The Most Expensive Chicken Coop in History

The arrival of livestock through the Bixbus Portal on the afternoon of 30 July 2018 was not anticipated.

Beatrix emerged with Vincent the goat in tow and six hens crammed into the boot of her vehicle, their indignant clucking audible before the engine had fully stopped. Paul, who had been waiting near the Portal for news of an entirely different mission, found himself instead confronting a moral standoff over animals he had not requested and could not easily accommodate.

The confrontation was brief but pointed. Beatrix argued compassion; Paul argued practicality. Vincent, oblivious to the debate over his fate, discovered a patch of straw and began chewing with the contentment of an animal who had narrowly escaped execution. The goat's calm seemed almost designed to undermine Paul's protests.

In the end, Paul relented. He would find Vincent a safe place. The chickens, however, presented a more immediate problem—and when Beatrix departed through the Portal to continue her mission in Broken Hill, that problem became Paul's to solve.

He recruited Karen.

What followed was three hours of chaos that would become camp legend.

The hens, released from the boot, scattered across the Drop Zone with the coordination of a military unit conducting evasive manoeuvres. They were fast. They were cunning. They seemed to possess an almost supernatural ability to anticipate every lunge, every feint, every desperate attempt at capture.

Paul and Karen chased them through the dust until their lungs burned and their clothes were grey with grit. One particularly bold hen landed on Paul's head and perched there triumphantly while he spun in circles, arms flailing. Karen ended up sprawled on the ground more than once, laughing despite herself, dignity abandoned somewhere around the second hour.

The solution, when it came, was Paul's.

Glenda's BMW sat near the Drop Zone—a luxury vehicle stranded in a dimension that had no use for climate control or leather upholstery. Its owner's whereabouts remained uncertain, her return increasingly unlikely. The car was secure. It had doors that closed. It was, Paul argued with the enthusiasm of a man who had just experienced a revelation, the perfect chicken coop.

Karen stared at him. Then she laughed—a real laugh, the kind that rises unbidden from exhaustion and absurdity colliding.

They lured the hens with food, laying a trail of scraps and seeds that wound from the scattered corners of the Drop Zone to the open door of the BMW. One by one, the birds followed, their suspicion overcome by hunger, until all six had hopped onto the leather seats and settled among the hay that Paul and Karen had hastily scattered across surfaces that had once been meticulously maintained.

The doors closed. The windows remained cracked for ventilation. The most expensive chicken coop in history was complete.

Later that evening, Beatrix returned through the Portal. Her mission to Broken Hill had failed—Paul's house was empty, his dog Charlie nowhere to be found. The disappointment was evident in Paul's face, a brief shadow crossing his features before he composed himself.

But there was no time to dwell on what hadn't been accomplished. Stomachs growled. The day's exertions had left all three of them hollow with hunger.

Paul's eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. He knew a place in Broken Hill. A chip shop on Oxide Street. The best chips in the region, he insisted, his voice taking on an almost reverential quality.

Beatrix, already exhausted, found herself agreeing to one more trip through the Portal.

She would return with more than chips.