I Have an Arch Nemesis
Arch Nemeses. It’s a tale as old as time. Every great character has one. Sherlock has Moriarty, Wile E. Coyote has the Road Runner, and Jack Dawson has a plank of wood. For a time, I thought I was above such petty things. I’m a pretty easy-going person, and not much bothers me. There was no chance I would ever have an arch nemesis, I thought… I was wrong.
Over the past few weeks, I have been taunted, challenged, and humiliated. Every evening, I find myself locked in a feud as fierce as the Montagues and Capulets. The source of all my pain and suffering? One of my chickens. But let’s start from the beginning.
Over the years, my chickens have been reasonably well-behaved. They listened to me and followed me around. Whenever I wanted them to go to bed, they would wander into their cage without drama. The only real issue was their love of digging in the backyard. To my Mum’s displeasure, this meant there were constantly patches of dead grass. As a result, she decided to build a chicken run. In theory, this was the perfect solution. It provided the chickens with plenty of space to rummage without destroying the lawn. In practice, however, it created a completely different problem.
Inside the run, by design, the chickens don’t get any time on the grass. Consequently, whenever I release them to usher them back into their cage for the night, they are far more interested in the grass than returning to the cage. Fortunately, using food as an incentive, I can usually persuade them to head back into their cage… all except one.
No matter what I do, there is this one chicken that refuses to go back into the cage. Waving and clapping like a deranged air-traffic controller doesn’t work. Negotiation doesn’t work. Not even food nor excessive pleading works. In the end, there is only one thing left for me to do, and that is to chase her. Naturally, my arch nemesis does not make this easy.
During every chase, she positions herself in the most inaccessible corners of the yard, forcing me to trudge through the suburban wilderness like a doomed explorer hacking through the depths of the Amazon. While I stumble through the garden clumsily, the chicken glides effortlessly. Yet despite the challenge, I remain relentless in my pursuit. Unlike my ancestors, I was not going to lose a war against a bird. I continue vigorously, and after eventually trapping my nemesis in a corner, I finally catch her.
She squirms and squawks in protest, but I remain vigilant. After what feels like an eternity, I secure her safely in the cage for the night and head back to the house, scratched, breathless, but victorious.
Tomorrow evening, at precisely the same time, these events will replay themselves. Some people battle their inner demons. Some battle fate. I battle a chicken, and at this stage, I’m not entirely confident I’m winning.
