat under the crate so Oscar shifts it off the seat and onto the floor.

The onsite doctor's office at the Jasonville Equine Center is locked as it's lunchtime, so he walks around back and goes in through the employee's entrance carrying the crate and the damaged bird. A couple of jockeys are in the small lunchroom and Oscar waves at them as he walks past, pointing at the crate and saying "pollo" the Spanish word that describes his patient. The jockeys, thinking that he's the delivery boy from the local fried chicken parlor, follow him into the treatment area.

A male nurse, much taller than Oscar and easily twice the height of the two jockeys, looks into the crate and laughs, "Is that supposed be a threat? Fix the next race or you'll end up like a dead chicken?"

Oscar looks down into the crate and gives it a shake. The bird responds with a single cluck. "She's not dead. Where's the doctor?"

The nurse leans over and pokes the bird, eliciting a similar response. "The doctor is out in the paddock treating a horse."

"Well, go and get him. I've got an emergency here." Oscar puts the crate on the floor and crosses his arms over his chest. "Tell him there's a patient in here that needs him, stat."
"Stat?"
"Yeah, like hurry up."

Doing his best not to laugh, the nurse puts his hands on Oscar's shoulders. "Man, get your silly ass out of here before you become a patient yourself."

Oscar stares into the man's eyes and decides to try another doctor. One of the jockeys follows him out to his pickup truck and offers Oscar ten dollars for the chicken. Turning toward the little jockey, Oscar carefully places the crate on the ground, hauls off and punches the man in the nose.

***

The nearest town, Murphysboro, is another thirty minutes up the interstate but Oscar knows there's an animal shelter there and figures they must have a doctor on duty who can treat pets and at this point, the damn chicken has become his pet. He pushes the truck nine miles over the speed limit and clicks on the emergency flashers.

He's a mile away from the exit when a police car behind him puts on its lights. Oscar sees the cop signal to pull over and, for a moment of panic, thinks about hitting the gas. After all, this is an emergency and the cop should be in front of him, leading him to the doctor. But the siren's scream changes his mind and Oscar slows and stops on the side of the road.

In what seems to be in slow motion, the cop steps out of his car, walks up to Oscar's truck and waits as Oscar cranks down the window.

"Speed limit is sixty not seventy," the officer tells him. "And why do you have your emergency flashers on?"

"I've got a critical chicken here." Oscar lifts the crate off the floor and tips it over, almost dumping the bird, so that the cop can see it.

"You've got a dead bird in a crate. How does that qualify as an emergency?"

Oscar shakes the crate, expecting the bird to prove the man wrong, but despite some serious shaking, the chicken fails to respond. "Oh shit. Now we've got to do CPR." He reaches for the door handle, causing the officer to jump backward and draw his weapon. Oscar shouts at him, "Get your oxygen. We've got to save her!"

The cop levels the gun at Oscar's face. "Put down the chicken, sir."

"No! Help me! Moonbeam's chicken is in cardiac arrest. We have to pump its chest!" It takes another long moment, complete with a buzzard flying overhead that must have sensed the demised of a fellow aviator, a second police car with two officers - guns drawn, and the annoyance of reality before Oscar slowly places the crate on the passenger seat and drops his head to the steering wheel.

The police officers, seeing him collapse, holster their weapons and the one who pulled him over walks back to the truck. "I'm going to need your license, registration, and insurance card, sir."