I’ve been stuck in traffic many times in my life; mainly as a result of trying to get home from Edinburgh on a Friday night, or being stuck in a queue after an accident on the motorway.
Over the years, I’ve been stopped in my vehicle as I waited for flights to land at Sumburgh airport on Shetland (the runway’s part of the road. No, I’m not kidding), caught behind countless logging trucks, bin men, caravans, and about a dozen sheep.
I have, however, never been travelling in a car that was forced to stop on the road because two grown men were trying to capture an escaped barnyard animal. Until I moved to North Wales.
…it was 6pm on a bright spring evening in Harlech and me, LT and my parents were quietly navigating our way to Castell Deudraeth to keep our dinner reservation. I’d just pointed out the fabulous red dragon (because obviously) that sits outside a local caravan park and was enjoying the passing scenery.
As we rounded a bend towards the train station, we noticed that there was a small white van at the side of the road up ahead with its hazards flashing.
A split second later, two blokes jumped out and it was then we noticed why. There was a huge cockerel scampering down the main road, looking quite alarmed. Well, I say he looked alarmed, but I’m not sure what his un-alarmed face looks like, so I’m just guessing here.
I watched in bemused wonder as the cockerel darted down the road (presumably to get to the other side?), quickly followed by two hapless looking blokes who didn’t look like they had a great deal of experience in the task at hand.
|This is totally the look he had on his face…|
I imagine that the cockerel wouldn’t simply come back, if asked, and I’m not entirely sure whether one of those massive cartoon type nets would have been appropriate, but simply running after it in a slightly threatening manner certainly wasn’t helping.
As we slowly drove past (and I took Snapchat photos for evidence, obvs) the cockerel left the tarmac and leapt into a nearby field, leaving the men with two choices: give up and go home, or further damage their street cred by actually becoming People Who Chase Animals Through Fields. They chose the latter. I’ve never been happier.
As we couldn’t just park up at the side of the road and watch the proceedings, we had little choice but to drive away, with me craning my neck round to silently cheer on the Steve McQueen of poultry on his cross country jaunt.
As I tucked into my chicken dinner at Portmeirion at short while later, I sincerely hoped that the Steve had managed to run off into the sunset…