Lucy's Journal

June 17, 2026 – Operation: The Great BBQ Chicken Chase

Dear Journal,

Well, I can honestly say today was one for the record books.

It all started when Kiwi was sitting on the back of the couch, puffed up like a tiny green general, making plans for Sunday’s big Father’s Day BBQ for our favorite Dad and internet blogger.

“Every great BBQ needs chicken!” Kiwi squawked.

Peanut the gray tiger cat stretched out on the floor and flicked his tail. “I know where we can get one.”

That sentence should have been the first warning.

The Quackers, the two identical duck twins, immediately started quacking excitedly.

“QUACK! QUACK! CHICKEN MISSION!”

I, Lucy the tan and white Shih Tzu and the responsible leader of this household (at least that’s what I tell everyone), had a bad feeling about where this was going.

Thirty minutes later, we found ourselves sneaking across the yard like a team of furry and feathered secret agents.

Kiwi was the lookout.

“Chicken spotted at two o’clock!” he whispered.

Peanut lowered himself into his best hunting pose.

The Quackers waddled left.

The Quackers waddled right.

Actually, they both waddled the same direction because they’re identical and apparently share the same bad ideas.

“MOVE IN!” Kiwi shouted.

And that chicken took off like a rocket.

I have never seen something with feathers move that fast.

The chase began.

Peanut jumped over a flower bed and landed in a bush.

The Quackers tried to corner the chicken but somehow cornered each other instead.

Kiwi flew overhead yelling instructions that nobody followed.

“LEFT! LEFT! NO, THE OTHER LEFT!”

I chased the chicken around the yard three times before realizing I was just chasing my own tail because I got dizzy and forgot which animal I was after.

After an hour of chaos, muddy paws, scattered feathers from the chicken’s dramatic escape, and one very embarrassed cat, the chicken finally stopped and looked at us as if to say:

“You four are terrible at this.”

And honestly?

The chicken was right.

Kiwi looked at the chicken.

The chicken looked at Kiwi.

They both had feathers.

A moment of understanding happened.

“You know,” Kiwi said quietly, “maybe a bird shouldn’t be on the menu at a family celebration.”

The Quackers nodded.

“QUACK. FAMILY.”

Peanut sighed.

“I suppose hot dogs and burgers are easier to catch anyway.”

I barked in agreement.

So we marched back home, covered in dirt, smelling like the backyard, and with absolutely no chicken for Sunday’s BBQ.

But we did make a new friend.

The chicken is coming to the BBQ as an honored guest.

Kiwi promised not to tell any chicken jokes.

Peanut promised not to stare at him.

The Quackers promised not to teach him how to steal potato salad.

I made no promises because I am the only one in this house with any sense.

And if you believe that, you have never met my family.

Until next time, dear Journal…

Stay mischievous.

🐾 Love,
Lucy